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Chapter Text

“Alpine still manages to find a way to fuck me over all these years later”, Oscar complained into the radio and the world was there to listen. So it was Franco who sent him a message, apologizing for almost taking him out -although he thought most people were really overreacting-.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose. Sorry about the radio outburst”, Oscar replied. He was lying in bed, getting some shut-eye after the race. He was supposed to be flying back to London the following morning. He still hadn't had dinner but he couldn’t be bothered to get up. Team orders, race incidents, and Lando closing in on him in the championship. Second place was not bad, considering. But he just couldn’t stop thinking that he could have had it if the stupid papaya rules weren't a thing.

“How much did Alpine damage you, exactly?”, another message from Franco. Bold, inquisitive. “I just want to know how long it’s gonna take me to recover”, he added, jokingly, only probably not. Oscar could recognize the suffering. He saw it in Pierre and Franco’s eyes, the frustration after every race. 

“How much time do you have?” Oscar replied and the response came right away. 

“Do you want to grab dinner? If you don’t have any other plans, that is. My treat”, the former Williams driver suggested. 

“I can’t be bothered to go out, but I’m in if you want to come over”, he replied, no games, just pure honesty. He really didn’t want to go out. “We can order in”, he added.  

“Sure”, Franco messaged back and Oscar sent the details.

“Can you bring your race suit?”, the McLaren driver asked. Franco was surprised at the request. 

“Do you want to set it on fire or something like that?”, he wondered. He should not bring the latest, limited edition one, just in case. 

Franco arrived half an hour later. He got a chocolate bar for dessert because he didn’t want to show up empty handed. And he brought the suit, one of the “old” ones. Oscar called room service and ordered a couple of burgers with fries and grabbed a couple of beers from the mini-fridge. If he was going to relive his Alpine experience, he might as well go all in. 

“Maybe with Flavio things are different”, he said finally, after explaining to Franco his contract fiasco and how his manager got him to sign with McLaren instead. The team was never one of the most exemplary and thorough when it came to that. But management had changed. Several times since then, for that matter.

Franco frowned. “Mmm, well, it doesn’t seem like it. I mean, look at the whole Jack situation. I’m happy to race, of course, but there’s rumours every day”, he said, looking a little tired himself already.

“The Bottas thing?” Oscar asked. There were versions of Briatore going around Mercedes inquiring about the finish driver.

“Yeah, that and all of it, in general, there’s always noise”, he explained.

“I guess that’s F1 anyways”, Oscar shrugged and Franco nodded. They had finished eating and were sitting on the couch, drinking beer even though they weren’t great alcohol drinkers, just to take a little bit of the edge off.

“You’re still in. They haven’t entirely fucked you over yet. But the car is shit”, the Australian summarized. 

“Yes, the car is shit, for sure”, Franco laughed. 

“Maybe we could form an Alpine trauma recovery group”

“Should we invite Fernando and Esteban then?”, Franco asked. “Maybe Jack… even Pierre”, he suggested and Oscar laughed.

“It’s a really long list”, he said. “Maybe just the two of us for now?”

“And what does this trauma recovery group do?” Franco inquired.

“Mmmm…”, Oscar looked hesitant, but he clearly already had something in mind. “Fucks Alpine over instead”, he affirmed. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Franco opened his eyes, surprised. He did not expect Oscar, being the polite cat that he was, to say something like that. 

He looked around. His blue and pink track mono was sitting on an armchair. Oscar had asked him to bring it. Franco had thought he wanted to trash it, rip it to shreds or something like that. Now he wondered what he really had in mind. 

“So… is that what the suit is for?” Franco swallowed hard, pointing at the track suit. “To, like, literally fuck Alpine?”. His mouth was suddenly dry. 

Oscar nodded softly, examining Franco’s reaction intently. 

“Am I supposed to be Alpine?”, the Argentine asked. He didn’t look worried though, just curious about how the scene would play out. Oscar scratched his head and cleared his throat. 

“I mean… We can take turns. I can be Alpine for you if you want”, he offered, sheepishly. 

Franco’s mouth fell open. The dryness he felt before had vanished and now his mouth was watering. 

