Chapter 13
Italian Grand Prix
@hunterdefence If you lot are to be believed, every driver on the grid is secretly gay. Give me a break. Cam and Hunter are as straight as it gets.
***
“Ciao, bello,” Scott said with a grin when Cam opened the door.
Can snorted. “Your Italian is horrible,” he said, his arms coming up around Scott and pulling him into a loose hug.
Scott sank into it, relief washing over him at how not weird it felt. He’d been a little afraid that Cam would freak out after Zandvoort, but it didn’t seem to be the case. Thank god.
For a moment, the strength of his own relief took him aback. He usually had an easier attitude toward friendship. He didn’t fret over offending or losing friends—he had a lot of them. But with Cam, it felt different. He was different. Special. His. His friend.
Scott breathed in the familiar scent of Cam’s aftershave before reluctantly pulling back. “How are we feeling this weekend? Car good?”
Cam shrugged, his dark eyes roaming over Scott’s face. “Won’t know until the practice. You settling in well?”
Scott took Cam’s hand and tugged him toward the couch.
Making Cam sit down, he snuggled up against him with a sigh of relief.
“I’m exhausted,” he mumbled, letting his head fall on Cam’s shoulder.
“Opening a new European branch sounded so exciting on paper, but in reality I’m being buried in paperwork. ”
Cam slung an arm around his shoulders. “You’re enjoying it.” It was a statement, not a question.
“A bit,” Scott admitted, wondering when Cam had learned to spot the difference between when he was whining for the sake of whining and when he was whining because he was honestly fed up. “It is exhausting, but it’s challenging in a good way too, you know?”
Cam hummed. “I get it,” he said, and yeah, he probably did, considering what he did for a living.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, and Scott felt no inclination to fill it. That, in itself, was unusual for him. Glancing down, he realized he was absently stroking Cam’s fingers. They were basically holding hands. And Cam was letting him.
Clearing his throat, Scott untangled their fingers and got to his feet. “All right, I’ll go take a nap before Free Practice. I’m beat.”
Cam’s eyebrows drew together as he stood up too. “Are you staying at this hotel too?”
Scott shook his head, yawning. “Booked the one a block away.”
“You can take a nap here,” Cam said, laying a hand on Scott’s nape and steering him toward the bedroom.
Scott considered protesting, but Cam’s hand felt so good on his neck, and he was beat, and Cam’s bed looked very inviting. It probably smelled of him too.
“All right,” Scott said, flopping down on it on his belly.
“Shoes off,” Cam said dryly.
“Mmm.”
Chuckling, Cam tugged Scott’s shoes off himself when Scott didn’t move. Scott’s pants followed suit.
“You’re the best,” Scott mumbled, burying his face in Cam’s pillow and sighing happily, his eyelids already heavy. “Love you.”
Cam didn’t say anything.
Then, the mattress dipped beside him. “I could use a nap too,” Cam said, slinging a heavy arm around Scott’s back and burying his face in his nape.
Scott went still, his heart starting to beat faster.
Although they hugged plenty, they had never really done it like this.
Cam was practically on top of him. And he was, like, nuzzling his neck?
The position itself wasn’t one Scott was used to.
He wasn’t used to having a heavy man on top of him and behind him like this.
He was normally the one on top. This was…
weird. Weirder than anything they’d done together.
It felt unexpectedly nice, though. The warmth, the scent, the sensation of being crushed beneath Cam’s body...
It was like being wrapped in a warm, protective cocoon. He could stay like this forever.
Wrong, something whispered at the back of his mind, his stomach squirming. This was wrong.
So Scott shifted a little onto his side. Being the little spoon was unusual for him too but it was less… emasculating.
He froze when he felt Cam’s hand slip under his shirt and absently cup his pec. At least Scott assumed it was absentminded, but started to have doubts when Cam began kneading his tit.
“My pecs aren’t stress balls, buddy,” Scott muttered lightly, biting his lip to stop himself from making any noise.
His tits were sensitive, and every time Cam squeezed them, his nipples ached, craving more friction.
More stimulation. The image of Cam sucking on them pushed to the forefront of his mind, and Scott barely swallowed a moan.
