turnonmyheels (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
turnonmyheels) wrote2009-12-02 03:48 pm
turnonmyheels) wrote2009-12-02 03:48 pm
Entry tags:
Fic! Crossover FNL/SOA
Title: Riggins Won't Fear the Reaper
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy/Friday Night Lights
Rating: R violence, language, sexual situations
Pairing: Gen fic
Beta: Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
devilc
Words: 5600
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me nor do I profit from playing with them.
Summary: Set sometime in the future, where things are running on a normal course in Charming and Coach Taylor has just finished his first season at East Dillon, Tim Riggins decides a cross country road trip is just what he needs to figure out what he's going to do with the rest of his life, besides drinking beer and having sex. He gets as far as Charming, CA before his truck breaks down.
Note: This was completed before the season 2 finale of SoA so there are *No Spoilers*
In case you aren't familiar with Sons of Anarchy -- why aren't you? -- and you'd still like to read this but would like some visuals of the cast please go here for pictures of all the cast.
If you aren't familiar with Friday Night Lights -- and again I ask, why aren't you? -- here's a picture of Tim Riggins, he's the only FNL character in this fic. He's also in this icon.
"I'm telling you, I ran the numbers -- CaraCara's profits will go up at least forty percent." Bobby said before he took another bite of his famous banana bread. "I know you don't like the idea of it. But we need income, badly, and if you want to keep the guys from spending so much time staring at pussy with their brains oozing out of their dicks, this is the way to do it."
"Shut up and cut me a slice of that bread." Bobby shut up and sliced the bread. Clay bit into and groaned around his fork. "You did something different this time, it's better'n unusal."
Bobby beamed, proud that taking the time to grind his own cinnamon and add that tiny pinch of nutmeg had paid off. He waited until Clay had his mouth full before he continued. "We don't have to do full-on queer fucking, those jerk sites make a fucking killing. They bring in fifty percent more profit then normal porn and have half the overhead." Clay glared but Bobby pressed on. "Until we can get a reliable gun source or somebody comes up with a whole 'nother plan, we've got to earn. EARN, Clay, we still owe half a mill on our bail."
Clay shoved away from the table and threw his fork down. "You're right. And you've ruined my goddamn appetite. You take care of this and I don't wanna hear another goddamn word about it."
"About time he showed some damn sense." Bobby grabbed the bread off of Clay's abandoned plate and took a large bite mumbling to himself as he chewed. "Now all I've gotta do is find some dick pullers." Jax's raised voice caught Bobby's attention. He shoved the last bite of bread in his mouth and stood at the opened door to overhear the conversation. He had an idea forming.
"Man, if I've told you once, I've told you half a dozen times we don't need another mechanic." Bobby recognized the guy Jax was yelling at. He'd been by at the least the aforementioned half a dozen times by Bobby's reckoning, unable to pay the tow fee to get his truck out or wheedle one of the staff to let him in the garage to work on it himself. "I'm sorry you can't find a job, but you're not working here and we don't lease our tools for people to do their own repair work. Now get outta here!"
"Wait a second Jax, I got an idea!" Bobby called out and hustled over. This kid had a look, he could recognize it himself, but he could also follow Gemma's -- and any other woman who happened to be around when the kid was, no matter if they were young, old, retired porn star, or Tara -- appreciative gaze whenever the kid came in. The kid was tall, muscular, and had a pretty face. "I got some work if you're interested."
The kid looked up at him from behind hair that was nearly as long as Jax's. "Yeah?"
Bobby nodded, this was going to work out fine, just fine. "Yeah. You over 18?"
A lazy smile spread across the kid's face. "Yessir."
Bobby slapped him on the back and walked him toward the van. "You ever heard of CaraCara?"
Jax glared. "You have got to be kidding me." Bobby grinned back at Jax and laughed when he threw his hands in the air and walked off.
"No sir."
"What's your name kid?"
"Tim Riggins, sir."
"You don't gotta sir me, Tim. How's about we take a ride out to CaraCara so you can see what it's all about and then I'll tell you my proposition."
The kid -- Tim -- stared at Bobby a minute before nodding and solemnly saying. "All right."
~*~
Bobby loved CaraCara. He'd fought hard for the re-build -- out of love for pussy and guilt over Luanne, but mainly love for pussy. He figured he owed her one so he pushed and pulled and guilted Clay when he could. Clay finally gave in but wanted nothing to do with it. So Bobby put Chuck in charge of the day-to-day operations and Lyla took over as director/producer. They had everything up and running again within days of finding a new space. Porn was easy like that. If you discounted all the whining and bitching of the "stars" and the shit they'd pull to get some of the MC (Jax, Juice, Half-Sac) over and (hopefully) into their panties. He opened the door and gestured Tim inside. The unmistakable sound of Ima faking an orgasm greeted them. Bobby grinned, glad that they were filming for Tim's first look at the place.
"Is this a porn studio?" Tim asked seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Ima taking two in the ass.
"It sure is."
"And you want me to what? Get in on the other end of that?" Tim looked damn uncomfortable when Ima squealed. "Damn, that looks like it hurts."
"Don't pay it no mind, that's not what you're here for. Tim, I want you jerk off." Tim turned to stare at him. "And if Lyla thinks you're any good, maybe you could have some sex, but mainly, I just want you to jerk off. Think you could do that?"
Tim snorted. "Yeah, I think I can jerk off, had plenty of practice at it. But I don't know about doing it in front of a camera."
"Come on, there's some paperwork you need to look over in the office, it'll answer any questions you've got."
Bobby had to give the kid credit, he'd been more worried about his ex-girlfriend and former football coach seeing him jerk off than anything else. He'd taken in Chuck's complete lack of any digit other than his forefingers with barely a flicker of an eyelash. He looked over the contract -- exclusive performance with CaraCara, jerk videos only with an option for live chatting and camera work, $50 per come shot, and supervised time in Teller-Morrow's garage until his truck was repaired. Naturally, there was a clause in there that Teller-Morrow reserved the right to kick him out without reason and that he had to pay for his own parts. Bobby was damn proud of Chuck for sliding that one in there.
A little eye-liner, four hours and five jerk-off sessions later, a tired and sweaty Tim pocketed $250 cash and caught a ride with Bobby back to Teller-Morrow. He put on a spare pair of Bobby's cover-alls and went to work on his truck.
Jax motioned Bobby into the clubhouse and shut the door behind him. Clay and Tig were at the table with a deck of cards and Juice was muttering to himself and typing frantically on his laptop. "Bobby, what the hell?" Jax asked from behind the bar as he pulled them both beers.
"Looking to expand the porn site in a newer more profitable direction." Bobby sipped his beer and pulled out his cigarettes. He took his time pulling one out of the pack and tapping it against the bar. "Kid's got the right look and was cheaper than anybody else woulda been."
