Author Note: I'm reposting this after making some 
minor changes to the story. Please use this version 
for archival purposes.


Bottle Tops and Pit Stops
by SLS
Classification: S, Doggett, Reyes
Rating: R for sexual situations
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me...yada, yada, 
yada.

Summary: Pizza, beer and NASCAR racing leads to much 
more for Doggett & Reyes. 

Notes: This story is a stand-alone, PWP piece I 
promised several folks I'd write. Sallie - this is as 
much of a smut romp as I can do. Hope you like it 
hon. ;) The NASCAR refs are for my dear friends, the 
"M" twins - Megan and Mara - who couldn't wait for me 
to do a NASCAR story with Doggett. *g* Thanks for the 
research help, ladies. Enjoy! :) The Miller Lite 
inclusion is for my friend, Jay, whose wife works 
there. ;) 

Feedback: I'd love it. Send to siriasl@yahoo.com.

Archive: IWTB, XFMU, The Vision, Gossamer, Spookys. 
Everyone else, please let me know so I can come see. 

Thanks: To MeridyM, who is one of the bestest betas 
an author could have in her corner. Your continued 
support and encouragement helps keep me writing, hon. 
Know that. :) And HUGE thanks also go out to the 
queen of de Love, Char "NaNookie" Chaffin, who called 
this "sweetly hot," which was the stamp of approval I 
was hoping for. ;) Finally, a special thanks to Polly 
for encouraging me in the NASCAR smut journey with 
her barrage of ideas. No Pop Tarts reference, hon, 
but definitely in a future story. ;) The Timberlands 
ref in there is *just* for you. *g*

Bottle Tops and Pit Stops
by SLS 

Not even an hour ago, Monica Reyes had been sitting 
on her couch, enjoying a lazy late Sunday afternoon 
and listening to the music of the local public radio 
station. That was until her phone rang, jarring her 
from the world she'd drifted into where nothing 
existed but the sound of a saxophone mixed with a 
soft, steady percussion background.

"Monica, interested in a free dinner?" John Doggett 
asked. 

She stretched her left arm above her head, pulling 
herself up from the cocoon of pillows in which she 
was nestled. "Are you doing the cooking?" she 
replied, a bit more playfully than usual. 

John chuckled softly. "Just come on over and find out 
for yourself. Say about seven." 

Monica looked at the VCR clock - it read five-forty. 
"Okay," she said. "Anything I should bring?"

"Nah, I got everything covered," he said. "I'll see 
you then."  

Standing up, she switched off her stereo, took her 
wineglass back into the kitchen and headed toward her 
bedroom to freshen up. After changing into jeans and 
a black v-neck top, she grabbed her keys to head on 
out.  She had a few stops to make on her way to 
John's.

*****************************************************

A few minutes before 7, John walked briskly to his 
front door after hearing the first chime of the 
doorbell. 

"Hey Monica, c'mon in," he said, moving to the side 
of the door so she could enter the foyer. He spotted 
a bottle in her hands behind her back. He was dressed 
casually in a deep blue T-shirt and jeans, with 
Timberlands on his feet. Monica couldn't help but 
notice that the color of the T-shirt made his eyes 
even bluer.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked.

Monica brought the bottle around to her front and 
showed him the red wine. "Just in case all you had 
was beer in the fridge," she said with a small smile. 

John laughed and led the way to the living room. 
Sitting on the coffee table was a pizza box and - 
just as Monica had suspected - two bottles of Miller 
Lite. She sat down on the sofa as John took the wine 
bottle from her hands and sat it on the kitchen 
counter.

"For later?" It wasn't quite a question. Grabbing a 
couple of plates and some napkins, he came back into 
the living room and sat next to her on the couch. She 
flipped open the pizza box and the aroma of fresh-
cooked pepperoni and cheese filled the air.

"My favorite," she said, grabbing a slice to take a 
bite. The gooey cheese stretched between her lips and 
the slice as she nibbled her way through it.  

"Good. I couldn't remember if you liked pepperoni," 
John said, twisting off the cap to his beer and 
washing down his own bites with a swig. He looked 
over to the television, which was switched off. "Want 
to watch some TV?" 

She looked up from her second slice. "Sure, go 
ahead," she replied, grabbing her own bottle and 
opening it.

The TV lit up and after a few minutes of channel 
surfing, landed on a NASCAR race, the Coca-Cola 600. 

"Hey, this looks good," he said, setting the remote 
down and grabbing another slice of pizza.

Monica glanced over to him, her eyebrows raised. 
"NASCAR? You watch car racing?" 

"Oh, sure," John said, slipping off his shoes and 
settling back into the cushions. "While I was growing 
up in Georgia, my dad was a big fan and used to watch 
the races every weekend. I knew some of the drivers 
better than my own family," he said with a laugh. 
"Richard Petty. David Pearson. Cale Yarborough. All 
the great ones. Don't watch it so much now as I did 
when I was young, but if I'm home and there's a race 
on, I'll watch it." 

Monica chuckled as she took another sip of beer. "You 
do realize those names mean nothing to me," she said, 
tucking her feet under her legs.  

"Well, then maybe I should teach you something about 
the sport," he said, a grin sneaking onto his face. 
He scooted a little closer so he could point at the 
screen in Monica's field of vision.

"Now, you see those guys in the matching outfits? 
Those are the driver's car team," he said, pointing 
his index finger to several men on the TV screen with 
the word "Viagra" and its logo printed on their 
jacket backs. "All the cars are sponsored by a 
company or product. Some guys get luckier than 
others, I guess," he said with a soft laugh. "If 
something happens to the driver's car while he's out 
on the track, he pulls into the pit and his team 
fixes him up so he can get back in the race."

