#tarantino fandom

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Cliff pats his hand along to the song on the radio, idly trying to identify it. Getting away for the weekend was a good plan-- he needed the time away from work, or lack of it, and while he loved Rick, he needed a break from that hot mess of a poor bastard for a while too. That's the good thing about living in Hollywood. He was just a short drive away from the coastal waters of the Pacific, there for when he wanted to cut through the shit and remember what it's like to be a living, breathing man again.

Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater. That's the fucking name of this song. Hey... what's--

In the distance, Cliff spots something by the side of the road. Someone!

A girl, lying on her side.

"Sheeit," he mutters, really toiling here. He just wants to get to his fucking motel and sleep for 24 hours by the beach... then again... hit and run passed out young thing on the side of the road...

Cliff resigns himself to being a good Samaritan. He pulls over. The little yellow car comes to a sputtering halt beside you, and you stir a little. Cliff lets his reflective sunglasses slide down his nose as he takes a good look at you. You've got a deep gash running across your chest, stuck with gravel, but other than that, you just seem to be a little bruised up.

"Look at you! Somebody's done some damage," he remarks, squatting down beside you.

"Not too much, I hope," you croak, wincing.

"Don't think so," the man smiles a little, "Face is pretty as I've ever seen one." He frowns a little, obviously chastising himself for flirting with a girl that currently resembles roadkill.

"You don't have to stop hitting on me," you smirk, coughing a little as you try to sit up. "It's making me feel better."

"In that case," he grins, helping you to your feet, "Why don't you tell me what the hell happened, beautiful?" You stumble a little, and he holds out his arm again. "Take this here bicep-- that's it, right there--"

"Are you flexing?"

"Don't know what you're talking about--"

"You are!"

"Okay, maybe a little. Kind of a lot." He gives a low chuckle, and guides you to his car, where some CCR song is just ending. He takes off the yellow Hawaiian shirt he's got on, leaving him in a tight white sleeveless shirt. He hands you the article to put pressure on your wound. 

“But your shirt--”

“More where that came from. All just as ugly.  Here we are. Theeere's a good girl-- you just sit there all nice like, and you tell me how I came to find you like that, all fucked up with a smushed ice cream cone beside you."

"I was waiting for a ride... guess I ventured too far until the road, and got hit. Kind of. I feel like I didn't actually get hit."

"A shock graze." Cliff nods, some part of him relieved that you weren't actually hit by a speeding car.

"A what?"

"In the business, that's what we call it. You get a... close call, feels like the real thing."

"You a race car driver or something?" you tease, trailing your fingers up his jeans. 

He flashes another one of those half smiles. "Stunt double."

"Ooh," you cough, grimacing as you hold his shirt on your gash, "Hollywood type. You don't strike me as that type, Mr. Hollywood."

"Well, that's because I don't technically live there, angel. Just work and breathe there. I live in Burbank with my girl."

You quirk an eyebrow. "You've got a girl, huh?"

He glances over, sees your expression, and laughs. "Yep. My dog, Brandy. She's a bratty little mutt. Love her to death."

You smile. "Far out. I dig dogs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good thing I didn't bring her. She don't take too kindly to strangers." You think he's serious, until he wiggles his eyebrows at you. He gives you another sideways look, switching between you and the road. "Where you from, anyway?"

You shrug. "Around."

He shakes his head. "Nah, see there ain't none of this 'around' shit. I pick you up, I gotta know if you're an axe murderer, or... if you're just here to toy with me before you kill me or some fucking bananas natural born killers shit."

"I don't wanna kill you," you snort, "But toying with you sounds like fun." You turn fully toward him. "Besides, where would I fit an axe? Up my ass?"

He bursts into incredulous laughter, and shakes his head.

The California coastal countryside passes you by as Cliff drives on to his digs by the beach waiting for him.

"You sure you're doing okay, honey?"

"I'll be fine," you say softly. "Thanks for finding me."

The two of you drive on in relative silence, stealing glances at one another when the other isn't looking. Cliff is a man of few words, but he's attractive, and you can't wait to see what lies ahead... if your wounds would kindly give you a break for the night.