"Bobby, he's in our sanctuary."
Bobby flipped open his zippo and lit his cigarette. He drew in a lung full of smoke and blew it out. "I gotta feeling about this, Jax. A good feeling. I ain't had one of those in a long time. This is going to be a good thing for the MC."
Jax leveled a glare at him that clearly said, "bullshit" but otherwise shut his mouth. Bobby was glad of that seeing as how Jax and Clay's "feelings" and "visions" had damn near destroyed them all.
"Hey, come look at this." Juice called out. "I started uploading Tim's film as soon as it was ready, put a couple ads on some gay sites, we've had 300 people buy memberships in the past four hours. That's more than we had all last week!"
Clay turned away from the screen and glared at Bobby. "I thought I told you I didn't want to hear about this shit again?"
"Well at least it was good news instead of bad." Bobby turned back to Juice, "now are those daily memberships, monthly, or annual?"
"Daily."
"Don't put up any more of his film until those memberships run out. You're gonna upload 'em one at a time, e-mail those dudes, give 'em a sneak peak to reel 'em in. You got it?" Juice nodded and started typing. "The kid filmed five today. Make that last a week or two."
"Can you tell what the client base is?" Jax asked.
"Mostly men, some women." Juice scrolled through the data. "I think. It's hard to tell with most of these names."
"Add a little questionnaire or something to the membership form. We've got to market this right. Get the kid back to pulling his dick, maybe a couple more like him."
"We paid out $250 and made nearly $3000 in a few hours. This is gonna be a gold mine." Bobby pulled out another cigarette. "Somebody pour me a shot, I want to celebrate."
~*~
a few months later
"I can't believe these porn-addicts aren't bored out of their minds watching you jerk off all the time. Why don't they want some variety?" Juice had been hanging out with Tim and giving color commentary on his performances while uploading his new film for a while now. Tim didn't mind much, back home he was used to people (well, Becky and Landry) chattering at him all the time and he'd missed it since he'd left. "Seriously, the members complained when you were getting blow jobs from the girls, it's obviously just you they want, but how many different ways can you jerk-off? You've got to add in some variety."
Tim glanced up from the engine he was working on. "Haven't used my right hand yet."
"Show off." Juice laughed. "I really don't get it, why don't they want to see you with women?"
Tim pushed his hair out of his face with a grease smudged hand and shrugged, surprised Juice hadn't clued in. "Because it's mostly gay men."
"Huh." Juice's fingers flew over the keyboard and a tinny sound like a miniature Harley cranking came out of the speakers signaling the upload to the server was complete. Juice looked away from the screen and at Tim, a devious expression on his face. "Dude! I bet if you played with your ass or fingered yourself we'd get like triple the income."
Tim glared at Juice. "Do not even think about it."
Juice was obviously thinking about it. His nose was scrunching up and he was getting that manic gleam in his eye. Still he raised both hands and nodded. "Clay would flip the fuck out and shoot us both, no way I'm bringing it up."
"If my brother somehow found out about this he'd leave that new baby and come out here and kill my ass." Tim returned his attention to the engine and let the familiar sounds of the garage wash over him. He liked it here, he really did. The MC was tight, tighter than his football team had been before Six got hurt. Tighter than it was after they won State. He knew the MC would kick his ass if he ever brought up the similarity between the cut and Panther gear or compared team morale to their brotherhood, but it was all he could compare it to. He missed it, powerfully and painfully. He was positive the feeling he'd been having was called "yearning." It sucked and he was ready for something -- anything -- to get rid of it. He looked up at Juice and snapped his fingers to get his attention away from his computer. "Tell me what it's like to prospect."
"Again?" Juice didn't wait for his response. He set his laptop down and propped his elbows on his knees and started talking. "Prospecting is tough, there's a lot of hazing and tests and it goes on for what feels like a life time; but when they bring you in and give you the cut, you've got a home and a family ... "
~*~
Lyla didn't know or care what kind of club politics happened to put her in Luanne's seat in front of the camera. She was grateful, and that was the end of it. The work was still hard, dealing with diva bitches like Ima, getting the ones with drug problems to look reasonably sober, and all the interpersonal shit with the actors was a huge pain in the ass. When she was the one getting fucked she'd thought there was no harder job on earth than pretending to be physically attracted -- much less aroused -- by those jokers. But managing the day to day trouble, figuring out the camera angles to make the dicks look bigger, and coming up with a new script/scenario at least once a week that was somewhat fresh was a hell of a challenge. Porn was all about new and different even though there wasn't anything new under the sun. The one time she'd said something about being out of ideas at a dinner party, Tig had spent the rest of the night following her around giving her ideas for things that were a) illegal b) immoral c) completely fucking disgusting and d) scared the shit out of her. She'd made Opie promise to never leave her or the kids alone with Tig again.
There were parts of it she loved though -- setting the scene and finding the right mood was her favorite part of the job. She did it herself for every shot. A set of different colored sheets, a chair instead of the bed, or standing set or bath scene. Re-painting the background to highlight certain physical aspects of the actors, a gold gel instead of pink, playing something bluesy and sultry rather than hard and driving. Whatever kind of mood she wanted she had free access to create. As long as it was within the budget. Tim was always particularly fun to design around. She'd found he was stunning in any setting, angle, or color -- regardless how outlandish or common -- he was always exquisite.
Easy and agreeable too. He was sober -- mostly -- maybe beer to loosen up but never high. He had absolutely no ego that needed stroking, he looked good and he knew it. He was quietly confident and rarely had anything to say but she could tell he was always present and engaged in his surroundings. Lyla personally took time to run a little mousse in his hair, use the pencil to line his eyes, pick out the clothes he would be coming out of. Unless he came in them, that was fun too. Tim was a dream to work with and was easily one of the finest specimens of a man she'd ever seen.
When his hair was messy enough and the brown eyeliner smudged just right she stepped back to survey her work. It was good, damn good. Tim was in a set of gray coveralls that he'd spent a day or two working in so they'd be just dirty enough. His chest was bare, with an artful smudge over one pec, the sleeves of the coveralls hanging down, framing his hips. The button was undone at the waist showing just a hint of his treasure trail. Opie had made Half-Sac lend his bike for the shoot, so they started with Tim squatting and polishing the chrome with his (ass)ets facing the camera. Flogging Molly was cranked up in the background and Tim slowly, lovingly, wiped a rag over the tailpipe.
