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Hot Tar and a Hot Night	By : DodgeSuperBee Category: +1 through F > Cars Views: 2927 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Cars, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Hot Tar and a Hot Night
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
Archived: dA. Please ask permission before reposting.
Summary: Sentenced to community service and forced to pull Bessie the paver, Snot Rod discovers he has a tar fetish, and Wingo hardly sees that as a turn-off.
Warning Codes: I included the anthro tag because the characters are vehicles. All adult situations are consensual and between characters who are at least 18.
Pairing: Snot Rod/Wingo
Feedback: Reviews are welcome, but please no kvetching about whether Cars can have sex -- this is sci-fi/fantasy!
Characters: Boost, DJ, Sheriff, Tow Mater
Setting: Radiator Springs, during the end credits
Author's Note: This was written as one of my “Eight Requests” trades on deviantART, for metalik-fairy, who wanted a Snot Rod/Wingo slash story.
Disclaimer: All characters copyright Pixar/Disney. In fact, if anyone wants to take any element of this story and run with it creatively (art, writing, etc.) you have my permission.
Snot Rod slunk low to the ground as he stood in front of the massive paving machine with his three comrades. Sheriff was moving from one tuner to the next, attaching a towing bar so they could haul Bessie without creating undue stress on their frames, which had already been modified to the extent their tastes and budgets allowed. The police cruiser bolted the bar to the orange hotrod, then worked his way down the line to DJ.
The Barracuda was grateful he’d wound up next to the mobile disc jockey while Boost was safely at the far end. As the newest member of the gang, Snot Rod still found it hard to overcome his fear of the purple tuner, whose silver mesh panels complemented his frosty personality. Boost had little tolerance for failure, and had already made it clear that he blamed Snot Rod’s inability to keep up with the others for their capture by Sheriff. Never mind that it had been his idea to blaze through town in the middle of the day instead of under the cover of darkness. The Barracuda had done everything he could to avoid being alone with Boost for fear of reprisal.
DJ, on the other hand, was fairly harmless. If he had his music he was happy, although Sheriff had forced him to leave his entire discography at the courthouse while they worked. It wasn’t supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be work, he’d told them. The boxy Scion drew his mouth up in a pout, not only displeased at being deprived of his favorite bass-thumping tunes but at having to listen to the strains of Lizzie’s phonograph from her nearby porch.
Most of all, Snot Rod was especially glad he was not adjacent to Wingo. He might have even preferred being near Boost, for at least the fierce leader of the group couldn’t hurt him while they were both restrained in the towing harnesses. Snot Rod felt…different around Wingo than he did when he was with the others. Right now he was grateful for some distance between himself and his closest friend in the gang, for being chained up directly next to the one he had developed unspeakable feelings for would have been unbearable. Wonderfully unbearable.
While he’d been thinking about his fellow gang members, Sheriff had secured them all to Bessie, where they would remain for as many days as it took to finish the road. The cruiser kicked the last towing harness with a tire as if to check its strength and got a low growl from Boost in return. Their leader was likely already plotting his revenge, but the lawman just pulled the ends of his mustache up into a cheeky grin and wished them well as he started the paving machine up.
“Don’t work too hard!” His snide warning could barely be heard over the shaking body of the paver and the sloshing of the tar inside it. Then he poked his cab around the corner of the machine. “Truly, I mean it. You boys best do this job slow and steady, for if you rush you’ll only upset Bessie and she can be a might bit temperamental.” He rested a tire on the paver as if “she” were alive.
“Screw him and his paver bitch,” snarled Boost once Sheriff had rolled off merrily. “Going slow is what got us here in the first place.” He fixed a hateful glare on Snot Rod, who shrank behind DJ as best he could. Boost knew better than to use his nitrous canisters, but he threw all the power into his engine and kicked up an enormous cloud of dust behind his tires as he lurched forward. The others followed, and Snot Rod strained against the harness, determined to keep up. Gazing in his rearview mirror, he surveyed the thick field of fresh, flat asphalt behind them. They’d finished a mere four feet, and since the road ahead of them curved, he had no idea how long it might be.
