I totally forgot to upload the cut scenes!

Some of the cut scenes were linked to my Tumblr along the way, but I wanted to archive them for ease of reference. In addition to cut scenes, I'm adding the very rough reference scene for when Erik met Shaw after Raven showed up at Charles' apartment. I'm also adding a few questions I've been asked about the story, plus other random things.

If that isn't enough, you can check out prompted back stories in Strict Machine: Prompt Fills. I'll add more fills to that over time.

Pseudo chapter: cut scenes

The original, very crappy beginning from January 2012. In my defense, I hadn't written anything beyond a couple poems for more than five years when I started Strict.

With his eyes shut, Charles couldn't always tell the difference between tuner cars and motorcycles. However, he knew the sound of an older model Kawasaki ZX6R when he heard it. At least, that's what he thought every time he heard a transverse in-line four cylinder engine with a Yoshimura exhaust pipe.

If he'd thought about it, the sound would have promoted a lopsided list of pros and cons concerning his move to Phoenix, Arizona. However, he hadn't given motorcycle engines much thought when he eagerly accepted the research opportunity that swept him from his comfortable, and often motorcycle-free, tenure in Oxford.

And why would he be thinking of motorcycles during a bitter English February, when most two-wheeled aberrations were under tarps, in garages, or locked away in storage facilities? Rather, he had thought of conducting research in lovely, temperate, desert winter. He had also thought of tequila, authentic Mexican food, and sunscreen. Especially the sunscreen.

Charles had not thought about Hell's Angels, he had not thought about Ruff Ryders, and he had certainly not thought about twelve months of mostly perfect motorcycle riding weather. Thoughts of 1997 Kawasaki ZX6Rs and Yoshimura exhausts never entered his head. Nor how every single time he thought he heard one, he would experience a full-body cringe.

…

A bit of technobabble I wrote for a scene where I wanted Charles to give Hank a lift. Even though I'm not fond of Hank as a character, I wanted to try to include him more.

"You're a physicist," Charles barked, "you should know that the spin of the wheels fights the gravity of the motorcycle's mass when we lean in a corner. That means, of course, you should lean with me, not sit up and push the bike further down or cause more wind drag than absolutely necessary."

…

Cut from the second chapter when I realized Charles wouldn't be paying attention to the whole conversation between Sean and Darwin. I really wanted Darwin in a lot more than he is. If I rewrote Strict, I'd have implied Darwin/Alex rather than Alex/Hank.

Darwin rolled his eyes, but smiled: Sean's enthusiasm was contagious. Then his expression became guarded. "Wait, does this mean I owe Deus or one of the others?"

"Erik decided Deus owed you one," Sean shrugged, "because you keep the lot open for us. PMS had the contact for the chop shop that had your car, so we owe them. Angel says they already had it apart. It took awhile to negotiate it free and then to get it reassembled."

"PMS already call in the debt?" Darwin asked after mulling the information over.

"Yep," Sean nodded. "Erik's rebuilding an engine and doing a little welding, too."

Darwin took in a deep breath and let it out just as slowly. As he did so, he relaxed visibly.

…

Cut from the second chapter and reorganized and cannibalized for the third for greater impact.

The truck had an orange and white dirt bike strapped down in the back. It was a sensible truck and it looked well-kept. The windows were tinted, but Charles couldn't make out the driver anyway. The truck looked well-kept, it and the motorcycle in the back were covered in a fine layer of orange dust.

Charles gripped the first aid kit tighter, wondering just what kind of terrifying beast this Erik person was. Sean was terrified of him. He inspired a sort of hero-worship in Alex. Darwin was cautious. A figure had taken shape in Charles mind that took equal parts inspiration from his stepfather and popular media.

What stepped out was worse.

Charles' grip on the first aid kit was hard and the surface of the box slick. His hands slipped off into fists and the box was given to gravity. His heart constricted hard enough that one hand spasmed out of a fist and pressed awkwardly to his chest.

The first aid kit clattered to the ground. [He nearly faints when he crouches to pick it up.]

His hair was lighter than Charles recalled, his skin far more tan, but there was the same harsh beauty, the same grey eyes. Max Eisenhardt was not, and never had been, a victim of terminal velocity and unforgiving asphalt.

A corner of Charles mind was having a heart attack. Another portion was wondering why the police had lied about Max's death. A truly manic part was wondering why Max had showed up for Erik's R6.