He took his time, getting in all the little nooks and crannies. Gradually raising himself out of the squat -- his muscle control was the best she'd ever seen -- until he was leaning over the bike showing off an ass and back that the rest of the male stars only wished they could have. "Turn profile, let me see you getting hard." Lyla murmured. Tim turned, so his crotch was barely brushing the seat and Lyla sighed a little as she watched him grow to full size. He finished up his polish job and straddled the bike. Lyla signaled the overhead camera to take over filming so no one would miss a thing. Tim pulled himself out, and started stroking. She'd watched him do this nearly more times than she could count at this point, but it never got old. It always mesmerized her, watching the vulnerability on his face, the way he'd stick just the tip of his tongue out and close his eyes when he was really getting into it.
A scream shattered the mood and before she could turn around the doors crashed open and a man stormed in with a baseball bat. "What the fucking hell?" She'd thought this shit was over. She really had. "Save the cameras!" She yelled as she grabbed the laptop and fled to the office. She slammed the door shut behind her and locked it before lunging for the phone and hit 1 on the speed dial. "Pick up, pick up, pick up." She crouched down behind the desk in the office.
"Hello?"
"Opie! We're under attack."
"God damn it. Hang on Lyla." The call ended and Lyla was torn between hiding behind the desk, trying to make it to the panic room (she really hoped some of the girls had managed to get in there) and grabbing a gun and defending her territory. She knew she should hide, she had no idea how many men Georgie had sent this time. It made no sense that he kept doing this, the club told him they'd kill him if he tried this shit again. She fumbled in the bottom desk drawer for the Ruger she kept under a false bottom and crawled to the office door. It was too quiet out there. She expected to hear glass shattering, equipment being busted, girls screaming as they were beaten or rounded up to be taken to Georgie's studio. What she heard was the unmistakable sound of a fist fight. Grunts, groans, shouts, set pieces crashing to the ground. She cracked open the door and peeked out.
She gasped as one of Georgie's goons took a swing at Tim, he ducked and squatted down then sprung up and onto the man taking them both to ground. Tim wrestled the bat away from the guy and smashed the bat across his face. Blood spurted everywhere, Lyla watched fascinated as it practically rained down his chin, when three more guys came into the room. She could hear a lot of noise coming from the other studio. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering and girls screaming.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" One of the guys said slapping his bat against his hand. "Some pretty boy ass?" He lunged toward Tim and swung the bat. Tim spun and dodged; elbowing the guy in the spine. Tim brought his own bat down and around cracking the second guy's knee and before he even hit the ground Tim shifted his grip to hold his bat with one hand and shoulder blocked the third onto the ground. He sat on his chest, bat held across his throat and called out to Lyla.
"The MC on the way?"
Lyla nodded forgetting Tim couldn't see her. "Lyla?"
"Oh. Yeah. Any second now." Tim pushed up and off of the guy on the ground kicked him in the side several times before turning to Lyla.
"Can you cover these three?" Lyla looked at the men. Two were out cold, another holding his knee and practically crying, and the other curled into fetal position. She turned the safety off on the pistol and pointed it in their general direction. "Pretty sure."
"Good girl." Tim said and headed out the door. The noise in the studio escalated. Lyla was certain when this was over with there wouldn't be a single piece of unbroken glass in the entire building. Over all of it she could hear the rumble of the MC as they stormed into the parking lot.
~*~
"You should'a seen it Gemma," Bobby chuckled into his mug of beer. "That kid had his cover-alls around his knees, dick was flopping every which-a-way when we ran in. He'd already put four of 'em out in the back room and two were down in the main. Me'n Ope came through the door at the same time and that kid put his head down and did a flying tackle and knocked three of them to the ground at once -- like a god damn row of dominoes or something! That kid should'a played pro ball."
Gemma smiled fondly and went back to sorting orders. She'd heard this story from all of her boys that had gone to CaraCara that day. They were suitably impressed with semi-naked football moves but not one of them had actually figured out the kid hadn't had to do what he did. Hadn't thought that he could have cowered in the corner like the rest of the useless come buckets at the studio. She'd been watching that boy ever since he showed up on her doorstep but she'd kept a sharper eye on him since the incident. She knew what somebody without family and home looked like and Tim Riggins was it. "You ever think he might be wanting something from you all in return?"
"What?" Bobby looked genuinely confused. "We let him work on his truck all he wants."
"His truck's been fixed about three months now. He's still hanging around doing grunt work and jerking off for extra cash, you ever think he might be hanging around here for a reason?" Gemma raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly out the door.
It wasn't an uncommon scene, the younger guys in the club and Tim sitting at one of the tables drinking beer. "You think he wants in?" Bobby looked startled even as he said the words.
"I think there's a reason he wound up in Charming out of everywhere in the world." Gemma studied the familiar scene out of her open door. "I think that boy wants in this club so bad he can taste it but hasn't got the first clue how to go about gettin' in."
"You like him Gemma?"
"I do."
"So do I." Bobby stood up and walked out the door heading toward Clay and Tig.
As Gemma turned back to her paperwork she heard Bobby say, "Meet me in the Chapel, I got somethin' to say."
~*~
a few more months later
"It's been a rough stretch of road for Samcro, lately. We've had a lot of losses, had to change the way we do certain things." The room was completely quiet, the only thing marring the stillness was the occasional inhalation of smoke off of a cigarette or joint, the random clunk of a beer of mug settling on the table. Clay opened the ancient, dented lock-box on the Reaper table and reached inside. "Today, we initiate a new brother. Kip Epps, better known as Half-Sac, you've proven that you're Reaper Crew material this past year and earned your top rocker." Half-Sac stood and pushed away from the table and crossed to Clay. "Wear it with pride my brother." Clay handed Half-Sac the patch and hugged him, slapping him twice on the back before letting go.
"I will. Thank you." Half-Sac clutched his patch tightly in his hand and hugged each of his new brothers one by one. Chibbs pulled away from the hug, slapped him on the back and started up a call of "speech, speech, speech" and everyone joined in. Half-Sac wiped his nose and held his hands out for quiet the MC slowly quieted down. "Man. I've been waiting for a seat at this table for fucking ever. I didn't think I was ever going to earn it." He pulled his chair out and sat down.
"What kind of speech was that?" Happy called out.
"The best kind." Piney shouted back. "Short!"
"Take your seats fellas." Clay lit a cigar and returned to his chair at the head of the table. "We've got one more matter of business to attend to before we can get to the party." He turned and looked at Bobby. "This is your idea." Clay settled down and propped both feet up on the table.
"It seems we're short a Prospect." Bobby looked at each member of the club in turn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm sure as hell gonna miss having somebody around to do all the shit I don't want to do." There were muffled sounds of agreement around the table.
"It's my turn now!" Half-Sac called out.
"You got somebody in mind?" Jax asked.