The Barracuda sighed as the sun beat down mercilessly on his orange paint. Boost was leading the team at a quick clip, determined to finish the job and put as much distance between themselves and the town as he could. The paver behind them was burbling ominously, and a spray of tar droplets was issuing from the open top of its hopper. They were nearing Ramone and Flo’s tidy little cottage, which was surrounded by a newly-painted white picket fence. For some reason, seeing it made Snot Rod think of the miserable, crowded and dilapidated home he’d left a few years ago.
Directly in front of the house, Boost bucked hard against the harness in frustration, trying to spur the rest of his friends to put a little more effort into their work. Bessie choked up and without much warning, Snot Rod found himself covered with a thick blanket of hot tar. He could feel it oozing from his roof down his left window and onto his hood. The Barracuda reared up in surprise, and to his absolute horror, he was unable to stop a sly smile from breaking out across his face.
This actually feels…awesome, he realized with panic as he discovered something he might not have wanted to know about what he found arousing. He shifted his tires nervously, silently pleading the others wouldn’t notice he was enjoying this. As the tar slowly dripped from his frame, warming everywhere it touched, he stole a glance at his friends.
The other three tuners had not been spared, though he had not been drenched as thoroughly since he was on the far end of the line. Boost, heavily coated, was scowling and muttering at his mistake, and DJ pouted even more as he surveyed the gunk on his cobalt blue paintjob. Snot Rod finally worked up the courage to check out Wingo, and gasped at the vision of the green and purple car, spattered from his spoiler to his roof to the stylized graffiti on his sides.
“Tell me you’re not getting off on this,” threatened Boost, overhearing the Barracuda’s gasp. Snot Rod stammered a denial and forced his mouth into an exaggerated frown.
Don’t let on… he silently begged himself. As angry as Wingo looked, he was only more attractive in Snot Rod’s eyes, more vulnerable, and maybe not as perfect and untouchable as he usually appeared.
“You’re into tar? Sick.” muttered Boost, trying to shake the sludge off his frame. “That’s about as vile as it gets.” Snot Rod dipped his front end low, wishing he could hide between his oversized tires as Boost mocked him.
He wasn’t done. “If I could reach you from here I’d give you something to grin about.”
“Aw, knock it off, would ya?” a voice chimed in. Snot Rod’s engine purred as Wingo stood up to his superior. “I’m pissed about this as the next guy,” he said, winking at DJ next to him, who did indeed look very unhappy, “but this gives us an excuse for a repaint.” He stretched forward as far as the harness would permit and stole a glance at Snot Rod, slowly and lasciviously running his tongue along his upper teeth.
The Barracuda was so taken aback that his tires simply stopped rolling and he only came to his senses when he found himself being dragged by the motion of the others. Had the desert heat caused him to see things, or had his wildest fantasy come true? Wingo’s gesture was not a simple reassurance that he was still accepted in the gang; it was more of a promise that…more was to come later. Snot Rod tried to imagine what the import might be plotting. He had caught more subtle signs of attention from Wingo before, but they had not been the type of clues that definitively meant he was interested in him.
As they finished the first day’s work in the waning hours of daylight, nearly half the street lay behind them, freshly layered with asphalt. Drained from the exertion and irritated at the catcalls from visitors to the town, the four slumped in the harnesses as they waited for Sheriff to free them for the night and direct them to the impound lot. They’d detached themselves from Bessie, but each was still in a harness and weighted down too much to even think of making a run for it.
“Seein’ ya reminds me of the time Sheriff done made me pull Bessie,” Tow Mater drawled as the four uninterested tuners stood around. “It was fer blowin’ up his mailbox with a firecracker, but lookin’ back it was so funny I think it was worth it. Let me tell ya, Bessie had somethin’ ‘gainst me that day ‘cause she dumped more tar on me than the road itself, but at least it didn’t ruin my premium paint job.” He chuckled, then continued on though no one was listening.
Boost was still overcome with disgust from the revelation that a member of his gang was such a twisted deviant. It was okay to steal, to vandalize, to fight, but to reveal some kinky fetish when only his male friends were around was unforgiveable. After the incident, his plans of revenge had shifted from Sheriff to the Barracuda.
