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Sounds of wet kisses and grunts filled the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the flickering neon signs outside. The blond's lips closed around the Spaniard's neck, sucking with fervor and revelling in his loud moan of pleasure.
"Nfgh..."
Since the start of the 2016 season, Nico and Lewis had felt themselves slowly drifting apart, each race and each podium finish like bricks piling up on their fragile relationship, which teetered between strong friendship and romantic feelings. The hidden caresses, the kisses behind the Mercedes garage, the nights of passion in forbidden places...
Everything had slowly faded away, and Nico now had to fight not only against other teams, but also against the one that owned his heart.
"¡Joder!"
For his part, Fernando had never been someone who knew how to handle being in a committed relationship, and it got even worse when his lover was miles away. He got bored easily and whenever he could, he ended up visiting the most luxurious clubs in the places where he competed, looking for good alcohol, easy drugs, and someone to seduce into his bed.
On this occasion, the lucky one was Hamilton's good little lapdog.
The poor guy looked like he was in pain when he saw him, as if drinking the rum and coke was giving him indigestion. He couldn't help feeling sorry for him; it must be painful to be in a relationship with someone who saw him as an obstacle to his goals.
So, with a few extra cocktails on their bloodstream and after convincing him to do a line of coke with him on the chest of one of the strippers who looked a lot like a certain Brit they knew well, Fernando managed to get Nico to relax.
Taking the pretty boy back to his hotel room and being able to cross another name off his list of drivers he had slept with made up for the shitty weekend he had on the track.
Besides, it wasn't as if his partner would find out what he was doing. Unlike him, Mark didn't care whether he had a race that weekend or not; he was too much of a man to be a WAG.
Ugh. Just thinking about the Australian's complexes was enough to kill his boner.
A sharp nip to his collarbone pulled Fernando back to the present, Nico’s teeth dragging just enough to sting.
Clothes scattered across the carpet, and now Nico didn't know how to move. He was always the one taking it when he and Lewis fucked, letting himself be pinned down, letting Lewis take control. What was he supposed to do? Has the spaniard ever been a bottom? A top?
"You stopped. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts," Fernando murmured against Nico's jaw.
“Shut up, Alonso.”
“Wow. Don't show me your teeth, I'm not your competition.” Fernando smiled sarcastically before stretching and rubbing himself against the cold sheets like a cat. “And by the way, when I'm with men, I like to bottom. The less I have to do, the better.”
Nico still hesitated.
"Come on, show your Lulu how you can also be in control," Fernando teased while arching his back, his voice thick with amusement and arousal.
Nico exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers digging into Fernando’s hips hard enough to bruise. He hated to admit how the Spaniard had a point, he didn't need Lewis to take control, he could take it himself.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to Fernando’s ear. “You talk too much.”
Fernando grinned, arching up against him. “And you think too much.” His hand slid between them, fingers grasping the pretty yet little pale cock that twitched against his thigh. There was something in how his entire hand could wrap around Nico’s length that made him smirk.
Nico gasped, hips jerking forward into the touch. "Lube," he demanded, voice rough.
Fernando chuckled, lazily gesturing toward the nightstand where a half-empty bottle laid next to a box of condoms.
"Help yourself, Britney."
Nico cursed under his breath but snatched the bottle anyway.
Nico's fingers were slick, impatient, pressing into Fernando before he was ready. The Spaniard hissed, thighs tensing. The smirk never left his face, though, and that infuriated him.
"Slow down, princess," Fernando taunted, voice dripping with amusement. "Or are you scared you'll disappoint?"
"Are you this bitchy with Webber too?" Nico snarled, fingers twisting deeper, knuckles brushing Fernando's prostate just to watch him choke on his own breath.
Fernando laughed, sharp and breathless. "Wouldn't you like to know that..."
Nico leaned down, lips brushing Fernando's ear. "I'm going to ruin you."
"Promises, promises," the Spaniard drawled, hips lifting into Nico's touch. "I'll believe you when you put your cock where your money is."
Nico's fingers curled, pressing hard against Fernando’s prostate. The Spaniard swore, back arching off the bed, muscles taut. "Fuck—"
"That's the idea."
Fernando laughed, sharp and unrepentant, even as his breath hitched at the non-stopping pressure against his walls. "Such a fast learner, I'm so proud—ah!"