"I think we ought to bring that Riggins boy in." Bobby studied the familiar faces around the table. He'd put off the suggestion until Half-Sac earned his top rocker for a reason, he wasn't sure the MC would go for it. They loved CaraCara: the women, the money, the live porn whenever they wanted it -- and generally had nothing but contempt for the men who worked in the business. Since Luanne's death they'd steered Lyla toward more and more girl/girl - until Bobby had forced the issue of the jerk films.
"You serious?" Opie was the first to respond.
"Wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't."
Juice held up a hand and nodded. "I'm all for it. I like him. I like him a lot."
"You like him?" That was Tig. "What -- are you girls paintin' each other's nails now?"
"Not anymore than you and Clay do." Juice shot back.
There was a sharp burst of laughter around the table. Bobby lit a joint and inhaled deeply, waiting for them to settle down. "I'm serious about this. He stuck his neck out for us when he didn't have to. He watches Teller-Morrow when we're all out on Club business." Bobby pointed his beer bottle at Jax. "Hell, he baby-sat Jax and Opie's kids the last time the shit hit the fan and there wasn't nobody else around to do it."
"He did stick his neck out at CaraCara." Opie agreed. "He didn't have to do that."
"Wasn't just his neck he stuck out." Tig muttered.
"All right," Clay puffed his cigar and blew out a series of smoke rings. "We're talkin' about Prospecting. There's nothing to say he'll make it through the year, just that we oughta give him the chance. What do you say?" He raised his own hand. "Who wants to make Come-shot a Prospect?"
Bobby, Juice, Half-Sac, and Opie all raised their hands immediately.
"Well when you put it like that," Chibbs said as he raised his own hand. "Who wouldn't want an extra Come-shot around?"
"Jesus Christ. First a Half-Sac and then a Come-shot." Piney held up a hand. "What's next?
Tig ticked each name off one by one. "Hot Carl, Angry Dragon, Cincinnati Bowtie, Dirty Sanchez, Poop Shoot, Corn hole, Cold Pack," he leaned back in his chair and kept right on. "Brown Rose, Chocolate Starfish, Gaping Hole, Cleveland Steamer--"
"Enough!" Clay hit the table with the heel of each hand. "And no more of those god damned names. Are we all in agreement?" Hands rose all around the table and Clay slammed the gavel down again. "In honor of our new brother, we have an obligation to fulfill, the best damn party this Club has seen this year. Let's get to it." As the MC filed out of the Chapel, Clay turned to Bobby. "You talk to him about this or are we just going to jump him in?"
"Clay, what kind of man would I be if I warned him?"
"A man I wouldn't want to know." Clay slung an arm around Bobby and they shut the door to the Chapel behind them and joined the party. The clubhouse was already hopping, nice and crowded with all of the current Nomads, Crow Eaters, a few of the girls from CaraCara, Old Ladies, and the Teller-Morrow employees, including one Tim Riggins. Beer and liquor were flowing, a cloud of sweet-smelling pot smoke hung in the air. Bobby breathed it all in and headed toward his favorite fire-crotch, getting face down in Mount Saint Helens was the perfect way to start the night. It was going to be a helluva party.
Many hours later, as the party was winding down and the crowd thinned out, Clay sent out the word that were going to jump Riggins in out in the yard at three a.m. Tim was already out there, sitting on a bench, leaning back against a picnic table, beer held loosely in one hand. A couple girls from CaraCara crowded around him vying for his attention. The MC circled around the table. "Go on and get." Bobby said to the girls.
They scattered quickly and Tim smiled drunkenly up at Bobby. "What's going on? I know that wasn't anybody's old lady."
"Son, it's time we taught you a lesson." Clay said and cracked the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other. "You been reaping the benefits of Samcro without paying any dues." Tig grabbed Tim by one arm and Chibbs by the other. "We're gonna change that now." Clay took the first shot across Tim's jaw knocking his head to the side. He stepped back, with a wince and shook his hand and flexed it a few times. "Jump him in boys."
"What the fuck?" Tim shouted and tried wrestling away from Chibbs and Tig, kicking out wildly and head butting anyone close enough as he struggled to defend himself. It was ugly and short, with the gang jumping him at once but Tim got in a few a good hits, evidenced by Tig's bleeding nose and Half-Sac's black eye. "That's enough." Clay called out when Tim was down on the ground, obviously unable to fight his way back to his feet. The MC pulled away and Juice and Half-Sac drug Tim to his feet.
Tim tried to pull his arms free but the guys held on tighter, he glared at Clay and spat a mouth full of bloody spit at his feet. "One more time. What the fuck?"
Clay smiled at Tim, stepped in close and patted him on the cheek, pleased when Tim didn't jerk away. "You're born in blood. You die in blood." Bobby stepped forward holding a black leather cut in his hand and handed it to Clay. Clay turned it around and held up the back so Tim could see it Prospect on the bottom. "You've got a year to prove yourself and earn your top rocker." He nodded at Juice and Half-Sac and they let go of Tim.
"What?" Tim's eyes flew back and forth between the cut and Bobby's face.
"Took a vote and made you our new Prospect. You've got a year to prove you deserve it or walk away." Bobby grinned as Tim wiped the blood running out of nose off with his shirtsleeve.
Tim took the cut and slid it on, a smile crept across his face. "Thanks."
"Come on Come-shot--"
"Jesus Christ, you're not callin' me that!"
"-- let's get you some ice for that pretty face of yours." Bobby hooked an arm across Tim's shoulders. "I don't think Lyla would appreciate you showing up tomorrow looking like something out of a meat grinder."
"Bobby, no way are we having a brother jerking his dick for money." Jax hopped up on the bar and off the other side and reached into the freezer for ice.
"Unless being a Prospect earns you money, I've got to or I'll lose my trailer." Tim sighed a little as he settled the ice pack on his eye.
"Prospects can stay in the bunk. Get your shit and you can move in tomorrow." Tig slammed down a shot and poured another and handed it to Tim. "I've spent most of my life back there."
Juice plopped down on the stool next to Tim. "I toldja man, once you're in the club -- you've got a family. We take care of our own."
Tim downed his shot and shifted the ice pack to his other eye. "Sounds perfect."
~*~
one year later
"You sure you want the full back piece?" Kat* asked as she sat on the stool behind Tim.
Tim looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, why?"
"It's a lot of ink for your first time."
"It's not my first time." Tim pulled his jeans up over his knee and revealed a panther on his calf. The numbers 2006, 33, and 6 were worked into the shading on the body.
"Nice." Kat nodded in approval. "Looks like Heather's** work."
"It is." Tim dropped the hem of his jeans and looked at Kat. "Do I need to get Heather to do this? Jax said you do most of the Reapers in Cali but--"
"Jax sent you?" Kat turned on the gun and Tim got comfortable.
He smiled as the needle pierced the skin on his shoulder. "He's my brother."