“I’d really like that”, he admitted, looking straight at Oscar, holding his gaze. He was not joking. 

“Which part”?, the Australian asked.

“All of it”, he replied. 

Not long after that, Franco had already stepped into the suit. It felt strange without the fireproofs or even underwear. What was the point, right? He was just clad in his tracksuit, standing in front of Oscar Piastri, who was looking at him like he was dessert. 

Franco wanted Oscar to kiss him, really. Although that probably would be out of place when Oscar just wanted to use him to get his long standing frustration with Alpine out of his system. Maybe he would though, kiss him hard, bite him, bruise him.

He licked his lips, eyes fixed on the Australian. Yeah, that did it. Oscar grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him hard, his mouth clashing into his, there was nothing tender about it and he loved it. He could feel Oscar’s teeth scraping his soft skin, his tongue entering, digging into his mouth, taking, not asking, making it difficult to breathe. Franco gasped for air and they broke apart for a second. 

“Wait”, he half moaned as Oscar buried his hands on his light brown curls and yanked, not enough to hurt. “Should we set a safe word?”

“That much, uh?” Oscar laughed against this skin. He was already nibbling at his neck. 

“Helmut Marko”, Franco said.

“Huh?”

“The safe word, Helmut Marko”, he repeated, barely coherent. Oscar was grabbing his ass hard and pressing their bodies together. 

“Ew. That’s one heck of a turn off”, he said. “I guess there are worse things than Alpine”.

Safe word set, Oscar quickly pushed Franco onto the bed. He fell onto his back and the Australian climbed on top of him. He dry-humped him, the tracksuit on and zipped up tightly, Oscar still fully dressed.

They were both hard already, their erections rubbing together, Oscar setting a frantic pace, their bodies vibrating together, them breathing on each other’s mouths. If they kept that up, he could have come right then and there but he forced himself to remain patient. He really needed to fuck Alpine. So he stopped moving against Franco’s body, got up and quickly removed his clothes. It was a great sight for the younger man, who bit his lips as he watched him intently while the McLaren driver got undressed. 

“Turn around”, Oscar ordered. Franco moaned and obeyed. He really was enjoying this commanding version of Piastri. “On all fours”, he directed the younger driver and he complied. Franco was on his hands and knees, butt up and pointing at Oscar, who grabbed his ass with both hands and caressed him before slapping his cheeks, one at a time, hard -although not that much really-, one, two, three times. Franco grunted. It felt good, really good.

Oscar’s hands found the seams of the suit, right through the middle of Franco’s ass and started tearing at it, trying to rip it off. It took a few attempts but he finally managed to open up a slit right over his asshole.

The next thing Franco felt was a lube-covered finger around his opening. The finger started to make its way in, little by little, until it backed out and came back in, a second finger as well this time. The younger driver couldn’t stop moaning. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to ruin the moment. Oscar seemed really concentrated in stretching him.

“Enough pleasantries”, he announced as he stopped to put on a condom. The Australian’s cock was hard, red and throbbing. “I’m gonna fuck you hard, deep and you’re gonna take it. You had it coming, all these years”, he seemed to be back in character, addressing Alpine and not Franco. 

Oscar started to push his cock inside Franco, inch by inch until he was all the way in. He waited for a few seconds and then began slamming hard against him, over and over. Franco was moaning, gasping, grunting at times. Oscar was filling him completely, relentlessly. He was using him to exorcise his Alpine demons and he just fucking loved it. 

“Take it, you piece of shit. Take it, for trying to fuck me over. I got away, I fucking did it, I’m gonna be a fucking world champion”, he muttered, gritting his teeth. 

Franco wanted to cry out for more, but he feared he’d break the spell, the sort of trance that Oscar seemed to be in. The Aussie keep drilling him, cursing at the team, and it didn’t take much longer for him to come, shouting “fuck yes, take it” as he collapsed over Franco, who let himself fall flat against the mattress, his arms no longer able to support him, his own cock rock hard now trapped between the sheets and his own body. Oscar grinded into him a couple of times more and that was all it took for Franco to come inside his Alpine suit. 