Without a word, Max bypassed everyone, making a direct line to the wrinkled and creased R6. He crouched behind it to take a look at its spine: from tail to triple tree. One corner of his mouth pulled up into what was either a sardonic expression or a snarl. He unfolded from the crouch and looked over the tank, the front forks, and the cowling.

Touching the broken brake lever with his right hand, Max snorted and glanced at Alex. "I'll need the plastics off to make certain of the frame. It'll need forks, tank, levers, and new rear sets. New headlight assembly, too. Plus all the plastics."

Alex was practically as boneless as Sean in his dejection.

…

I originally envisioned Moira as more of a hard-ass, but around this time, I got conflicted about Erik or Charles getting killed off. So I went with a more sympathetic, movie-accurate depiction of Moira.

"Let me set you straight, Professor," MacTaggart stated coolly. "The PD isn't really interested much in collecting and deporting illegals; there's no money in it. There's money for the municipality in traffic violations, which your friends pay into frequently. Arrest somebody, convict them, now that's a drain on finances. They don't want that.

"Federal agents, we're different. It's still a money game, but we get money based on achievement of different goals. I don't have to be interested in this little gang. I don't have to plaster their names all over my reports. I don't even have to mention their gang name beyond a footnote. I'd much rather write about a guy named Shaw or his contact, Azazel. You think you can help me with that, Professor? Or do I need to spend more time on this Deus intra Machinam?"

…

As I got further along with the writing, I had fewer cuts, because the picture was developing nicely in my head. Thus this one came as a bit of a surprise. I cut it because it placed too much emphasis on an original character. I wrote a new one that featured Angel instead.

"Sexy Librarian!" The cry was muffled by Cupcake's helmet. Short and slender, the helmet made her look as ungainly as a bobble-head toy. It was an extremely colorful Suomy; white with rainbow-colored fish in haphazard knots all over the surface.

She flung her brown arms out and launched herself at Charles. He was just able to avoid her helmet pummeling his chin. Side stepping her, he caught her before she collided with the Tacoma's tailgate and used her momentum to swing her around once. She shrieked in delighted laughter.

"Orale," she laughed, brown eyes wide. "You were up there forever! You never reply to my texts! You didn't tell me if you like the Billie Jean gif! It's my masterpiece!"

She sank down to her kneepads, threw her helmeted head back and howled, "You kill me with your uptight guerro indifference! Why are white people so emotionally constipated?"

"Not everyone, just privileged people like myself," Charles returned with a grin and patted the top of her helmet in mock condescension. He looked from the kneeling girl to Sean who was running up as well. "Is this a sugar-related incident?"

"No, sorry, Redline," Sean laughed, grabbing Cupcake's arm to haul her upright. "She misjudged and drank too much. Don't make me oppress you in the name of my European ancestors, CC."

Just as quickly, Cupcake grabbed Sean's ankle and pulled, nearly sending the boy crashing to the ground. Sean was in the unenviable position of trying to keep his balance while he had hold of her arm and she had hold of his ankle. "Come on, I'm gonna claim this ginger in the name of PMS!"

"Cupcake," Erik said, voice cool and commanding, there was an undercurrent of authority that everyone felt. "Let go of Sean."

Sean looked relieved when Cupcake immediately let go of his ankle. "Aw, pinche Magneto…"

"If you want to talk to Charles," Erik continued, switching from commanding to wry, "you'll have to let him respond."

"And please take off the helmet," Charles chuckled. "Volume does not replace clarity."

"Sexy Librarian, only you," Cupcake sighed, as she stood, "would say something like that. We're not in a library, we don't have to be shushed. So,Billie Jean. Speak!"

"Helmet first," Charles replied, retrieving a tamale with green sauce from the plastic.

Sighing dramatically, Cupcake unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off. Her wide mohawk was in sweaty disarray, pink tips pointing in all directions, her makeup was smudged. "Okay, mama Machete. Oh! I made those!"

"It looks delicious," Charles nodded, unwrapping the corn husk. "As for your gif, it is a masterwork. The contrast and clean up is excellent. The way each tank lights up as Erik steps from one motorcycle to the other is brilliant in its surprise and simplicity. The slow motion is perfect, since he has a brisk walk despite the limp. If he was walking too fast, the clip would be over too soon and the emphasis of each lit gas tank would be lost."

Cupcake nodded, eyes locked on Charles and her fingers drumming on her thighs with excess energy. Sean kept glancing at Erik to see if he would react to the description of the gif. But Erik only took another drink of his water and watched Angel coach Alex.