Nico's fingers curled in the perfect way to hit Fernando's prostate again; hard. It was his time to smirk now, watching Fernando lose himself for a second as his legs trembled and bounced on his hand.
Nico’s fingers twisted deeper, knuckles grinding against Fernando’s prostate until the Spaniard’s thighs shook. His breath came in ragged gasps, fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Joder—just fuck me already."
Nico didn’t need to be told twice.
The condom was on the bigger side, and Nico hated the way it wrinkled around him. Fernando didn’t laugh, but his smirk said everything. Nico pushed in anyway, hips snapping forward with a roughness that made Fernando gasp.
"Agh! No lube? I know you got a stubby dick but—" Fernando's complaint cut off into a choked moan as Nico bottomed out in one brutal thrust.
"Will you shut it, now?"
"Keep thrusting like that and I might,” Fernando gasped, nails digging into Nico's shoulders as the German pistoned into him.
The plastic sound of the condom echoed louder than the German’s thrusts themselves, and as if the situation weren’t humiliating enough with the fake moans Fernando was letting out to mock his inexperience, he also had to suffer the shame of his own manhood.
...Shit, did Lewis think it too? Did he make fun of it in the shower after everything was said and done?
Fernando yawned. Nico got too into his head and stopped, again. If he had to rate him, he was currently a four out of ten.
"See? He's inside your head, no wonder you're stalling," Fernando drawled, "that's how he wins, isn't it? He gets inside that pretty skull of yours and just... camps out."
Fuck you, Fernando.
Nico didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed Fernando by the throat and slammed his hips forward. The force of the thrusts, combined with the pale hand pressing against his throat, made Fernando roll his eyes and moan loudly, this time a moan of genuine pleasure.
That’s it, for fuck’s sake.
"Ah! Finally, some fucking fight in you," Fernando gasped, his voice raspy from the grip on his throat. He wrapped his legs tightly around Nico's waist, locking his ankles to pull the German even deeper. "Keep—fuck!—showing me who's in charge."
The headboard kept banging against the hotel’s thin plasterboard wall at a frantic pace that matched the German's thrusts. Nico stopped trying to be precise; he just wanted to obliterate the smugness off Fernando’s face. His hand on Alonso's throat tightened, cutting off the Spaniard’s laughter and replacing it with wet, desperate sounds.
His body succumbed to the heat of their bodies pressed together, to the alcohol and cocaine running through his veins. Nico stopped thinking about the championship, about Lewis, and about the size of the cock currently filling Fernando. He just wanted to degrade the man who had spent the last hour making him feel small.
"You like this, don't you?" Nico spat, his voice a low growl. "Your stupid mind games don't work when you're choking under my hand."
"Hah... they do... joder... they do!" Fernando choked out, his face flushing a deep red as the oxygen grew thin and the friction grew and lips stretched in a sneer. "You... nfh! just don't... coño! realize it... yet!"
Everything blurred into a haze of sweat and friction. Nico hammered his hips home, the wet slop of the condom echoing against their thighs and muffled by the banging of the headboard. The Spaniard's legs clamped tighter, pulling Nico's small cock deep into his guts with every brutal shove.
It didn't take much for the friction to boil over. Nico let out a moan of pleasure that echoed through the room as he spilled onto the condom and the warmth of Alonso's insides. Some of the pearly fluid leaked out, coating the rim of the rubber and sullying his blond pubes, and the sight of it made shame and heat flare in his chest.
He pulled out, leaving the rubber still inside and collapsed onto the mattress, chest heaving, the adrenaline fading to leave a cold, hollow feeling in its wake. The image of Lewis flashed in his mind again, sweet caring Lulu, and it dawned on him what he had actually done.
Scheiße…
Fernando stretched and groaned, his body feeling like it had been put through a centrifuge. Damn, that was good. Not as great as Mark when he actually tried, though, both in technique and length. Even so, he was a firm believer that sentiments didn't contribute to a good fuck.
He reached down, fingers slipping into his own heat to fish out the condom, and thought for a moment of licking its contents clean, just to see what reaction that would get from the German. Instead, he just rolled the rubbery mess into a ball and tossed it toward the wastebasket.
He missed. Oh well.
"Hey, princess," Fernando murmured, his voice regaining its smug edge now that the friction had stopped. "Not bad for your first time topping, small cock and all."