As they laid there trying to catch their breath, Oscar slowly pulled out and turned to lay on his back. 

“Are you OK?” he asked as he started to calm down and come back to his senses. 

“Fuck yeah”, Franco replied. “That was quite therapeutic”, he laughed and turned to face Oscar, face flushed, his hair damp. Yeah, maybe Pierre would enjoy something like that, he thought out of nowhere.

The heat of the suit was killing him so Franco unzipped it to let his glistening chest and stomach breathe. Oscar took in the sight of Franco, covered in sweat, reddened skin, pouty lips and eyes closed in pleasure. 

“Fuck”, he said. “You’re beautiful”, he whispered. The Argentine opened his eyes to look at him and flashed him a soft smile. 

“I might need a while, but if you wanna switch…” Oscar trailed off. Franco leaned in and kissed him, softly, so tenderly that it took the Australian by surprise. 

“I’d love to, but I’m suddenly feeling quite grateful towards Alpine. Maybe this time, we could be just us…”, he suggested.

Oscar smiled back and kissed him, slowly. “Yeah, just us. Fuck Alpine”.  

Chapter Text

In Silverstone the car didn't even start. He was starting from the pitlane. It was raining, still wet in some sectors, pretty wet. Yet the team had selected hard tyres for him. The car calling it quits was probably a blessing in disguise at that time.

Now the rain poured again in Belgium. He was in 15th place. He was finally on the grid, with everyone else. But in the end, the team fucked up the strategy once again. They got the slicks on too late and then the mediums were a no go. Two stops while many other drivers, including Pierre, only went for a one stopper. The French driver noticed Franco's disappointment when they met back at the garage.

"We should not have boxed", Franco told his engineer over the radio. The still had to talk about that privately. The team kept fucking up his strategies. It was infuriating.

Pierre had done -once again- an amazing job. The strategy was good for him. It wasn't just that though. He was good. A freaking GOAT even considering the points he had been securing with that dreadful car.

After the race finished, after the interviews, the farewells to the visitors, when it was just team time, Franco went to his room for a quick shower. He wanted to rinse all the frustration off. He had stripped down to his boxers already when there was a knock on his door.

"Franquito!" Pierre's cheerful voice called him through the thin walls. "I've got something that might cheer you up", he said. Franco looked at his state of undress and wondered if he should open. He decided Pierre wouldn't mind seeing him like that. They were sportsmen after all, certain degrees of nakedness, skin and sweat were part of their routine. He cracked the door open, peering outside.

"Mmm, I was about to shower", he excused himself for not inviting him in.

"Perfect timing then", Pierre didn't register the excuse and entered the room. He was holding a box. "Belgium chocolate scented soap", he said, handing him the present. "Some fans gave them to me. For you and me".

Franco took the box and opened it. The rich smell of chocolate invaded his senses. "Wow", he said. "Delicious..."

"Yes, delicious indeed", Pierre said softly. Franco looked up just to realize Pierre was looking at him intently, his blue eyes dark as they scanned his body, the creamy skin, the soft curves, tight stomach, firm legs... the bulge outlined through the light blue fabric of his boxers.

Pierre licked his lips as their eyes met. Franco swallowed hard. Pierre really had licked his lips. Maybe it was just a coincidence. 

"So Oscar told me you started some kind of support group", the French driver said, still not taking his eyes off of Franco. 

"What?", Franco asked, shocked. Oscar had done what? They hadn't agreed on telling anyone what they had done. God, it was supposed to be their secret.

"Well, I ran into him yesterday after the whole Sprint race fiasco", Pierre began to explain. His car had problems when he got to the grid and went back to the pits. He had started the race two laps after everyone, just to have a chance to test the car. He had classified P8 but that had gone down the drain. So yes, Alpine problems. He had been bantering about that to Piastri, so the Australian told him about the way that he and Franco had found to deal with Alpine induced frustration.

"Oscar told me how you guys cope with this shit. Quite healthy, actually", he added, a cheeky grin on his face.

"I don't know if healthy is the word..." Franco was furiously blushing. The image of Oscar fucking him hard while he was on the Alpine suit came to mind. "But it was fun", he added with a smirk.