He's really a sexy stranger-- well, he's not much of a stranger. He's introduced himself to you, hasn't he? And you haven't returned the courtesy.

"Name's (y/n)," you say, resting your elbow on his right forearm, "I'm backpacking here."

"Backpacking," Cliff nods, taking a right turn, "Sounds like fun. You oughtta be a little more careful, though."

"Damn right," you huff, "My bleeding chest is teaching me that." You look down at it, pulling the sticky shirt away. It looks a little better now-- the bleeding's stopped at least.

"When we get to mine, we'll get that dirty old shirt off you and wash you up proper, sound good?"

"Mhm," you nod. "Thanks for doing this, Cliff. You didn't need to."

He smirks. "I know. Still don't know why I did."

You smirk back, leaning into him. "I'll show you why you did."

He chuckles again, and hits the gas harder, peeling around another bend. In about five minute's time, you make it to what looks like a little shack... right on the beach, no one around for miles.

"Yep," he runs his hands through his blonde hair, "It ain't much, but it's home away from home."

"It's amazing," you say truthfully, closing your eyes and listening to the waves practically hit the side of the little house. "Where I'm from, there's no water for miles. This is beautiful."

He nods in thanks, squinting out at the water with his hands on his hips.

"Not my property, actually. It belongs to the state of California, or some shit. I’ll just live here until they find out."

"When's that gonna be?"

He shrugs. "They haven't noticed little old me in 30 years."

He helps you inside. It's just as homely you would imagine with someone like Cliff. It's not messy per say, but it's lived in, and comfortable. A couple broken signs hang lopsided on the wall, one neon bar sign with the pink silhouette of a busty woman holding a beer, and one that reads "What happens at the beach house stays at the beach house."

It's a nice place.

"Mine," you grin, and lay across the sunken couch. He smiles, flinging your feet off the cushion with a heave.

"Mine," he corrects. You compromise by tossing your feet over his lap, and he shakes his head, groaning.

"I picked me up a troublemaker here." He takes a good look at you. "Rick would love you. You're just his type."

"Rick who?" you ask, twirling your hair.

"Dalton. He's my boss."

"The movie star? Huh." You look down. "And... what about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Am I your type?"

He looks at you a long time, as if thinking about it. "I haven't decided yet." He shrugs it off, getting off the couch. "Enough chit chat. We gotta get you clean."

"You gonna shower with me, Mr. Hollywood?"

"No, I'm gonna direct you to the shower, and leave you to goddamn shower on your own like a big girl."

You giggle, hanging onto his arm as he ushers you down the hall. "Big girls need their daddies too, sometimes."

He hesitates, and you see something flicker behind his eyes. He buries it quickly, but you saw it-- you know his weakness.

In the washroom, you take off your clothes, and gingerly get into the spray, letting it run over you. The cut's doing a lot better now, and though you're bruised from the fall, you're okay. You're just lucky a man with half-decent morals found you.

Getting out, you tug on the boxers Cliff had left you beside some other clothes of his, and get an idea.

---

"What the hell am I doing with her?" Cliff mumbles aloud. He wished Brandy was here-- she was a good listener. "Shit. Pretty girl naked in my bathroom? Nah. I ain't doing shit with her."

He starts to blend some ice and Miller (his personal favourite creation he likes to call the Daily Grind) and lights up a smoke. He takes a deep drag, thinking of your perky body, the way you'd looked at him in the case...

"Well now," he starts to walk around his house, "Cliff. You've been provided with a seemingly no-lose scenario opportunity."

Just then, he hears your footsteps approach behind him.

"Sorry-- I just thought it would be better if my injury got a little air..."

Cliff turns in question, and nearly drops hot ash on himself. You're leaning against the wall, completely topless, wearing only his boxers, riding down your hips.

"That's fine," he grins, huffing.

"Groovy," you wink.

He points to your peaked nipples with his cigarette. "You're not careful there, sweet thing, you're gonna catch a chill."

"I have you to keep me warm," you retort.

"God damn," he mutters to himself, smiling.