"Please just... Just shut up..." Nico rubbed his eyes and faced away from the other sweaty body, refusing to face the reality and consequences of what just happened.
"Oh, someone is regretting his life choices," Fernando chuckled, rolling onto his side to prop himself up on one elbow. He looked at Nico, who was staring at the ceiling with a blank expression, and smirked.
"See how my mind games work, Nico? That's the trick," Fernando said, his voice light and devoid of any real malice. "You think you're taking control, but you're just doing exactly what I want you to do. It's a very efficient system."
"... You're an arrogant prick," Nico muttered.
Fernando laughed, the sound vibrating in the quiet of the hotel room. "Gracias, Britney. Hamilton is one too, so you should be used to it by now." He rolled off the bed and stood up, his naked body pale and lean in the dim neon light. He didn't bother looking for his clothes, instead walking toward the mini-bar with a slow, confident stride.
"... About the mind games," Nico muttered, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears, "do they actually work? Or do you just talk about them to make yourself feel like you're in control of everything?"
Fernando paused, his hand hovering over the handle of the mini-bar. He turned his head, a slow, feline smile spreading across his lips. He pulled out a bottle of chilled water and took a long drink, the condensation dripping down his throat and over his uneven chest.
"How do you think I beat Schumacher at his own dirty game?" Fernando asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't look back at the bed, but his voice had lost the sharp edge of the mockery. "Ham... Lewis uses them too. Surprising you didn't notice. He doesn't just camp in your head, Nico. He rearranges the furniture until you can't find the door. And while you're searching for it, he's already won."
"He doesn't rearrange anything," Nico lied, his voice cracking. "He's just... persistent."
"You were fighting him while fucking me," Fernando observed, leaning back against the cold metal of the mini-bar. "You weren't even here. You were just using my body to try and beat him at something. You think I didn't notice?”
"I wasn't doing that, scheße," Nico growled, though the lie felt heavy in his mouth. He shifted, feeling the lingering stickiness of the sex between his thighs. Gross. "I was enjoying myself."
That made Fernando snort. At his age and still acting like a child, as if Fernando hadn’t noticed that every time he got lost in his own thoughts, Nico would literally stop fucking his ass.
"Sure you were. Keep believing that and we might see another Hamilton championship by the end of the year."
"You are so bitter Alonso, you have to let Lew go." Rosberg spat while using the duvet to clean himself. He needs to get out of here. He has to, and let Fernando stew on his bitterness. What happened 9 years ago wasn't his problem.
"Me? The guy that has no horse in this race since 2012? Mate, I let go of him years ago. The bitterness you feel is your own. It is you who sees your love being used against you as a weapon on the track and it costing you the championship."
Nico rose from the bed and started to collect his clothes and dress up, not wanting to look at Fernando anymore. This was just another of the man's mind games, and Nico was tired of playing.
He pulled his trousers on, the fabric catching on the skin of his thighs where he was still slightly sore. The room felt colder now that the adrenaline had vanished, leaving only the smell of sex and the distant hum of city traffic.
"I'm leaving," Nico said, his voice flat.
"Just remember what you've learned tonight when you're on the track, Rosberg. Believe me or not, I'm rooting for you."
Nico didn't answer. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and stepped out into the hallway, the carpet muffling his footsteps. He was not letting Fernando toy with his psyche anymore. This was all just a big drunk and drugged mistake in a moment of weakness, Lewis loved him and he loved Lewis back, and he won't let Formula 1 get in the way of their happiness.
Once the door closed behind the German, Fernando launched himself to the sheets with a heavy sigh, and snuggled into the pillows that still smelled like Nico's cologne and sweat. He knew how Hamilton was, and what Nico was heading towards. One thing was true though, he was really rooting for the German. Maybe losing against him in equal machinery will kick Hamilton's ego down a notch, and that was a prize Fernando would value more than any trophy in his collection.
He fished his phone out of his pants and checked the time. 2:30 AM. Mark was surely awake and moving around back in Australia, maybe even cooking lunch. Now would be a good time to video call him. He dialed the number, the phone ringing twice before Mark’s face appeared on the screen, his expression fond and cheeks dusted with flour. The perfect performance of domesticity was his Aussie.
"Buenas tardes, amor mío. You look good all dusted up…”