Pierre laughed. "So I heard". His gaze was fixed on Franco's lips and he was licking his own. Yeah maybe that was no coincidence, Franco thought. 

"Can I..." the French driver started to ask, moving closer to Franco, who was suddenly very aware of his state of undress. "Can I join the support group?" he completed. He was standing right in front of the Argentinian, their lips now only inches apart. Franco trembled, a wave of arousal running through his body as Pierre's bright blue eyes grew darker.

"But you scored a point..." Franco tried to justify. What was he doing? Was Pierre actually... close to kissing him? And why was he looking for reasons not to let him? That weekend had been special for Pierre. He paid tribute to a dear friend and Franco joined the ritual. He had been there, by Pierre's side. And he noticed that he was not his usual relaxed self, although he seemed to be most of the time. Yet there was a dark cloud hanging over him, darker than the rain-baring clouds that covered the circuit. 

Pierre looked disappointed when he heard Franco's reply and the Argentinian noticed. 

"Sorry", Franco said. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, you did well", he smiled at him. Franco reached out to him, running a hand along his left arm. "But I guess you could do so much better with another car. You could win races, even", he added. Pierre gave him a small smile and moved closer. He rested his forehead on Franco's. He placed his hands on Franco's exposed shoulders and felt a jolt of electricity. 

"Is that a yes then?", Pierre asked, his lips nearly brushing Franco's. The younger man let out a soft moan even though they had not even touched yet and that was all the confirmation Gasly needed. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against his teammate's.

Franco melted into the kiss, not caring anymore about being almost naked as Pierre's hands roamed over the skin of his back, moving down towards his waist. They pressed their bodies together, Pierre still fully clothed and his hand coming to rest over his butt cheek, pressing hard, feeling the roundness of Franco's ass.

"Fuck Alpine", Franco gasped against Pierre's lips and got a laugh as a response. "You're wearing too many clothes", he protested as he pushed the bright blue team jacket off of Pierre. The shirt followed right away as the Frenchman quickly unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them away. They could not bring their lips apart while their hands discovered every inch of skin. 

"Shower then?" Franco offered and Pierre thought it was a great idea. The space was really tight for two though and what seemed to be a hot idea proved to be a difficult endeavor. Still, they showered, using the dark chocolate scented soap that seemed like an aphrodisiac, although they probably didn't need any outside help. Their cocks were hard, pressing against each other under the warm water, their bodies slippery, making the friction better, more bearable.

Pierre rubbed the soap intently and used his hands to milk Franco's cock to completion. The Argentine collapsed against his chest, moaning Pierre's name as he finished him. Then he started touching himself. He turned Franco around so that he was facing the wall of the tiny shower. He ran the soap bar down Franco's back and over his ass, sliding his hand between number 43's butt cheeks. Then he pressed himself behind him, his cock nestling between Franco's cheeks as he rubbed his body against his. His cock was sliding over Franco's skin. 

"Metémela", Franco spoke in a low voice. He was begging. 

"What does that mean?", Pierre asked, his voice also throaty as he laid kisses on Franco's neck and the younger driver realized he had said it in Spanish.

"Fuck me", he translated. "I want you inside me". Pierre almost came right then and there. He made a mental note to remember that word. Metémela. He was sure he was going to hear it again. 

There was a knock on Franco's driver room door. "Franco, are you there? Team meeting in ten minutes", Stuart Barlow's voice brought them back to reality.

"Ok!" Franco shouted to make sure he heard him. His voice was too raspy and he hoped the engineer didn't notice his state of arousal in his tone. Pierre rested his body on his, frustrated at the interruption.

"Oh man", he cursed. "Fucking Alpine". Franco laughed and turned around. He was now facing Pierre, his back pressed against the shower wall. Pierre attacked his lips instantly and Franco reached for the experienced driver's cock, aching between their bodies. It was covered in soap so he gave him a couple of strokes. Pierre fucked into his fist and Franco intensified his movements, his hand going faster up and down Pierre's length. They had no time to lose. 

Pierre came with a gasp, covering Franco's stomach with his cum while his legs trembled. They kissed again, softly, lazily as the warm water kept falling over them. They could have stayed like that forever, but they barely had time to get dry and get dressed. 