"I think the lighting of the various mirrors and gauges as they are broken or kicked off is much better than your first iteration's glitter effect. The only way you could improve it, I think, is to add the actual song, but then you'd need to work on the timing."

"Huh…" the young woman frowned, "I thought I sent you the movie file. Guess not. Easily fixed."

Then she smiled. "Thank you, Sexy Librarian. Let me know if you ever have any requests. My sisters and I, we have plenty of footage to work with."

"I'm sure you do," Charles chuckled. "I like seeing your texts almost as much as my sister's."

Cupcake thrust both hands in front of her, thumbs in the up position. "My sisters and I shall keep you updated! Enjoy the tamales; my aunty and I made them together."

…

I cut this because I figured it was too hard to believe, even though I actually based it on a real experience I had with a male model friend of mine.

"What kind of lessons does Angel give?" The professor asked as Erik sat on his work stool to put on his boots.

"Pole dancing," Erik replied, "for taste-impaired Scottsdale trophy wives. Sooner or later you'll have to ask her for video of the time Alex picked her up in the Tacoma. He ended up with phone numbers written all over his arm."

"Have you ever picked her up?" Charles chuckled, imagining Alex trying to ward off the older women's onslaught. He sat on the garage's step and put on his own boots.

Erik shook his head, "No, but if I ever do, I'll park a street over."

…

For the DVD blow up scene, I had to write a reference scene so I knew exactly what Erik was going through. Without the scene, I couldn't keep Erik's reactions accurate. Actually, I had intended to write this scene into Strict. However, I had to give it up because it would have been jarring to have only one scene or chapter out of so many being in Erik's POV.

Since it was only a reference scene, I mostly kept it minimal, so what you see is really very sketchy and switches tenses from time to time. It starts after Raven showed up at Charles' apartment and Erik leaves.

(On the way to the R6, Erik checks his phone and sees he has missed calls from Azazel and Shaw. Annoyed, he calls Azazel first. The phone is answered on the sixth ring.)

"Max," Shaw says and then continues in German, "since when do other people take priority over your sponsor?"

Erik, already in a bad mood, stops dead in his tracks. It takes him a moment to continue forward to the R6. "When other people call first."

"You owe me more than other people," comes the reply, obviously intended to put him in his place. It does.

Erik leans against the R6 and shakes his head. "That's true."

"Of course it is." Shaw replies, laughing. "How does seafood sound to you today?"

Shaw always goes for seafood, usually exotic, always expensive. "Mexican is better in this area."

"Mexican food is comprised of things only economically disadvantaged people eat, Max. You know me better than that."

"What time?"

"Two." And Shaw hangs up.

(Back at his house, Erik is in an even worse temper. He took a longer route home, just to work out some of his aggression, but he's still furious. He showers for almost an hour. He gets out, shaves, and dries off. Gets dressed in nicer clothes than usual. Goes to the side table to get the DVD. It isn't there.)

(At first, he's just confused, then he rifles around. Still nothing. He checks his mother's letters. They're all fine. He drops down and searches under the bed, behind the table (where he has another gun; holster is screwed to the wood), behind the drawer. He rips the sheets off the bed, tips the mattress, then the box spring. He finally flings the frame up, where it punches into the wall. He tears the closet apart.)

(Finally, he storms out to the living room where Angel, Sean, and Alex have congregated in concern.)

"Someone's been in my room," Erik said, voice absolutely calm and utterly terrible. "That alone is not good. To make matters far more serious, that someone removed something. A DVD."

"The only person that's been in your room without you in it is the professor," Angel said carefully, capping her nail polish. "And that's your own fault for leaving before he woke up. I know he's a guy, Erik, but morning after etiquette is morning after etiquette."

If he'd been more worried about Charles' feelings and less concerned about losing Shaw's special DVD, Erik would snarl at Angel.

Sean had the decency to look concerned. "Which DVD, maybe it got out here somehow?"

Erik's lip curled in disgust and fury. "It has 'Max's Hits' written in permanent marker. If you find it, tell me immediately and absolutely, on pain of being kicked out, do not watch it."

Stalking back into his room, he seized his phone from the charger and immediately dialed Charles. Charles' phone went straight to voice mail. He tried again. Nothing.

(He checks the time. There's not enough time, not even if he speeds, to go to Tempe and make it back to Scottsdale in time. There's no guarantee Charles is even there. But if Charles has the DVD, wouldn't he have watched it? How could Charles act normal if he had? Had he watched the DVD before they fucked?)

