Chinese Grand Prix #3
It’s nonsensical post-come ramblings, but Rafael looks so sincere as he stutters, trying to find words for what Julien does to him. A man with the world at his feet, stumbling over himself to say how good Julien is at fucking him, at knowing what he needs.
And Julien knows exactly what Rafael needs.
He needs to be tied up and ridden. He needs to be directed when to come and punished if he spills early. Needs to be trained to pleasure Julien, to be collared and kept waiting for him.
“Fuck!” Julien topples over the edge with a shout. He aims inside the crumpled paper cup, instead of attempting to reach the room’s tiny trash can in time.
Julien stumbles forward, catching himself against the massage table with heaving breaths.
In, out, in, out. He gulps down air and tries to control the pounding of his heart.
He needs to calm the fuck down. Nobody’s asking to be claimed, least of all Rafael.
They just have an arrangement. A stupid little no-ties arrangement for their crazy situation.
Julien can’t climax to the thought of possessing such a popular and important man—it’ll only end badly.
Before Julien has a chance to untangle what the fuck just happened, Rafael upturns the cup over his mouth and drinks his cum.
“No!” Julien’s hand whips out, but he’s too late—the glob is gone. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”
“What? Were you saving it?”
“No.” Julien huffs. “It’s just gross.”
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Better than mine, at least.” Rafael studies the empty cup as Julien stares at the side of his head.
What the fuck has he gotten into? The guy had never been sucked off by another man and yet here he is, drinking cum from a cup like it’s a fucking protein shake.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Rafael smiles, as if it was a compliment. “Hey, you too.”
After the sprint officially ends, Thomas returns to the garage with determination and a dinky disk-shaped trophy. “What happened?! You were both behind me and then you were gone.”
“Sam hit me and I spun out.” Julien takes a swig from his water bottle as he tries to read the trophy and find out where Thomas finished.
“But why?” The trophy is harder to see when Thomas gestures with it. “Did you move under braking? Fourteen is a difficult turn.”
“A difficult—? It’s the best place to overtake!”
“You still have to follow the rules, even when you are defending. There are systems put into place so you do not cause unnecessary danger.”
“Why are you blaming me?” Julien didn’t hit Sam, right? He hasn’t seen a replay, but that oversteer—
Did Julien hit Sam? Was he actually at fault? Someone would’ve told him, right? Davide, at least.
Thomas exhales. “Samuel does not go around bullying rookies off the road. You need to be more careful.”
“Why are you so quick to defend your rival over me? I’m your brother.”
“Yes, and this is not a computer game.”
“Sam was at fault,” Rafael says, sneaking up behind Julien.
Thomas’s judgmental glare rises until it settles on the taller driver. “Forgive me, but I do not think you are without bias.”
Wait, does Thomas know about Rafael and Julien? How did he find out?
“Watch a replay before you attack the kid.” Rafael’s sling presses against Julien’s back as he positions his phone at an angle they both can see. He scrolls social media, settling on the official Formation 1 account, and plays the first video.
Thomas crowds closer, his face blocking the screen before Julien shoves him out of the way.
The video starts from before the botched overtake, follows through Thomas’s defense, Julien’s oversteer, the correction, then suddenly Sam appears. He picked up enough speed on the straight to try and dive-bomb the inside, but didn’t angle himself enough to make the turn.
“Where was he even going?!” Julien replays the impact again, more confused than he was before. “Why was he still driving straight? That’s not anywhere close to the race line.”
“You can’t tell here, but from a different angle, it looked like he locked up.” Rafael scrolls again, but there’s nothing else about the crash. “Stewards labelled it a racing incident, but it's obviously Sam’s fault.”
“Ha!” It isn’t mature, but the mocking noise explodes out of Julien. “See?! I’m not the unnecessarily dangerous one.”
He grins up at Rafael, grateful to have a level-headed third party prove him right. When the Brazilian winks back, Julien quickly turns away.
It doesn’t mean anything or anything. Rafael is just very passionate about racing incidents.
Thomas is uncharacteristically quiet before he asks, “Where did Samuel finish? Did he finish?”
“No idea,” Rafael answers. “I didn’t watch the rest.”
Julien’s an idiot, so he asks, “You didn’t?” the same time Thomas does.
Of course Rafael didn’t watch the end of the race—he was too busy receiving the best blowjob of his life.
“No, I had to shit,” Rafael says instead. “A giant load. Terrible. Just stay away from the garage toilet altogether, it’s worth the walk to hospitality.”
What the fuck?
At least he knows how to sell a lie.
