“Alright,” I said, settling deeper into the leather, the seat hugging me as it remembered the shape of my body. “As far as first dates go, I’ve taken you out for a drink.” I glanced at the fuel gauge I’d just filled; the dial floated happily at ‘FULL’. “I think it’s only fair I take you out for a proper ride now. Maybe somewhere quiet afterward.” A laugh slipped out of me as I ran my hand along the steering wheel, fingers tracing the worn Mustang emblem at the center. “Usually when I pump someone full, they can’t walk afterward,” I continued with a grin. “But I reckon you’re something special. So how about we stretch your legs?”
The engine responded with a deeper rumble, the idle climbing for a moment before settling again. My foot hadn’t touched the pedal; Fox was pleased with my suggestion.
“I know a nice drive,” I offered. “Head down the highway for a while, then take the exit to the state park. I’ll find you a safe place to pull up.”
I hadn’t talked to a car in years, not since my 1969 Mustang I’d named Scarlet, and she never talked back, not in the way Fox does. Fox agrees with me; the rev of the engine without me even stepping on the gas told me it’s just as eager to run as I am.
***
Driving Fox felt like the first breath after escaping prison.
The Mustang surged onto the highway with a smooth growl, the old V8 pulling strong despite its age. Not the fastest thing on the road anymore, but there was a raw powermodern cars couldn’t mimic: just a loud engine, a manual transmission, and the open road. The only restraint now was my seatbelt, and Fox had pulled that down across me without asking. Ahead of us stretched miles of open asphalt, the white lane markers flashing beneath the headlights.
They say a car becomes an extension of your body when you really drive it, but this felt like more than just good spatial awareness. Holding the wheel, I could feel the wind rolling across the frame, the tires gripping the road, and the subtle feedback from the suspension as we crossed small imperfections.
A pebble struck the undercarriage. I felt it.
Air rushed into the intake as the engine breathed. I inhaled with it, lungs filling as the two of us shared the same rhythm. My heart hammered in my chest, pounding like the pistons firing beneath Fox’s hood.
For that first real drive, we were one.
And then it stopped being enough. The speed climbed.
Sixty.
Seventy.
Eighty.
Still not enough. I wanted more. More sound. More motion. More of that living vibration humming through the car.
I closed my eyes, letting Fox take control, my heart hammering in my chest. Beneath my hands, the wheel shifted; one way, gently, then the other, correcting as we rounded curves and corners. I grinned as the car slowed for the off-ramp, and I sank back into the leather seat, wiping sweat off my forehead as the wheels crunched lazily over gravel.
I didn’t open them again until I felt us come to a stop. Darkness had enveloped everything around us; the only light came from Fox’s headlamps, assuring us privacy for whatever was to unfold.
Usually, I’d pull into a space and kill the engine. Not this time.
I wanted to hear the car breathe. I wanted it alive.
“Fox,” I whispered in summoning.
I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t surprised as shadows spilled slowly across the dark interior, seeping out from the vents and seams of the dash. I held my breath. At first, it was barely visible, a gray haze moving in the dim cabin light. Then it deepened, becoming darker, denser.
Either the car was filling with fumes, and I was hallucinating, or Fox was more than just a car.
The shadows gathered in the passenger seat, swirling and thickening as the darkness started to take shape, corporealizing from nothingness. A face formed inches from mine; delicate features emerged from the smoke, shifting and settling until glowing yellow eyes locked onto my own. They were the same eyes I’d met in the review mirror.
“Still think I was a stupid decision?” The shadow asked, sounding amused, teasing.
“Never,” I breathed.
My words passed through the smoky form and scattered it for a moment before the shadow gathered again and pressed its warm, hungry lips against my own.
I’d made out in my car countless times before, but it was never like this; kissing Fox wasn’t a physical sensation, it had none of the electrifying connection when two tongues met. I knew it was a kiss, I felt it, but not in the same way I was used to. It was the concept of a kiss, soft, dizzying, the shadowy lips sinking into mine, making it a spiritual connection, a kiss on a whole new level.
The kisses weren’t enough.
I wanted more. But how? I couldn’t even comprehend the logistics of taking it further. How do you fuck a car? Stuffing my cock into the tailpipe was stupid, comical. Objectively, no one would enjoy that.