*Kat Von D: Kat owns High Voltage Tattoo in Los Angeles and is the star of LA Ink on TLC. www.highvoltagetattoo.com
**Heather Sinn: Heather works at Avalon Tattoo in San Diego.
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy/Friday Night Lights
Rating: R violence, language, sexual situations
Pairing: Gen fic
Beta: Thank you
devilcWords: 5600
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me nor do I profit from playing with them.
Summary: Set sometime in the future, where things are running on a normal course in Charming and Coach Taylor has just finished his first season at East Dillon, Tim Riggins decides a cross country road trip is just what he needs to figure out what he's going to do with the rest of his life, besides drinking beer and having sex. He gets as far as Charming, CA before his truck breaks down.
Note: This was completed before the season 2 finale of SoA so there are *No Spoilers*
In case you aren't familiar with Sons of Anarchy -- why aren't you? -- and you'd still like to read this but would like some visuals of the cast please go here for pictures of all the cast.
If you aren't familiar with Friday Night Lights -- and again I ask, why aren't you? -- here's a picture of Tim Riggins, he's the only FNL character in this fic. He's also in this icon.
"I'm telling you, I ran the numbers -- CaraCara's profits will go up at least forty percent." Bobby said before he took another bite of his famous banana bread. "I know you don't like the idea of it. But we need income, badly, and if you want to keep the guys from spending so much time staring at pussy with their brains oozing out of their dicks, this is the way to do it."
"Shut up and cut me a slice of that bread." Bobby shut up and sliced the bread. Clay bit into and groaned around his fork. "You did something different this time, it's better'n unusal."
Bobby beamed, proud that taking the time to grind his own cinnamon and add that tiny pinch of nutmeg had paid off. He waited until Clay had his mouth full before he continued. "We don't have to do full-on queer fucking, those jerk sites make a fucking killing. They bring in fifty percent more profit then normal porn and have half the overhead." Clay glared but Bobby pressed on. "Until we can get a reliable gun source or somebody comes up with a whole 'nother plan, we've got to earn. EARN, Clay, we still owe half a mill on our bail."
Clay shoved away from the table and threw his fork down. "You're right. And you've ruined my goddamn appetite. You take care of this and I don't wanna hear another goddamn word about it."
"About time he showed some damn sense." Bobby grabbed the bread off of Clay's abandoned plate and took a large bite mumbling to himself as he chewed. "Now all I've gotta do is find some dick pullers." Jax's raised voice caught Bobby's attention. He shoved the last bite of bread in his mouth and stood at the opened door to overhear the conversation. He had an idea forming.
"Man, if I've told you once, I've told you half a dozen times we don't need another mechanic." Bobby recognized the guy Jax was yelling at. He'd been by at the least the aforementioned half a dozen times by Bobby's reckoning, unable to pay the tow fee to get his truck out or wheedle one of the staff to let him in the garage to work on it himself. "I'm sorry you can't find a job, but you're not working here and we don't lease our tools for people to do their own repair work. Now get outta here!"
"Wait a second Jax, I got an idea!" Bobby called out and hustled over. This kid had a look, he could recognize it himself, but he could also follow Gemma's -- and any other woman who happened to be around when the kid was, no matter if they were young, old, retired porn star, or Tara -- appreciative gaze whenever the kid came in. The kid was tall, muscular, and had a pretty face. "I got some work if you're interested."
The kid looked up at him from behind hair that was nearly as long as Jax's. "Yeah?"
Bobby nodded, this was going to work out fine, just fine. "Yeah. You over 18?"
A lazy smile spread across the kid's face. "Yessir."
Bobby slapped him on the back and walked him toward the van. "You ever heard of CaraCara?"
Jax glared. "You have got to be kidding me." Bobby grinned back at Jax and laughed when he threw his hands in the air and walked off.
"No sir."
"What's your name kid?"
"Tim Riggins, sir."
"You don't gotta sir me, Tim. How's about we take a ride out to CaraCara so you can see what it's all about and then I'll tell you my proposition."
The kid -- Tim -- stared at Bobby a minute before nodding and solemnly saying. "All right."
Bobby loved CaraCara. He'd fought hard for the re-build -- out of love for pussy and guilt over Luanne, but mainly love for pussy. He figured he owed her one so he pushed and pulled and guilted Clay when he could. Clay finally gave in but wanted nothing to do with it. So Bobby put Chuck in charge of the day-to-day operations and Lyla took over as director/producer. They had everything up and running again within days of finding a new space. Porn was easy like that. If you discounted all the whining and bitching of the "stars" and the shit they'd pull to get some of the MC (Jax, Juice, Half-Sac) over and (hopefully) into their panties. He opened the door and gestured Tim inside. The unmistakable sound of Ima faking an orgasm greeted them. Bobby grinned, glad that they were filming for Tim's first look at the place.
"Is this a porn studio?" Tim asked seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Ima taking two in the ass.
"It sure is."
"And you want me to what? Get in on the other end of that?" Tim looked damn uncomfortable when Ima squealed. "Damn, that looks like it hurts."
"Don't pay it no mind, that's not what you're here for. Tim, I want you jerk off." Tim turned to stare at him. "And if Lyla thinks you're any good, maybe you could have some sex, but mainly, I just want you to jerk off. Think you could do that?"
Tim snorted. "Yeah, I think I can jerk off, had plenty of practice at it. But I don't know about doing it in front of a camera."
"Come on, there's some paperwork you need to look over in the office, it'll answer any questions you've got."
Bobby had to give the kid credit, he'd been more worried about his ex-girlfriend and former football coach seeing him jerk off than anything else. He'd taken in Chuck's complete lack of any digit other than his forefingers with barely a flicker of an eyelash. He looked over the contract -- exclusive performance with CaraCara, jerk videos only with an option for live chatting and camera work, $50 per come shot, and supervised time in Teller-Morrow's garage until his truck was repaired. Naturally, there was a clause in there that Teller-Morrow reserved the right to kick him out without reason and that he had to pay for his own parts. Bobby was damn proud of Chuck for sliding that one in there.
A little eye-liner, four hours and five jerk-off sessions later, a tired and sweaty Tim pocketed $250 cash and caught a ride with Bobby back to Teller-Morrow. He put on a spare pair of Bobby's cover-alls and went to work on his truck.
Jax motioned Bobby into the clubhouse and shut the door behind him. Clay and Tig were at the table with a deck of cards and Juice was muttering to himself and typing frantically on his laptop. "Bobby, what the hell?" Jax asked from behind the bar as he pulled them both beers.
"Looking to expand the porn site in a newer more profitable direction." Bobby sipped his beer and pulled out his cigarettes. He took his time pulling one out of the pack and tapping it against the bar. "Kid's got the right look and was cheaper than anybody else woulda been."
"Bobby, he's in our sanctuary."
