DRIVE    by Jayne Leitch
   C. 2000

     "No peeking."

     Johnny heard the partition slide closed; once he was sure his boss couldn't see him
anymore--not that Sonny'd be paying attention to what his bodyguard was doing at that
moment anyway--he rolled his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

     In the back of the car, less than ten feet away from him, Mr and Mrs Corinthos were
having sex.  It was about damn time.

     The lake was coming up on his left; flipping the turn signal, Johnny aimed the car for
the entrance to the quiet, newly-paved road that circled the body of water, and settled
into a slow cruise.  He wasn't sure how long he'd have to circle the water--the
conservative estimate that popped into his head was fifteen minutes--but judging by the
increased noises coming from the backseat, Johnny inwardly upped that estimate to half
an hour, maybe longer.  It all depended on the amount of tension those two had built up;
when he thought back on the atmosphere that had been pervading Penthouse Four lately,
the bodyguard sighed again and upped his estimate once more.  They were going to take
forever.

     Johnny hit the cruise control and slipped his foot off the gas pedal, slumping down a
little more comfortably in his seat.  He had high hopes for what was going on behind
him; he knew from experience that when Sonny and Carly were at odds, *everybody*
suffered, but when they were--ahem--getting along, it was almost as if his boss was
actually happy.  That second state was much-desired by anyone who'd worked for the
man for any length of time, and Johnny'd been his head bodyguard for *years*.

     Of course, it was perfectly obvious that the man was in love.  The fact that he was in
love with *Carly*, well--Johnny jumped a little as something struck the partition then fell
backwards with enough force to sway the whole car--the woman gave as good as she was
given, and that was probably the best Sonny could ask for.  Johnny would never say it to
his boss' face, of course, but he sometimes got a little...dominating.  A little too full of his
power, and when he got in those moods Sonny felt like he could rule the planet.  Now
that he thought about it, Johnny realized that Carly Benson--Corinthos--was the only
woman he'd ever known Sonny to be in a relationship with who contradicted that
megalomaniacal attitude--on a regular basis, yet!--and who Sonny didn't want to toss by
the curbside because of it.

     Johnny grinned, silently amused.  Oh, yeah.  Had to be love.

     The limo swayed once more, and the bodyguard's attention was drawn more strongly
to the steering wheel; frowning, he gripped the cushioned plastic and attempted to drive
straight.  What were they *doing* back there?  It was as if the whole back half of the car
was swerving along totally independent of his efforts to steer...

     Johnny remembered his ex-girlfriend, Gina.  They'd done the sex-in-a-car thing, once.
Of course, Johnny didn't have his own driver, so the car had been stopped at the
time--and it had been a stick shift, so they'd had to relocate to the back seat like a couple
of teenagers--but it hadn't been bad.  His chief complaint had been a lack of room, and
Gina had mentioned afterward that the fake leather seats had stuck painfully to certain
parts of her anatomy--but another sway of the car and a double-voiced drawn-out moan
from the back seemed to indicate that these were problems Compact Mini owners had to
suffer through, and Deluxe Edition Sedan owners never had to consider.

     It was almost criminally unfair.  As Johnny spun the car around a corner and into its
second pass around the water, he dwelt unpleasantly on those people who could afford
car sex that was actually romantic.  There was Sonny, doing the sexiest, sultriest,
most-fantasized-about woman Johnny had ever met--in the back of a car, in
air-conditioned comfort, on soft seats with extra leg room.  And Johnny was stuck up
front with a smoked-glass partition between him and the action, having to listen.

     It was impossible to have a vicarious sex life by listening.  Those thumps and
smackings could be *anything*.

     Of course, the controls for the partition were right next to his left hand...

     Johnny shook his head and clenched his fist.  Turning Peeping Tom while driving
could have unpleasant side-effects--other than being yelled at by Mr Corinthos.  The
absolute *last* thing Johnny needed was to have to pay for car repairs from accidentally
swerving into the lake because he'd been distracted by watching the boss screw his wife.
Although God knew, what those two needed most back there (other than the sex) was to
be doused in very very *cold* water.  It could only do them good; didn't cold water open
pores, or something...?

     Johnny became aware of a long spate of silence, and dared a glimmer of hope.  Maybe
they'd finished already; hell, they'd been avoiding being horizontal--or within 45 degrees
of horizontal--with each other for months.  Maybe they'd used up all that frustrated
energy in one really *powerful* give-in-fuck, and were willing to wait until they got back
to the penthouse for the next round.  Anything was possible, and they *had* been rocking
the car pretty hard...

     A low chuckle and even lower moan pulsated through the partition, and Johnny
shifted a little in his seat.  Apparently, he'd thought too soon.

     As the back of the limo began to rock once more to its own internal rhythm, the
bodyguard sighed and tried to concentrate on the road.  Maybe he'd been wrong before;
too much longer of listening to the sounds coming from behind him, and he'd have to
book some quality bathroom time as soon as they reached the penthouse...

     His hands moved, and Johnny turned the car into its fourth trip around the lake.

End.

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