Japanese Grand Prix #4
“Ah! I almost forgot.” This conversation is too planned for Thomas to almost forget anything. “Did you know that no reserve driver has ever won a Formation 1 race?”
“Wait, really?” That's a weird statistic to lie about. It's too easily verifiable. “Really?”
Thomas nods and his face melts into a warm smile. “You will be the very first. A record-breaking Dubois. I am so proud of you.”
“Jesus, Thomas.” They're still going to battle it out on track, but the thought is touching. It’s just a nice thing to say. “You big sap, c’mere.”
Julien drags his brother in for a hug and tries to appreciate this moment.
Thomas is the reason he has this chance in the first place. Maybe he's actually sincere.
Julien sure as hell won’t count on it. He'll still fight off the line. After all, he can’t let anyone think he didn’t earn his first win.
His first win. The first reserve driver to ever win. A record-breaking Dubois.
Thomas rejoins his team, and Davide nearly snatches Julien back.
“What did he say? Did he talk about strategy? Our plan is solid—you have to trust me.”
“Did you know no reserve driver has ever won a Formation 1 race?”
When Davide pulls back, his eyebrows are drawn together. “I can think of a few podiums, but I’d have to check to find out whether it’s true.”
“Don’t bother.” Julien hums as he pulls his gloves tighter. “It won’t be true after today.”
Thomas overtakes Julien before the first turn.
It’s a Dubois un-deux, but not in the order Julien hoped for.
Despite his mood, Julien has to suffer hours of press and meetings and pictures before he can finally breathe.
He should hire a taxi, leave the paddock, and walk into the ocean. Instead, he lays out on his thinly padded massage table with a towel over his face and forces himself to be happy.
Julien has a Formation 1 podium. He earned it. He was the second-best driver on the entire grid this weekend. That’s a major accomplishment.
He’s still just the second-best driver in his family.
Julien groans and throws an arm across his face, digging the scratchy towel fibers into his skin. He podiumed. He has a trophy and champagne-sticky skin to prove it. Julien stood on the world stage as the French national anthem played.
It didn’t play for him, though. It played for the top step.
No reserve driver has ever stood on that top step, and Julien is just another body to add to the metric.
The reporters all assumed it was Ferraro’s strategy. Why wouldn’t it be? The team received the best possible result—a one-two that favored the championship leader. Julien should be happy for his team, for his brother.
But why did Thomas get his hopes up? What was the purpose of building Julien up so high? So he could fall harder?
If Julien had kept himself angled towards his brother and still failed, would it feel less like he was duped? Less like he had been taken advantage of? Or would it hurt just the same?
Julien wraps his other arm around the lower half of his face and screams his frustration into his mute limb. It helps. Barely.
After a knock on his door, Julien has to remove his lower arm to ask, “Who is it?”
“C’est Thomas.”
“Non, merci.” The last thing Julien wants to see is his brother’s stupid face again after hours of forced media duties together. He prefers the towel.
Maybe he can catch a commercial flight to Germany. Suffering in an enclosed space with the older Dubois for hours sounds much worse than stiff chairs and screaming babies.
The door opens anyway. Thomas just does whatever he wants with no respect to anybody else. “?a va?”
“I don’t speak a lot of French,” Rafael says, suddenly beside Julien. How long has he been sitting at the desk? “But he said ‘non’. It doesn’t sound very welcoming.”
“What are you doing in Julien’s driver’s room, Rafael?”
Julien doesn’t know either, but fuck Thomas. “It’s my driver’s room. I can have anyone I want in here. I don’t want you, so go away.”
The sound may be muddled by the towel, but the point still stands.
Instead of going away, Thomas gets louder. “In this sport you cannot expect to be handed—”
A slammed door cuts him off, and Julien finally slides the towel from his eyes.
Rafael stands in front of the door, with his back to it. “You didn’t need to hear that.”
Julien can’t help but smile. “Thanks, but I’ll probably have to suffer through it later.”
“You’ll be able to digest it better later.” Rafael crosses the room and perches on the edge of the mattress. With a heavy hand, he pats Julien’s leg. “C’mon. Get changed and we can head back to the hotel. Sleeping helps.”
Julien groans again, but he still pushes himself up to sitting. His Nomex suit is gross and tight and sticky, but there’s something more pressing to attend to. “You missed a step between hotel and sleep.”
Rafael’s eyebrows raise. “Did I?”
Did he forget?
“I didn’t win, but I still podiumed. First, second, or third—that was our deal.”
“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood.”
What Julien isn’t in the mood for is being told what he wants and what he deserves.