Bobby flipped open his zippo and lit his cigarette. He drew in a lung full of smoke and blew it out. "I gotta feeling about this, Jax. A good feeling. I ain't had one of those in a long time. This is going to be a good thing for the MC."
Jax leveled a glare at him that clearly said, "bullshit" but otherwise shut his mouth. Bobby was glad of that seeing as how Jax and Clay's "feelings" and "visions" had damn near destroyed them all.
"Hey, come look at this." Juice called out. "I started uploading Tim's film as soon as it was ready, put a couple ads on some gay sites, we've had 300 people buy memberships in the past four hours. That's more than we had all last week!"
Clay turned away from the screen and glared at Bobby. "I thought I told you I didn't want to hear about this shit again?"
"Well at least it was good news instead of bad." Bobby turned back to Juice, "now are those daily memberships, monthly, or annual?"
"Daily."
"Don't put up any more of his film until those memberships run out. You're gonna upload 'em one at a time, e-mail those dudes, give 'em a sneak peak to reel 'em in. You got it?" Juice nodded and started typing. "The kid filmed five today. Make that last a week or two."
"Can you tell what the client base is?" Jax asked.
"Mostly men, some women." Juice scrolled through the data. "I think. It's hard to tell with most of these names."
"Add a little questionnaire or something to the membership form. We've got to market this right. Get the kid back to pulling his dick, maybe a couple more like him."
"We paid out $250 and made nearly $3000 in a few hours. This is gonna be a gold mine." Bobby pulled out another cigarette. "Somebody pour me a shot, I want to celebrate."
a few months later
"I can't believe these porn-addicts aren't bored out of their minds watching you jerk off all the time. Why don't they want some variety?" Juice had been hanging out with Tim and giving color commentary on his performances while uploading his new film for a while now. Tim didn't mind much, back home he was used to people (well, Becky and Landry) chattering at him all the time and he'd missed it since he'd left. "Seriously, the members complained when you were getting blow jobs from the girls, it's obviously just you they want, but how many different ways can you jerk-off? You've got to add in some variety."
Tim glanced up from the engine he was working on. "Haven't used my right hand yet."
"Show off." Juice laughed. "I really don't get it, why don't they want to see you with women?"
Tim pushed his hair out of his face with a grease smudged hand and shrugged, surprised Juice hadn't clued in. "Because it's mostly gay men."
"Huh." Juice's fingers flew over the keyboard and a tinny sound like a miniature Harley cranking came out of the speakers signaling the upload to the server was complete. Juice looked away from the screen and at Tim, a devious expression on his face. "Dude! I bet if you played with your ass or fingered yourself we'd get like triple the income."
Tim glared at Juice. "Do not even think about it."
Juice was obviously thinking about it. His nose was scrunching up and he was getting that manic gleam in his eye. Still he raised both hands and nodded. "Clay would flip the fuck out and shoot us both, no way I'm bringing it up."
"If my brother somehow found out about this he'd leave that new baby and come out here and kill my ass." Tim returned his attention to the engine and let the familiar sounds of the garage wash over him. He liked it here, he really did. The MC was tight, tighter than his football team had been before Six got hurt. Tighter than it was after they won State. He knew the MC would kick his ass if he ever brought up the similarity between the cut and Panther gear or compared team morale to their brotherhood, but it was all he could compare it to. He missed it, powerfully and painfully. He was positive the feeling he'd been having was called "yearning." It sucked and he was ready for something -- anything -- to get rid of it. He looked up at Juice and snapped his fingers to get his attention away from his computer. "Tell me what it's like to prospect."
"Again?" Juice didn't wait for his response. He set his laptop down and propped his elbows on his knees and started talking. "Prospecting is tough, there's a lot of hazing and tests and it goes on for what feels like a life time; but when they bring you in and give you the cut, you've got a home and a family ... "
Lyla didn't know or care what kind of club politics happened to put her in Luanne's seat in front of the camera. She was grateful, and that was the end of it. The work was still hard, dealing with diva bitches like Ima, getting the ones with drug problems to look reasonably sober, and all the interpersonal shit with the actors was a huge pain in the ass. When she was the one getting fucked she'd thought there was no harder job on earth than pretending to be physically attracted -- much less aroused -- by those jokers. But managing the day to day trouble, figuring out the camera angles to make the dicks look bigger, and coming up with a new script/scenario at least once a week that was somewhat fresh was a hell of a challenge. Porn was all about new and different even though there wasn't anything new under the sun. The one time she'd said something about being out of ideas at a dinner party, Tig had spent the rest of the night following her around giving her ideas for things that were a) illegal b) immoral c) completely fucking disgusting and d) scared the shit out of her. She'd made Opie promise to never leave her or the kids alone with Tig again.
There were parts of it she loved though -- setting the scene and finding the right mood was her favorite part of the job. She did it herself for every shot. A set of different colored sheets, a chair instead of the bed, or standing set or bath scene. Re-painting the background to highlight certain physical aspects of the actors, a gold gel instead of pink, playing something bluesy and sultry rather than hard and driving. Whatever kind of mood she wanted she had free access to create. As long as it was within the budget. Tim was always particularly fun to design around. She'd found he was stunning in any setting, angle, or color -- regardless how outlandish or common -- he was always exquisite.
Easy and agreeable too. He was sober -- mostly -- maybe beer to loosen up but never high. He had absolutely no ego that needed stroking, he looked good and he knew it. He was quietly confident and rarely had anything to say but she could tell he was always present and engaged in his surroundings. Lyla personally took time to run a little mousse in his hair, use the pencil to line his eyes, pick out the clothes he would be coming out of. Unless he came in them, that was fun too. Tim was a dream to work with and was easily one of the finest specimens of a man she'd ever seen.
When his hair was messy enough and the brown eyeliner smudged just right she stepped back to survey her work. It was good, damn good. Tim was in a set of gray coveralls that he'd spent a day or two working in so they'd be just dirty enough. His chest was bare, with an artful smudge over one pec, the sleeves of the coveralls hanging down, framing his hips. The button was undone at the waist showing just a hint of his treasure trail. Opie had made Half-Sac lend his bike for the shoot, so they started with Tim squatting and polishing the chrome with his (ass)ets facing the camera. Flogging Molly was cranked up in the background and Tim slowly, lovingly, wiped a rag over the tailpipe.
He took his time, getting in all the little nooks and crannies. Gradually raising himself out of the squat -- his muscle control was the best she'd ever seen -- until he was leaning over the bike showing off an ass and back that the rest of the male stars only wished they could have. "Turn profile, let me see you getting hard." Lyla murmured. Tim turned, so his crotch was barely brushing the seat and Lyla sighed a little as she watched him grow to full size. He finished up his polish job and straddled the bike. Lyla signaled the overhead camera to take over filming so no one would miss a thing. Tim pulled himself out, and started stroking. She'd watched him do this nearly more times than she could count at this point, but it never got old. It always mesmerized her, watching the vulnerability on his face, the way he'd stick just the tip of his tongue out and close his eyes when he was really getting into it.