The brothers stare at the Brazilian driver before Thomas asks, “Did you watch it?”
“No, I—” Julien isn’t as good at lying on the spot.
“I was in my driver’s room. Crying. Thought I’d get my first podium today.
” He wipes at his eyes, though they’re obviously dry.
“And then my brother—my own flesh and blood—blamed me for it? I should cancel all of my media duties for the rest of the day and go cry some more.”
“There are no podium celebrations for sprint races. Look at this thing.” Thomas finally shows off his disk. He finished second, apparently. “It does not have feet. It cannot stand up. I have to hold it forever now or it will roll away. What is the point?”
The point is that Julien could’ve overtaken his brother. He was clumsy during the first try, but with two DRS zones and Thomas cradling his tires, Julien could’ve gotten past him by the end of the sprint.
In three laps, Julien would’ve proven to everyone that he isn’t just driving the fastest car—he has the ability to take on and win against one of the greatest drivers of their generation.
Thomas smacks the side of his disk.
Why the fuck was he so quick to blame Julien anyway? Why would Thomas convince Ferraro to keep him on retainer if he thought Julien was dangerous?
And Julien certainly won’t forget the comment about his “computer game” any time soon.
The hundreds of hours Julien spends in Ferraro’s simulators help build the car every year. His laps finalize the set-up for every race. Julien’s computer game is part of the reason Thomas has a car that can compete at the front in the first place.
For Thomas to flippantly minimize his contributions to the team, to reduce it to some child’s game, makes Julien’s blood boil.
He has five more races. Five races to prove—not just to Thomas, but to the world—that he is a formidable opponent.
When Thomas dismisses himself, Julien hangs back with Rafael. Hopefully the sprint race inspired some ideas for overtaking during the actual race.
Julien will take all the advice he can get at this point. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Anytime, babe.” Rafael taps Julien’s ass with the phone still in his free hand and saunters away.
Babe?
…
Babe?!
“Hey, Julien!” During the driver’s parade, Owain slides up next to the reserve driver.
Between the wind and the other drivers chatting in such a confined space, it’s hard to hear anything, but the Welsh driver powers through.
“Thanks for crashing yesterday—got my first points of the season ‘cause of you.”
“Thank Sam, he did all the work.”
“Yeah, I definitely will.” Owain gives a half-hearted wave to the grandstands as they ride past, and Julien follows suit. “So, how is Rafael doing? He getting any better?”
“Good?” Julien can’t remember him saying any different. “I mean, I don’t think he’s getting worse.”
“Yeah, that’s good. I miss him, though.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
Even though Owain probably has his own working phone.
“You should come out with us when he gets his arm back!” Back? Where is it now? “I swear, the hottest girls flock to him. Not that I can’t pull without him or anything, but man, it helps when he’s there.”
“Yeah? Good to know.” Julien doesn’t want to hear about the sexual exploits of his fuck-buddy-slash-racing-tutor, but okay. “Do men throw themselves at him too? Or is his aura women-specific?”
“Huh, I never thought about that.” The truck approaches another grandstand and the duo wave subconsciously. “I was pretty sure Thomas had a thing for him, though.”
“Thomas?” Julien repeats. “Like, my brother?”
“Yeah, but they could just be super close teammates. I’m not saying your brother is gay or anything! But, you know how it can be out on the road.”
But Thomas is gay.
Is he gay for Rafael?
Did Julien blow his brother’s fling yesterday?! Has Rafael’s dick been in—?
Oh no.
Julien pokes his head up and looks around. Thomas is on the far end of the truck, huddled close to Sam. Hopefully he’s giving him some amount of shit for crashing into his brother.
“I’ve gotta go… talk about Ferraro’s strategy.” That wasn’t even subtle.
“Hey!” Owain calls out after him. “Don’t tell ‘im I said anything.”
When Julien reaches his brother, he pointedly glares at Sam before asking, “Can we talk in private?”
“English in front of Samuel, please.”
“I don’t want to talk in front of Samuel. That’s why I said ‘en privé’.”
After a quick glance up to Sam, Thomas asks, “Is it about the race? Or Ferraro’s strategy?”
“No, but—”
“Then in English, please.”
“Fine.” Julien steels himself with a deep breath. “Have you and Rafael ever fucked?”
Thomas stumbles before spitting out, “Why would you ever ask me that in public?! People can hear!”
“Because you told me to!”
“Oops! You guys switched back to French,” Sam says. “I’m also very interested in that answer, so…?”
“No!” Thomas finally says.
But Julien needs specifics. “No blowjobs, no handjobs, no kissing?”
“No jobs! No kissing.”