He wants to go back out on that track and angle his car and destroy everyone, including his shitty, sweet-talking brother. Julien can’t do that, but he still placed second. He can still claim his agreed-upon prize.
Something about today needs to go according to plan.
“If you wanna back out on me, tell me now.” Julien swings his legs off the massage table and stands with renewed vigor.
“Definitely not,” Rafael answers quickly. “I still can’t raise my arm very high, though, so I’m limited on what we can do.”
“Would you wear your brace?”
“What’s with you and my brace?” Rafael looks sexy tied up—it’s not a crime to enjoy it. “Yeah, sure. It’s probably a good idea anyway.”
Yeah it is. Julien peels off the nomex shirt with difficulty and tosses it onto the floor. “I should shower first.” And open himself up. “Wanna send me your room number? I can swing by afterwards?”
“I have a shower.” Rafael shamelessly watches as Julien strips. “Pretty good one too. Not sure what your room situation is like, but—”
Yeah, Rafael’s place is probably much nicer.
“Got it.”
“Want to get dinner beforehand? There’s a nice sushi place in the hotel. They’ll let us sneak through the back door.”
Julien chuckles, but the Brazilian remains stoic. “Oh, you’re serious? Oh man, no! We can eat after, but you don’t want to give this back door a bunch of Japanese food before you get acquainted with it.”
He wants Rafael to keep helping him during race weekends, not be turned off from anal for the rest of his life.
Once Julien’s in his team kit again, they head out. Rafael gives him a play-by-play of the other fights that happened throughout the field and, for the first time since before the race, Julien feels unburdened.
Rafael’s hotel shower is one of those stupid rainfall ones that rich people only pretend to like. There’s no place for Julien’s head to escape the spray while he shoves fingers up his ass. It’s a bit like being waterboarded.
The body wash smells like cedar, though, and he much prefers that over old, dry champagne.
“Feel better?” Rafael stands when a towel-clad Julien wanders out into the living room. He looks at home amongst the white leather couches and gilded side tables with fresh cut flowers in crystal vases.
Julien, on the other hand, feels like a fish out of water. “Smell better, at least.” His hair drips to the wooden floor, and he pushes it back, out of his face.
Rafael watches the movement and his eyes trail down, over Julien’s uncovered body. He looks hungry, though he watched the reserve driver change just an hour before. “Drink? Pretty sure it’s sake.”
“Sounds good.”
Julien accepts the small bottle and sips slowly. It’s strong enough to taste the alcohol, which is probably a good idea. Anything to calm his thudding heartbeat.
“Nervous?”
“Not really,” Julien lies. “It’s been a while since I’ve had penetrative sex, though.”
“Yeah, me too. Months, I think?” Well, obviously. The man only recently got permission to move his arm again. “Even longer since I’ve been with someone I know.”
“When were you last with a man?”
Rafael laughs, though it’s a reasonable enough question. “Well, there was the blowjob in China and the handjob in Australia.”
Alright, wise guy. “I was there for those, yeah. Before me?”
“None.” Rafael shrugs. “I didn’t really consider men until last year. After it didn’t work out with that guy, I broke my collarbone.”
Oh no.
“You’ve never had sex with a man?”
“I told you I hadn’t when we did the blowjob thing.”
“You said you hadn’t received a blowjob from one, not—” Oh no no no. “You’ve never done anything with another man until me? Are you straight?!”
“Uh… I don’t think so? I mean—” Rafael’s gaze dips down and back up again. “Not entirely, at least. You look good like that.”
“Holy fuck.”
“What’s the problem? I’ve done anal with women.” That’s not the same thing. “It’s basically the same thing.”
“Except there’s another dick and balls in the equation!” This was a horrible idea. Their whole agreement was a horrible idea.
Julien needs to restart the game or something because this is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Why? Your dick didn’t put me off when you jerked us off together.” Oh God, that was Rafael’s first experience ever with a man. “And you know I don’t have a problem with your cum.” Ew. Don’t bring up the cup thing. “Why does it matter how experienced I am if I’m enthusiastic?”
“Because—” Julien cuts himself off with a frustrated whine.
“Why?”
Julien hides his face in his hands instead of replying. He can do normal sex. He’s a normal guy who can come normally and have a good time doing it.
Vanilla is also a flavor. Even if it’s the worst flavor.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Rafael is suddenly there, his light touch tracing Julien’s wrists, pulling down his shields. “I brought lube. Does that help?”
He brought lube? Julien told Rafael to buy lube and he did it. He made the effort.
That has to mean something.