John placed his left arm on the back of the sofa, 
where it occasionally brushed up softly against 
Monica's hair, sending a shiver down her spine. While 
he looked at the TV, she took a glance at his profile 
as he went into the different team member's jobs in 
the pit. His unique cologne of soap and a slight 
sweaty musk wafted off his shirt as he sat close to 
Monica. She caught hints of it as John continued to 
talk.

The network took a commercial break, so Monica picked 
up her beer and finished it. She really wasn't much 
of a beer drinker, but figured one wouldn't be too 
bad. John then collected their empty bottles and took 
them into the kitchen. Monica heard the soft "pop" of 
a cork as John opened her bottle of wine. 

He came back with another bottle of beer for himself 
and a glass of wine for her. They both leaned back 
into the sofa and enjoyed a few minutes of silence, 
enjoying their drinks. The sun had set, and the one 
light on next to John cast a soft glow on the room. 
Her head back against the sofa cushion, Monica felt 
her eyes grow heavier the longer she sat still. 

Monica turned her head toward him. "So, John, did you 
ever want to be a race car driver when you were 
growing up?" she asked. 

His eyes were closed and he looked almost on the 
brink of sleep himself, taking slow, deep breaths. 
"Maybe when I was younger and couldn't drive yet," he 
answered. "Then, after I was old enough to drive, it 
became more of a desire to go and go as fast as 
possible whenever I wanted without consequence. That 
was the biggest thrill of racing for me."

Monica held her wineglass between her fingers and 
leaned in closer to John. "How about having that 
complete control over a situation?" she said just 
slightly above a whisper. "You can't tell me that 
doesn't appeal to you, too."  

John opened his eyes, now wide awake, and looked 
straight into hers. "Well, of course," he replied, 
sipping from his bottle. "The discipline of 
concentrating on just the path in front of you and 
achieving the goal of the finish line is attractive 
too, no doubt." 

As he spoke, he noticed the luminous quality of her 
skin in the lamplight, the curve of her neck up into 
her face and down toward her shoulders and chest. He 
had seen her features dozens of times before since 
they'd known each other, but now he was just starting 
to notice how sensual they were.
 
The way he was looking at her brought back the shiver 
Monica had felt earlier, along with a quiver to her 
stomach. Glancing away, she noticed the race was back 
on TV.

"Hey, John, your race is about to start," she said, 
looking back over to him. When she did, he cupped her 
chin with one hand. 

"No, I think my motor has been running for quite some 
time," he said, leaning in closer.  Her eyes closed 
slowly as his lips descended upon hers in a long, 
gentle kiss.

Monica looked up into his blue eyes, draping her arms 
around his neck. "So, John, is this one race you 
think you have the discipline to finish?"

He answered her by taking her face in both hands and 
kissing her with more fervent hunger. She responded 
eagerly, running her fingers through his hair and 
tugging slightly on his ears. Her breasts heaved with 
anticipation as John's hands skimmed down her body, 
his fingers tracing down her ribcage to the swell of 
her hips. 

"Maybe we should move somewhere more comfortable," 
she said, slightly out of breath. John nodded and 
stood up off the couch. Taking her hand, he led 
Monica a few feet over to the soft carpet in front of 
the television. They lay down together and turned, 
facing each other. John took her face in his hands 
once more and just stared at her for a few minutes. 
Her eyes were hazy with arousal, a deeper shade of 
brown than normal.

"How did I not notice these eyes before now?" he 
asked softly. She smiled under his penetrating gaze.  
Leaning in, he kissed her eyelids one by one and 
followed down her neck to her collarbone. She slid 
her hands under his T-shirt and grazed his chest with 
her fingers. 

"Just lie back," he said, rolling her to her back. 
Sitting up, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it 
towards the sofa. He then moved to her shirt, inching 
it up and gently pulling it over her head. Then, he 
stripped off his jeans and helped Monica ease out of 
hers as well as the rest of her clothes, followed by 
his. 

Dropping to his knees, he leaned over her body. He 
drew his tongue down her stomach, lower and lower 
until he hit her hottest spot over and over again. 
Unable to wait much longer, she lifted his head and 
slid down the carpet until he was positioned directly 
over her. 

She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around his 
back. Without hesitation, he slowly pressed all of 
himself into her. Under his weight, she felt as 
though he was consuming her. Her limbs tingled and 
she let herself go completely.  John touched her in 
all the right places, pressing his fingers into her 
clit, teasing it to bring her closer to release. He 
seemed to know instinctively just where to go and how 
long to stay there. 

Sliding his arms beneath her, he lifted her hips to 
him. "Oh, God, don't stop. Please don't stop, John," 
she murmured as he touched her. 

The grin returned to his face hearing her plea. "Not 
until I hit the finish line," he whispered. He slowly 
brought Monica to the point of ecstasy and himself 
along with her. 

Utterly satisfied and spent, she sighed, and he 
collapsed to the carpet beside her.  They lay there 
together for a while, each of them catching their 
breath.  She rolled onto her side, running a hand 
along his arm to his shoulder, then back down his 
chest. 

"I'd say you finished this race in first place, 
John," she said, smiling. He leaned over and kissed 
her softly, gathering her into his arms. 

He reached up and grabbed some pillows and a blanket 
from the sofa and covered them with the blanket as 
Monica spooned her back up to John's chest.

"Now, about those race drivers," she said in a low, 
seductive voice. "How long do they wait between 
races?"