(Rage. How could he act so normal, knowing what he'd gone through?)

(Goes to McCormick & Schmick in Scottsdale. Shaw has a private room for them. Azazel isn't present. Emma might be shopping across the street.)

(Shaw has ordered shark and has already ordered something for Erik. He makes small talk, mentions that Erik's fingers appear to have healed nicely, and then asks for the DVD.)

"I left it at the house," Erik stated blandly.

Shaw snorted and raised an eyebrow. "That's a poor way to start a discussion on leaving Hellfire. You know the agreement, Max. You bring the DVD every time we meet as a reminder. If you lose it, you either find another copy, or we make a new one. I think you know which would be easier to do."

Erik nodded and did not complain. "I'll bring it next time. It was a foolish mistake."

"You just watched it the other week thanks to the broken finger," Shaw shrugged and sipped his wine. "And this is the only time you've forgotten in a decade, so I think I can overlook it. But, understand it does throw a damper on the already distressing news that you want out of Hellfire."

"I understand that," Erik replied. He questioned his reasoning for even making the exit. Then thought of his mother, sick in Dresden and how he wanted to see her. He thought of Charles next though he didn't want to.

"I don't understand why you went to Azazel for advice instead of coming to me first," Shaw continued. "It implies a certain lack of trust on your part. I didn't like hearing that you had scheduled a meeting with Azazel without me."

"I would have scheduled with you," Erik lied, "if I had known you were coming to see the race, too. I was under the impression Azazel was traveling alone to see Quested compete."

"So, why do you want to leave me," Shaw continued, feigning hurt. "I know you enjoy the challenges I send your way."

Erik nodded, picked up his glass of white, observed the way it moved within the glass, and then replaced it on the tablecloth. "I want to see my mother. I want to take care of her myself now I have money and skills to do so."

"I can appreciate that," Shaw nodded, his sympathy a carelessly composed veneer. "That's what brought you to me in the first place. But do you really think you can provide for her as well as I can?"

Erik nodded. "Even without a passport. All I need is to get back to Dresden."

Shaw shook his head. "Trafficking people to and from America was much easier before the September 11th attacks, Max. Getting you out isn't the same thing. Besides, economically speaking, America imports people, not so much exports. There's no real demand for Americans. I can't get you out the way we got you in."

(The seafood is served. Shaw eats as normal, but Erik hardly touches his.)

"Max," Shaw states between mouthfuls of shark. "Not eating is a poor way to show your gratitude to my overflowing generosity. Is there something else on your mind?"

Erik shook his head and picked up his cutlery.

"I have a letter for you, by the way," Shaw said casually. "She's responding very well to the chemotherapy."

Erik's hand paused in the act of spearing asparagus. His eyes tracked up to Shaw. He hadn't had a letter in months.

"But I left it in my briefcase."

His eyes fell to his plate. (Shaw is just baiting him now, but Erik is like the shark on the man's plate.) "I can follow you to your hotel to get it."

"No," Shaw smiled, "I won't trouble you like that. Why don't we meet Sunday? I want time to think about if I can arrange your departure from service. I can't make any promises, of course."

Erik knew better. Shaw had already had time to think about it. The wait was just more of Shaw's pointless sadism. "Sunday it is."

"We can meet at the air race up in MonumentValley or on my way out at Deerfield airport."

"I have dynotuning on Sunday," Erik said. "Glendale is better."

Shaw sat back with his glass and a wry expression. "You'd pass up a race to do dynotuning? That's German of you, Max. But, no, Deerfield airport it is. 9PM. Bring the DVD. I can't very well give you your property unless I know you are taking care of mine."

Erik nodded, though bitter anger clenched his stomach. He kept eating.

…

Last but not least, I cut the start of the first reconciliation scene. I had Charles getting really mouthy, which I liked but which was inappropriate because Charles was making progress on his entitled attitude. I like Charles' entitled attitude, I love it when he's rude or when he digs in his heels. However, this was a bad time for it.

Panting for breath, mouth wet, Erik stepped back. "We need to talk."

Charles gave Erik an incredulous look and pressed a hand to his crotch illustratively. "Yes, I know, but can it wait until after we've fucked?"

Erik shook his head. "No, I want to talk before endorphins fuck up my brain."

"My brain will be equally flooded with endorphins," Charles tried. He sat up and took hold of Erik's belt to pull him closer.

"No." Erik was adamant. "Even though I want to fuck my name into you, we need to talk. If we're going to do this, I need you to understand there are still going to be things I won't tell you."