A scream shattered the mood and before she could turn around the doors crashed open and a man stormed in with a baseball bat. "What the fucking hell?" She'd thought this shit was over. She really had. "Save the cameras!" She yelled as she grabbed the laptop and fled to the office. She slammed the door shut behind her and locked it before lunging for the phone and hit 1 on the speed dial. "Pick up, pick up, pick up." She crouched down behind the desk in the office.
"Hello?"
"Opie! We're under attack."
"God damn it. Hang on Lyla." The call ended and Lyla was torn between hiding behind the desk, trying to make it to the panic room (she really hoped some of the girls had managed to get in there) and grabbing a gun and defending her territory. She knew she should hide, she had no idea how many men Georgie had sent this time. It made no sense that he kept doing this, the club told him they'd kill him if he tried this shit again. She fumbled in the bottom desk drawer for the Ruger she kept under a false bottom and crawled to the office door. It was too quiet out there. She expected to hear glass shattering, equipment being busted, girls screaming as they were beaten or rounded up to be taken to Georgie's studio. What she heard was the unmistakable sound of a fist fight. Grunts, groans, shouts, set pieces crashing to the ground. She cracked open the door and peeked out.
She gasped as one of Georgie's goons took a swing at Tim, he ducked and squatted down then sprung up and onto the man taking them both to ground. Tim wrestled the bat away from the guy and smashed the bat across his face. Blood spurted everywhere, Lyla watched fascinated as it practically rained down his chin, when three more guys came into the room. She could hear a lot of noise coming from the other studio. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering and girls screaming.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" One of the guys said slapping his bat against his hand. "Some pretty boy ass?" He lunged toward Tim and swung the bat. Tim spun and dodged; elbowing the guy in the spine. Tim brought his own bat down and around cracking the second guy's knee and before he even hit the ground Tim shifted his grip to hold his bat with one hand and shoulder blocked the third onto the ground. He sat on his chest, bat held across his throat and called out to Lyla.
"The MC on the way?"
Lyla nodded forgetting Tim couldn't see her. "Lyla?"
"Oh. Yeah. Any second now." Tim pushed up and off of the guy on the ground kicked him in the side several times before turning to Lyla.
"Can you cover these three?" Lyla looked at the men. Two were out cold, another holding his knee and practically crying, and the other curled into fetal position. She turned the safety off on the pistol and pointed it in their general direction. "Pretty sure."
"Good girl." Tim said and headed out the door. The noise in the studio escalated. Lyla was certain when this was over with there wouldn't be a single piece of unbroken glass in the entire building. Over all of it she could hear the rumble of the MC as they stormed into the parking lot.
"You should'a seen it Gemma," Bobby chuckled into his mug of beer. "That kid had his cover-alls around his knees, dick was flopping every which-a-way when we ran in. He'd already put four of 'em out in the back room and two were down in the main. Me'n Ope came through the door at the same time and that kid put his head down and did a flying tackle and knocked three of them to the ground at once -- like a god damn row of dominoes or something! That kid should'a played pro ball."
Gemma smiled fondly and went back to sorting orders. She'd heard this story from all of her boys that had gone to CaraCara that day. They were suitably impressed with semi-naked football moves but not one of them had actually figured out the kid hadn't had to do what he did. Hadn't thought that he could have cowered in the corner like the rest of the useless come buckets at the studio. She'd been watching that boy ever since he showed up on her doorstep but she'd kept a sharper eye on him since the incident. She knew what somebody without family and home looked like and Tim Riggins was it. "You ever think he might be wanting something from you all in return?"
"What?" Bobby looked genuinely confused. "We let him work on his truck all he wants."
"His truck's been fixed about three months now. He's still hanging around doing grunt work and jerking off for extra cash, you ever think he might be hanging around here for a reason?" Gemma raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly out the door.
It wasn't an uncommon scene, the younger guys in the club and Tim sitting at one of the tables drinking beer. "You think he wants in?" Bobby looked startled even as he said the words.
"I think there's a reason he wound up in Charming out of everywhere in the world." Gemma studied the familiar scene out of her open door. "I think that boy wants in this club so bad he can taste it but hasn't got the first clue how to go about gettin' in."
"You like him Gemma?"
"I do."
"So do I." Bobby stood up and walked out the door heading toward Clay and Tig.
As Gemma turned back to her paperwork she heard Bobby say, "Meet me in the Chapel, I got somethin' to say."
a few more months later
"It's been a rough stretch of road for Samcro, lately. We've had a lot of losses, had to change the way we do certain things." The room was completely quiet, the only thing marring the stillness was the occasional inhalation of smoke off of a cigarette or joint, the random clunk of a beer of mug settling on the table. Clay opened the ancient, dented lock-box on the Reaper table and reached inside. "Today, we initiate a new brother. Kip Epps, better known as Half-Sac, you've proven that you're Reaper Crew material this past year and earned your top rocker." Half-Sac stood and pushed away from the table and crossed to Clay. "Wear it with pride my brother." Clay handed Half-Sac the patch and hugged him, slapping him twice on the back before letting go.
"I will. Thank you." Half-Sac clutched his patch tightly in his hand and hugged each of his new brothers one by one. Chibbs pulled away from the hug, slapped him on the back and started up a call of "speech, speech, speech" and everyone joined in. Half-Sac wiped his nose and held his hands out for quiet the MC slowly quieted down. "Man. I've been waiting for a seat at this table for fucking ever. I didn't think I was ever going to earn it." He pulled his chair out and sat down.
"What kind of speech was that?" Happy called out.
"The best kind." Piney shouted back. "Short!"
"Take your seats fellas." Clay lit a cigar and returned to his chair at the head of the table. "We've got one more matter of business to attend to before we can get to the party." He turned and looked at Bobby. "This is your idea." Clay settled down and propped both feet up on the table.
"It seems we're short a Prospect." Bobby looked at each member of the club in turn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm sure as hell gonna miss having somebody around to do all the shit I don't want to do." There were muffled sounds of agreement around the table.
"It's my turn now!" Half-Sac called out.
"You got somebody in mind?" Jax asked.
"I think we ought to bring that Riggins boy in." Bobby studied the familiar faces around the table. He'd put off the suggestion until Half-Sac earned his top rocker for a reason, he wasn't sure the MC would go for it. They loved CaraCara: the women, the money, the live porn whenever they wanted it -- and generally had nothing but contempt for the men who worked in the business. Since Luanne's death they'd steered Lyla toward more and more girl/girl - until Bobby had forced the issue of the jerk films.