“Hey, come here a second and check the level of asphalt, would ya?” he called, trying to sound like he had no ulterior motives. Snot Rod approached, obedient but suspicious, and eyed the gauge on the side of the hopper.
“Um, yeah, it’s low,” he said cautiously, hating the nasal tone his voice had taken on, “but isn’t Sheriff going to refill it in the morning?” He couldn’t get any more words out, because Boost had shoved the hopper with great force and upended it, spilling the remaining tar over his entire frame.
“Hope you enjoyed that,” he snorted, leaving Snot Rod drenched and humiliated. The orange muscle car tried to pick his way out from the thick mess that reached halfway up his hubcaps, but his tires were practically rooted in place and he could barely see through his coated windshield. Hating himself for his gullibility, he sighed and sank lower, aware he was probably out of the gang.
“Hey, that weren’t very nice!” Mater said, though his sides shook with laughter. “Sheriff’s gonna make ya clean that up, ya know.” DJ overcame his surprise and joined in the fun at the expense of the stunned Barracuda.
“You’re an ass, Boost,” said Wingo boldly, and he dragged himself over to Snot Rod, pushing him forward with his front end until he was safely out of the tar. The feel of his friend breathing against him made the Barracuda’s breath catch in his throat.
“I told ya none of this was his fault,” continued Wingo, and Boost lunged at him, irritated beyond belief at the audacity of the green car who had apparently forgotten his place as his subordinate. Mater stopped chuckling, a frown spreading across his face.
“Now boys, iffen ya kin’t git along I’m gonna hafta separate ya.” Not waiting for Sheriff, he caught up Boost’s harness in his tow hook and hauled him unceremoniously to the impound lot, then returned for DJ, who he assumed was neutral in the dispute. When he had safely left them for the night, he returned for Wingo, moving him elsewhere in town, then returned and caught up Snot Rod’s harness.
“Yer buddy ain’t much of a friend,” he said, trying to make the downtrodden car feel better. “With guys like him, who needs enemies? Well, anyway, this is Wimpy’s an’ ya an yer ladder-tailed friend kin stay here tonight. We use this as the backup impound lot ‘cause it’s got strong doors, so don’t think of tryin’ to escape or nothin’.” He shoved open the door to the abandoned building and pulled Snot Rod inside. After he wished them a good night, they could hear the sounds of various locks being set on the outside of the door.
Snot Rod’s eyes adjusted to the dark as he made out Wingo’s form a few feet away. There was a palpable silence in the room, and he swallowed nervously before speaking.
“Um…thanks for helping me out back there,” he stammered, sounding more nasal than ever, as he tended to do when he grew anxious. “You totally ruined your paint in the process.”
“It’s nothing,” said Wingo, grinning mysteriously. “So…the tar totally didn’t bother you?” Snot Rod’s blush was hidden by the thick layer coating his hood.
“Not really,” he said casually. “It didn’t feel so bad.”
“From the look on your face at the time, I’d say it felt really good,” Wingo continued, gently prying for more details.
“Okay, I admit it, it was sorta…nice.” Snot Rod realized he was letting his guard down, but he felt safe around Wingo now that he knew how the other tuner felt about him.
“You’re strange, but that’s not a bad thing,” said Wingo, his voice almost a purr. He inched forward into the rectangle of light from the single window that was not boarded up. On the street below them, the neon lights had come on and the nightly cruise had started. The amplified strains of oldies music vibrated the floorboards beneath their tires and he found that while it wasn’t his usual choice of tunes, the beat wasn’t unpleasant.
“So…I wonder what type of guy Wimpy was, anyway?” he continued, changing the subject. They cruised around slowly in the gloom, approaching a battered metal counter that must have been the checkout desk when Wimpy had run his store here.
“A real bastard, from what Mater told me on the way here,” answered Snot Rod. “He said he used to beat on his wife and was cruel to his kids…that tow truck told me everything I never wanted to know about Wimpy and I swear he even took the long way here just so he could finish his story.”
“Good, then I really hope this was his desk and I don’t feel bad doing this,” said Wingo abruptly, shoving Snot Rod against the counter and nuzzling him. His friend’s mind promptly went into overdrive at the unexpected gesture.
To be continued...
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Hot Tar and a Hot Night