“They aren’t?” Cam said into his nape, still groping his chest shamelessly. “Your tits are better than many women’s. So nice to the touch.”
The praise sent a jolt of heat to his crotch, just like last time. God, this was horrible. What was happening to him?
“Stop being weird,” Scott said with a breathless laugh, his face warm. His nipples were aching. He wanted Cam to pinch them. Or maybe suck on them.
“I’m serious,” Cam said roughly, squeezing his boob. “Your tits would look fantastic in a bra.”
Scott couldn’t breathe. “Fuck off,” he said weakly, but his cock was throbbing.
“I’m right,” Cam said, suddenly releasing his chest and pulling away, to Scott’s both disappointment and relief. He felt Cam get out of bed.
Rolling onto his back, he watched him rummage through his suitcase. “What are you doing?”
“Take off your shirt,” Cam said over his shoulder, still looking for something in his suitcase.
“What, why?” Scott spluttered, but his hands were already moving. Already obeying.
Cam turned toward him with—
“You’re kidding,” Scott said with a breathless laugh, staring wide-eyed at the black lace bra in Cam’s hands. “Why the hell do you even have a bra in your suitcase?”
Was it a blush on Cam’s face?
“I bought it,” he said curtly, walking back to the bed and dropping the bra in Scott’s lap. “Put it on.”
Scott stared at him. Cam couldn’t possibly be serious.
But Cam stared back at him steadily before his dark eyes dropped to Scott’s chest. “Come on. You’ll see I’m right.”
Scott should have told him to fuck off. This had gone well past weird and was veering into freak territory.
But his mouth was dry and his nipples were fucking aching under Cam’s intense gaze. And Scott’s hands moved. Picked up the bra.
What are you doing? a voice screamed at the back of his mind, but it was like his body was no longer his own. His body wanted to do as Cam said. It was like a compulsion.
He put on the bra. It was one of those styles that fastened in the front.
“I’m going to kill you for making me do this,” Scott managed, licking dry lips. “I look ridiculous.”
Cam wasn’t looking at him like he thought he looked ridiculous. His dark gaze was fixed intently on Scott’s chest. Scott looked down and flushed. The bra pushed his pecs together, creating a deep valley between them. It looked obscene. So fucking wrong.
“Told you,” Cam said hoarsely, kneeling in front of him. “Better tits than many women.”
Before Scott could reply, Cam’s hands were on his boobs again, slipping under the bra and squeezing greedily. Scott gasped when Cam pinched his nipple.
“Fuck, why is this so hot,” Cam said before latching onto his nipple through the bra’s lace
Scott moaned, grabbing Cam’s head and pulling him closer. The annoying fabric was in the way, so he pushed the bra down so Cam could suck on his bare tit. Cam did, groping and pinching the other.
A shrill sound penetrated the haze of arousal in Scott’s mind.
It took him a while to realize that it was Cam’s phone.
“Cam,” he managed, gripping Cam’s hair.
But Cam didn’t seem to hear him, still sucking on his nipple as if his life depended on it.
“Cam,” Scott gasped out. “Your phone.”
That finally made Cam pull back, his gaze so very dark.
He blinked, as if waking up from a dream, and reached for his phone.
“Richter,” he barked into it tersely. His brows drew together as he listened to the caller.
“Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He shoved the phone back into the pocket of his jeans, the movement drawing Scott’s gaze to the huge bulge at the front.
“I need to go,” Cam said hoarsely, dragging his eyes away from Scott’s chest.
Flushing, Scott belatedly realized that his much-abused nipple was still peeking out over the edge of the bra. “Okay,” he said, snatching up his shirt and hurriedly pulling it on over the bra. He’d never felt so off balance in his life. The low hum of unfulfilled arousal didn’t help, either.
“Stay here while I’m gone,” Cam said, reaching for his cap and putting it on without quite looking at him.
That bossy tone should have rubbed him the wrong way. But instead, he felt a shameful thrill from the knowledge that Cam wanted him to stay—wanted him to still be here when he came home.
“I can’t, I don’t have my suitcase with me,” Scott said. “I need a shower and my clothes.”