That had Charles' attention. He suspected Erik had no intention of telling him about the Russian mafia, but what other secrets could there be? "Very well, then I reserve the same right. There will be some things I'm not going to tell you."

A cross expression passed over Erik's face but he shrugged. "There are going to be things I tell you, too, Charles. The main thing I need you to be able to do is to respect my privacy. If you can't swear to that, this isn't going to work. I'd like to cut my losses before they get worse."

The prideful part of Charles was tempted to tell Erik that ultimatums were frowned on in Relationship 101. Being sensible, though, he accepted that he deserved a second chance far less than an ultimatum. With grave sincerity he responded, "I agree."

Questions from comments and Tumblr:

"[H]ow exactly tough loner Erik started collecting kids?"

The same way he ended up with Charles in the first place, but also because he needed to replace Charles. Note that the kids were mainly all around Charles' age when the two met. Part of that has to do with the casting of XMFC, but it dovetails nicely with how Erik was 'stuck' in the same place/age. He matured, but didn't grow much. The biggest difference between Max and Erik is due to the motorcycle wreck back on the East Coast. He didn't start growing from that moment until Charles showed up once more.

"Why doesn't Erik have tattoos?"

Erik doesn't go to temple nor believe in God, but he is still observant to a degree for his mother's sake and as a strong part of his cultural identity, so he never received tattoos. This is kind of unrealistic, because there are plenty of secular and non-secular Jews in the Russian Mafia and they all have the requisite tattoos. Erik may have dodged tattoos on the grounds that he was never truly a member of the mafia.

"[I]f charles had went to the airport, even though I already kind of know that part of the would be story?"

If you mean the time Erik told him not to go: I realized later that Charles would have wound up at the wrong airport!

The second time, when he really did go to the airport when Erik couldn't? If you mean, what if Charles had pulled Machete's gun, then Charles would have been killed. He might have been able to take out Azazel or Shaw, but he wouldn't have survived himself. The story would have ended there, because it was in Charles' POV. This would have been the ending I originally expected.

"What was Strict's original ending?"

There were two. Originally, I was pretty sure either Erik or Charles was going to die (one protecting the other). The only way to circumvent this was to not kill off Shaw. The ending I had counted on being in the 'epilogue' was unresolved. Basically, I had intended for Strict to end with Charles deciding to confess about the FBI. I never intended to show Erik's reaction or even Charles' telling Erik what was up, because the whole point of the story was that Charles was able to overcome his entitlement and truly love Erik enough to let him go. I'm happy people like the ending even though I think it could have been better.

"[W]hat are some of the things that you didn't expect you [would] change/add (but did) when you were planning Strict?"

Heh, other than expecting either Erik or Charles to get killed? I didn't expect the love story to take over the whole thing. This was my first serious romance and I had no idea how powerful the genre's tropes/expectations were and how they would overthrow my second planned ending. I mainly wanted to write action, motorcycles, and sex but the love story came in and wrecked my intentions and doubled my word count.

I also didn't expect to write anal sex. In fact, I didn't want to, because it isn't the end all and be all of gay male sex. I don't really know how anal sex feels/works for a guy (despite research). I only caved in when I realized Charles would go for it, because I made him the kind of guy that has intensely strong prostate orgasms.

And if I could change anything about Strict now it would be to strip out Alex/Hank and add in Darwin/Alex. Unfortunately, Strict grew out of a prompt that I took liberties with at the kink meme and the OP requested Alex/Hank.

"What's the deal with Sean and Cupcake?"

They're just really good friends.

Miscellaneous items (some trivial and some of note):

Machete and Celia were vetting Erik as a sperm donor. Erik was conflicted about this the entire fic.
Shaw had vague ties to Vladimir Putin as Putin was the head of the KGB in Dresden before the wall fell.
Erik is fickle about motorcycles: the BMW S1000RR will only be his favorite as long as he thinks it is the pinnacle of motorcycle technology. He still prefers the firing pattern of the R1's cross plane crankshaft. He never bought an S1000RR because he wasn't sure which was better.
Charles has yet to discover that Erik audited a year of Latin at the university.
The female professor in Charles' shared office is crushing on him.
Erik often keeps his laptop locked in one of his tool boxes in the garage with his expensive whiskey.
The night at Cherry Bomb when Erik and Machete were drinking Don Julio is when Machete told Erik about the SS picking up a sponsor.
The thievery and destruction of the XA was not widely reported, even though two of the SS were killed.