Sarge's Secret Infatuation

Sarge's Secret Infatuation


A friend requested this pairing from me. It was original supposed to be a drabble, but I had so much fun with it that it ended up becoming a short story.


Chapter One


There was a knock at the door, and Sarge quickly slipped the magazine beneath his dresser with a tire.

"Come in!"

Fillmore poked his round front end into the bedroom. Of course, Sarge had known it was him. He knew his knock.

The bus immediately knew there was something amiss, the Jeep's voice had been gruff to the point of forced. Fillmore's eyes barely shifted beneath heavy lids, but he was noticing small cues from Sarge: a slight tinge of pink on his hood, a different quality to the sound of his engine, a slight hesitancy to make eye contact with him.

Fillmore's expression remained indifferent.

"How are ya, sirdude? I thought maybe you weren't home."

"I just didn't hear you."

Fillmore's mouth curled upward slightly.

"That's not like you, man."

Sarge scowled silently. He knew he was caught when Fillmore drove in a slow circle around him, eyes downward. The Jeep's blush deepened, and the bus' smile grew bigger as he eyed something rather obvious now that he could view Sarge's undercarriage.

"Ohoho, what have you been up to? Come oooon, why without me?"

Of course, Sarge wasn't budging.

"It's not what it looks like."

Fillmore snorted. "Come on, man, I know you too well."

Sarge's eyes fell to the floor, at the foot of the dresser. Fillmore's gaze followed, and he slipped a small tire beneath it and pulled out a magazine. His eyes went (for him) wide and for a moment his smile faded, but then it returned full force.

"No waaaay!"

"Now look, it's not that I -- "

"Relax, man. You know he's in Radiator Springs, right?"

Sarge's bottom bumper jutted out a bit more than usual, he rode a bit higher on his axles, wheels shifting slightly, and looked at the wall.

"I... was aware, yes."

Fillmore leafed through the magazine. It had been opened face down to photos of Chick Hicks. The rumours about McQueen posing for Cargirl had been incorrect, and clearly to Sarge's enjoyment.

"Yeah, I can see how he would be your type."

"He's not my type! He's just..."

"Hot?"

"Well, er, yes..."

Fillmore snickered. "Rugged? Tough? Boxier than a Jeep?" The bus knew how to make his partner blush.

"Knock it off, hippie."

"You could always give it a shot. You don't know. He might swing that way. I'm pretty sure he's single." The two were in an open relationship. Fillmore firmly believed in free love.

"And not interested."

"Hey, you don't know that."

"Yes I do."

Fillmore caught his tone. His mouth hung open slightly.

"You mean you...?"

Sarge shuffled uncomfortably, but tipped his hood.

"Yes. I invited him over for a few drinks."

"Tell me all about it, man!"

"Fillmore..."

"Pleeaaase."

Sarge grumbled, then began:

I brought him over with the excuse that I would give him some things from the shop that might help him with his racing or training. I didn't know what the hell I would give him, I didn't even plan on getting into it. I just knew he had been milling around spying on McQueen and trying to learn how he was gaining the upper tire in all the races recently.

Not long ago I saw him at Flo's. I guess he had gotten brave enough to mingle. He looks bigger in person, and he drives with that square rear end of his jacked up slightly, you ever notice that? For Ford's sake, it's enough to turn any queer man's eye.

So anyway, I managed to get him over here. After driving behind him all the way here I had an unbearable hard on. You know, he's actually low enough to the ground that I could -- Anyway, I don't think he noticed. He doesn't notice much, I'll tell you that right now. Just talks about himself and laughs at his own jokes.

He was willing to take free drinks from me, too. He drank a lot. I thought he would be a heavyweight -- you know, a Buick -- but he sure as hell wasn't.

So after an hour or so he seems to be warming up to me. I'm not going to lie and say I was really listening to a lot he had to say. Most of it was about how unfair it is that McQueen has Doc Hudson as a mentor. I liked him though. He's got bearings that's for sure. I think with some discipline he could be better than McQueen, I really do. If only I could get him to join my Boot Camp...

I mentioned it to him, actually. I told him what I just told you. You know, that I thought he could unlock more of his potential with some training. I know I don't know anything about racing, but I'm confident there are things I could teach him that would help him. I think he would have joined, too, but I couldn't resist anymore.

His eyes had gone kind of glazed over and I could tell his hood was hot from all the drinking. I put my tire on his and left it there, and get this: he didn't seem to mind. Or notice. I wasn't sure. I couldn't believe it, though. Figuring I was in the clear, I leaned in a kissed him. That's when he went bug-eyed and backed away. Said that he wasn't some kinda f*g, then left, but I know he was lying. That car reeks of queer.

Fillmore was shaking with mirth by the end of Sarge's tale.

"Yeah, man, I'm surprised he said no. You're so damn charming, Sarge. Inviting a dude in for a drink then makin' a move on him on your first date while he's drunk!"

Sarge raised his roof slightly.

"Isn't that what you did to me?"

Fillmore looked thoughtful, even as Sarge snatched the magazine from his tires and shut it with a blush. He shoved it back beneath the dresser.

"Don't mention it to anyone! Though I'm sure he probably will. Half of the town probably knows already."

"I haven't heard anything about it..."

"Huh, he's probably afraid they won't believe he didn't go along with it."

It wasn't long before Fillmore had offered Sarge a bit of assistance with his hard on, and as he rode him from behind the Jeep groped beneath the dresser and flipped open his copy of Cargirl.