Cam’s dark eyes returned to him. “Use mine.”
“Okay,” Scott said, feeling oddly breathless. He licked his lips.
Cam’s gaze flicked down to them before he turned around swiftly and left the room.
Scott deflated as the door shut after him. He’d kind of… he’d kind of wanted Cam to kiss him.
Fuck, he’d wanted Cam to kiss him.
That was—that was more than a little weird. Even setting aside the fact that they were just friends, Scott had never been the type to want someone else to kiss him. He was always the aggressor, the one who made the first move. He was exclusively a top. What the hell was happening here?
Groaning, Scott got to his feet and headed to the bathroom. He needed a shower. He’d feel more like himself after a long, hot shower.
Scott did feel better after his shower, but when he stepped out, he sighed: he really would have to borrow Cam’s clothes, because he didn’t feel like putting his travel clothes back on.
After a moment’s hesitation, he headed to the closet and opened the drawer.
Snatching a pair of black boxer briefs, he pulled them on.
Looking down, he stared at his crotch, feeling a strange little thrill at the knowledge that he was wearing Cam’s underwear.
His cock was touching the fabric that had been wrapped around Cam’s cock.
“Don’t be a weirdo,” Scott muttered under his breath as he reached for a McLaren shirt draped over the chair.
He lifted it and took a tentative sniff.
Cam must have forgotten to throw it in the laundry.
It didn’t smell dirty, exactly—just faintly of cologne and something unmistakably masculine. It smelled like Cam.
Scott inhaled again, deeper this time.
Then he pulled the shirt over his head and looked at himself in the mirror.
In Cam’s shirt.
In Cam’s boxer briefs.
God, why was he so weird about Cam?
Sighing, he settled back in the bed and decided to text Cam. Not because he was being clingy. It was just polite to tell someone you’d borrowed their clothes.
Scott: I borrowed a pair of your boxer briefs and a shirt, going to take that nap now.
Cam was online, but he didn’t reply immediately.
When the typing dots finally appeared, Scott held his breath.
Cam: show me.
Scott stared at the screen, wide-eyed. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a selfie of himself in Cam’s shirt and sent it.
Cam: the underwear too.
Okay, that was definitely getting weird, right? That was no normal heterosexual behavior.
But Cam was asking for a picture. And Scott wanted to send him one. He wanted to please him.
Lifting the shirt, Scott spread his thighs a little, made sure the underwear and lower part of his abs were visible, and took another selfie.
Cam was still online. But he wasn’t typing anything. Was he just looking at his picture?
Scott’s mouth went dry, his cock half-hard again.
Finally, Cam started typing.
Cam: pull my shirt up. Show me your tits.
Jesus.
He should tell him to fuck off. That wasn’t—that wasn’t something Scott did for anyone. Sure, he’d sent a dick pic to his boyfriends once or twice, but he’d never sent anyone an obvious thirst trap of his tits. He was the guy other people sent thirst traps to. Not vice versa.
But his hand was already moving, pushing the McLaren shirt up until his pecs were bare. His face hot, Scott fondled one plump tit in his hand, squeezing the hard nipple Cam had been abusing—and took a selfie with the other hand.
He sent it.
Cam was online but once again didn’t reply immediately.
Cam: Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in half an hour.
Cam: Put on the bra for me.
Fuck.
This was… this was getting out of hand.
Scott covered his face with his palms, trying to gather his thoughts. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t—couldn’t keep doing whatever Cam told him, no matter how much he wanted to. This dynamic developing between them wasn’t normal. It was so far from normal it bordered on deranged.
This wasn’t him. Scott Palmer wasn’t this sweet, obedient, and pliant. If he didn’t put a stop to this bullshit, he’d end up crushed beneath the force of Cam’s will—and putting on a fucking dress just to make him happy. The fact that his cock twitched with interest at the thought was horrifying.
He needed to stop this insanity while he still could.
Scott pulled on his pants. He stuffed the rest of his clothes—including the bra—into a hotel laundry bag he’d found in the closet, then hurried out of the room.
He needed to leave before Cam returned.
He didn’t trust himself around him.