"You serious?" Opie was the first to respond.
"Wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't."
Juice held up a hand and nodded. "I'm all for it. I like him. I like him a lot."
"You like him?" That was Tig. "What -- are you girls paintin' each other's nails now?"
"Not anymore than you and Clay do." Juice shot back.
There was a sharp burst of laughter around the table. Bobby lit a joint and inhaled deeply, waiting for them to settle down. "I'm serious about this. He stuck his neck out for us when he didn't have to. He watches Teller-Morrow when we're all out on Club business." Bobby pointed his beer bottle at Jax. "Hell, he baby-sat Jax and Opie's kids the last time the shit hit the fan and there wasn't nobody else around to do it."
"He did stick his neck out at CaraCara." Opie agreed. "He didn't have to do that."
"Wasn't just his neck he stuck out." Tig muttered.
"All right," Clay puffed his cigar and blew out a series of smoke rings. "We're talkin' about Prospecting. There's nothing to say he'll make it through the year, just that we oughta give him the chance. What do you say?" He raised his own hand. "Who wants to make Come-shot a Prospect?"
Bobby, Juice, Half-Sac, and Opie all raised their hands immediately.
"Well when you put it like that," Chibbs said as he raised his own hand. "Who wouldn't want an extra Come-shot around?"
"Jesus Christ. First a Half-Sac and then a Come-shot." Piney held up a hand. "What's next?
Tig ticked each name off one by one. "Hot Carl, Angry Dragon, Cincinnati Bowtie, Dirty Sanchez, Poop Shoot, Corn hole, Cold Pack," he leaned back in his chair and kept right on. "Brown Rose, Chocolate Starfish, Gaping Hole, Cleveland Steamer--"
"Enough!" Clay hit the table with the heel of each hand. "And no more of those god damned names. Are we all in agreement?" Hands rose all around the table and Clay slammed the gavel down again. "In honor of our new brother, we have an obligation to fulfill, the best damn party this Club has seen this year. Let's get to it." As the MC filed out of the Chapel, Clay turned to Bobby. "You talk to him about this or are we just going to jump him in?"
"Clay, what kind of man would I be if I warned him?"
"A man I wouldn't want to know." Clay slung an arm around Bobby and they shut the door to the Chapel behind them and joined the party. The clubhouse was already hopping, nice and crowded with all of the current Nomads, Crow Eaters, a few of the girls from CaraCara, Old Ladies, and the Teller-Morrow employees, including one Tim Riggins. Beer and liquor were flowing, a cloud of sweet-smelling pot smoke hung in the air. Bobby breathed it all in and headed toward his favorite fire-crotch, getting face down in Mount Saint Helens was the perfect way to start the night. It was going to be a helluva party.
Many hours later, as the party was winding down and the crowd thinned out, Clay sent out the word that were going to jump Riggins in out in the yard at three a.m. Tim was already out there, sitting on a bench, leaning back against a picnic table, beer held loosely in one hand. A couple girls from CaraCara crowded around him vying for his attention. The MC circled around the table. "Go on and get." Bobby said to the girls.
They scattered quickly and Tim smiled drunkenly up at Bobby. "What's going on? I know that wasn't anybody's old lady."
"Son, it's time we taught you a lesson." Clay said and cracked the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other. "You been reaping the benefits of Samcro without paying any dues." Tig grabbed Tim by one arm and Chibbs by the other. "We're gonna change that now." Clay took the first shot across Tim's jaw knocking his head to the side. He stepped back, with a wince and shook his hand and flexed it a few times. "Jump him in boys."
"What the fuck?" Tim shouted and tried wrestling away from Chibbs and Tig, kicking out wildly and head butting anyone close enough as he struggled to defend himself. It was ugly and short, with the gang jumping him at once but Tim got in a few a good hits, evidenced by Tig's bleeding nose and Half-Sac's black eye. "That's enough." Clay called out when Tim was down on the ground, obviously unable to fight his way back to his feet. The MC pulled away and Juice and Half-Sac drug Tim to his feet.
Tim tried to pull his arms free but the guys held on tighter, he glared at Clay and spat a mouth full of bloody spit at his feet. "One more time. What the fuck?"
Clay smiled at Tim, stepped in close and patted him on the cheek, pleased when Tim didn't jerk away. "You're born in blood. You die in blood." Bobby stepped forward holding a black leather cut in his hand and handed it to Clay. Clay turned it around and held up the back so Tim could see it Prospect on the bottom. "You've got a year to prove yourself and earn your top rocker." He nodded at Juice and Half-Sac and they let go of Tim.
"What?" Tim's eyes flew back and forth between the cut and Bobby's face.
"Took a vote and made you our new Prospect. You've got a year to prove you deserve it or walk away." Bobby grinned as Tim wiped the blood running out of nose off with his shirtsleeve.
Tim took the cut and slid it on, a smile crept across his face. "Thanks."
"Come on Come-shot--"
"Jesus Christ, you're not callin' me that!"
"-- let's get you some ice for that pretty face of yours." Bobby hooked an arm across Tim's shoulders. "I don't think Lyla would appreciate you showing up tomorrow looking like something out of a meat grinder."
"Bobby, no way are we having a brother jerking his dick for money." Jax hopped up on the bar and off the other side and reached into the freezer for ice.
"Unless being a Prospect earns you money, I've got to or I'll lose my trailer." Tim sighed a little as he settled the ice pack on his eye.
"Prospects can stay in the bunk. Get your shit and you can move in tomorrow." Tig slammed down a shot and poured another and handed it to Tim. "I've spent most of my life back there."
Juice plopped down on the stool next to Tim. "I toldja man, once you're in the club -- you've got a family. We take care of our own."
Tim downed his shot and shifted the ice pack to his other eye. "Sounds perfect."
one year later
"You sure you want the full back piece?" Kat* asked as she sat on the stool behind Tim.
Tim looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, why?"
"It's a lot of ink for your first time."
"It's not my first time." Tim pulled his jeans up over his knee and revealed a panther on his calf. The numbers 2006, 33, and 6 were worked into the shading on the body.
"Nice." Kat nodded in approval. "Looks like Heather's** work."
"It is." Tim dropped the hem of his jeans and looked at Kat. "Do I need to get Heather to do this? Jax said you do most of the Reapers in Cali but--"
"Jax sent you?" Kat turned on the gun and Tim got comfortable.
He smiled as the needle pierced the skin on his shoulder. "He's my brother."
*Kat Von D: Kat owns High Voltage Tattoo in Los Angeles and is the star of LA Ink on TLC. www.highvoltagetattoo.com
**Heather Sinn: Heather works at Avalon Tattoo in San Diego.