"I know it's a lot to ask, after you picked me up and everything... but you got any food around here? I'm staaarving," you bite your lip. He narrows his eyes. You're being coy now. He swings himself over to the little kitchen area, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Hell, you think I'm gonna bring you all the way out here and not feed you?" He holds out a bowl of kraft dinner he made, and you take it, eating some of the gooey orange mess.

"Mmmm."

"Guessin' you’re a... big fan of mac and cheese," he smirks. You saunter up to him, desire dripping from your voice.

"I think I’m a bigger fan of you.” 

His beer concoction and cigarette are forgotten as you hop up onto him, forcing him to hold you by your ass. You wrap your legs around his back, and in one smooth swing, he has you turned and pinned against the counter.

"I have half a mind to tell you you're overexerting yourself, and send you to bed," he whispers against your lips. You growl.

"Don't you dare."

"I don't know," he plays, dipping his head back from another kiss, "You really think you're up for the pounding you're 'bout to get, honey bear?"

"Fuck yes, daddy, I want it," you moan, and that look comes over his face again.

"Then daddy's gonna give it to you."

He tugs the boxers down, and you use your toes to shimmy his jeans down, guessing correctly that he didn't have anything underneath today.

"Commando?" you murmur, kissing up his neck.

"I seem to've lent out my only pair of underwear," he teases, as you kick said pair off your ankle. You suddenly push yourself off the counter, and drop down to your knees, taking him all the way out of his faded jeans. You wrap your lips around the tip, holding by the base, and he groans, tipping his head back.

"Jesus H Christ," he mutters, "Haven't felt this since... shit, I don't even know..."

"Like it?" You lick along his shaft.

"Love it, babygirl, just love it."

You deepthroat him, and his groans get louder,. lazier, and more drawn out.

"Fuuuuck me up, that's special," he licks his lips, "You gonna let me return that favor?"

"Feeling your big cock inside me is payback enough," you moan, and pull his knees out, toppling him to the floor and crawling on top of him. Wide eyed for a moment, he lets you take the upper hand, but secures you tightly against his crotch as you grind there. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you there, guiding you, and your hands grab for his chest. After a moment of this, he flips himself back on top, and you feel two fingers slip inside you.

"That good?" he whispers against your face. You can barely speak-- you nod feverishly, clutching his muscular shoulders. "Mmm, you're a big girl, baby. I think you can handle three." He flashes a grin as he adds a third finger, and you rock down, moaning so loudly that if there WERE neighbors, they'd be calling the cops. "Come on now, I know you ain't shy. Moan for daddy. Make lotsa nice noises for daddy-- that's it."

"Fuck," you breathe, feeling your orgasm race.

"Come on, let em know!"

"FUCK, DADDY! Deeper-- deeper, right there!"

"Hell yeah. Hell yeah, baby, scream for me!"

You shout his name as you come for the first time, and he gives you a second to calm down before he threads his hand with yours on the kitchen floor.

"You good?"

"Yeah," you gasp, and he parts your legs, using your slick to pump himself a few times before getting between and pushing in. "Ohgod--"

"Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

He starts up a rhythm, holding you tight, propping your head up in his arms as he fucks you good and deep, harder with each snap of his hips.

"So close," you ramble, grinding down to meet his thrusts.

"Am too." He holds your hand, keeping you pinned as he waits for you, slowing his pace to gentle circles of his hips until you cry out, gushing around him again. He then fucks you hard through your amazing climax, keeping you close to him. He pulls out, rubbing your clit to draw you out as he comes as well, some hitting your inner thigh. You bite your lip, laying down and closing your eyes in bliss.

"'M all fucked out," you yawn, and Cliff keeps himself propped on his forearms above you. He shakes the blonde locks out of his face.

"You got exactly what you wanted, didn't you?" he smiles.

"Exactly what I wanted." You sling your legs around his neck, and he holds them there, massaging them lightly.

"I suppose you'll be wanting the rest of that mac and cheese?"

You shrug. "I've had enough. I'd rather fuck all night out there on your beach."

"Not my beach."

"On a beach. The beach."

"Thought you were all fucked out."

"Feelings are fleeting. They change moment to moment. Now are we gonna have some more fun or what?"