"We should continue this later", Franco suggested as Pierre finished putting his clothes on. 

"Definitely", he agreed as he gave Franco a quick kiss before leaving for the team meeting. "I've been here for three years. Plenty of trauma to go around".

Chapter Text

Franco was lying on the bed, face down, his head buried in the pillows. The searing hot shower had relaxed him. Now he just needed to sleep until he woke up. He didn't care how long that took. He wanted to sleep through the frustration, until 2026, when the new car arrived.

It wasn't just the car now, though. The strategy was shit and the pit stops had been... well, indescribable. While McLaren had pulled off record 1,94 second stops, his stops had been 11 and 7 seconds long. Pierre's at least had been normal. His car had been shit too, nonetheless. 

So when Franco heard a knock on the door, even though it was nearly midnight, he wasn't surprised. His body trembled with anticipation as he got up to get the door. He knew what was coming. He had been expecting it, really. 

It had become a bit of a routine, a consolation price for bad days at Alpine. And there were plenty of those every race weekend. It started after Spa, when Pierre showed up in his driver room with some gifts to cheer him up. Oscar had told the older driver about their "Alpine trauma recovery" group and Pierre seemed very interested in joining, so he did. Lately it was just him and Franco; as current teammates, they very much deserved it. They could invite Jack over one of these days though, but the Australian was rarely around them anymore.

Hungary wasn't supposed to be good for them. It wasn't supposed to be this bad either. And as Franco opened the door, Pierre was right there, soft smile and looking at him like he needed a hug and Franco let him in. They didn't really need to say anything. 

"This weekend... I can't really believe it", Pierre said. "I watched your pit-stops, bébé. Increíble", he added in French. Franco just nodded. He really didn't have much to add. The way Pierre called him 'baby' in French though did things to him, managing to render him speechless. A very powerful thing, really.

So Franco did what he knew best instead, what he had become used to doing for the past few days. He dove into his teammate's arms, letting Pierre hold him tight while he reached for his lips. 

"I need you", Franco whispered. "I need you to make me forget about today", he added, his body pressing hard against Pierre's, their cocks growing harder as they rubbed against each other in between kisses and caresses. 

A knock on the door startled Franco and interrupted the make out session.

"I hope you don't mind", Pierre said. "But I invited someone who needs this as much as we do".

Franco looked at him, puzzled. Unless it was his left rear mechanic, he didn't know who that might be. And that guy was the last person in the world Franco wanted to see. 

As the idea of Pierre inviting someone else sank in, he also realized he didn't want to share him with anybody else.

But Pierre gave him a short kiss and took him by the hand while he led Franco to the door.

"You're going to like this", he promised. 

He opened the door and to Franco's surprise, Charles was standing there, looking fresh out of the shower, white hoodie and light blue jeans on, his hair messy, the skin flushed, his green eyes shining and a sheepish grin on his face. He looked at Pierre and then at Franco, checking wordlessly to see if it was cool. The younger driver looked surprised. Pleasantly surprised, though, but he pretended to be undecided about letting him in.

"Hmmmm", Franco said, trying to look hesitant. "I don't know. You've never been in Alpine..." 

Charles gave him a lopsided smile as he placed a hand on Franco's shoulder. "I know there are very few things more traumatic than Alpine", he said, looking intently into Franco's eyes. Even though he tried to look unbothered, the Argentinian's mouth was literally watering. "Ferrari might just be the only one", Leclerc added, winking at him.

Franco couldn't help but laugh. Charles looked as fucked up as they did after the race, so he decided to have mercy on him. "I guess if Pierre says it's ok...", he said, trying to sound nonchalant, as if he wasn't really refraining from jumping in the monegasque arms like he had been wanting to since the first day he met him, when Franco was barely in F4.

"I guess it’s alright", Pierre laughed as well and took a step towards Charles, bringing him in for a kiss. It looked like a very comfortable gesture and that made Franco realise it wasn't their first time doing that. 

Pierre let Charles in and closed the door, as the Ferrari driver made his way to Franco, slowly but steadily, like a cat approaching his prey, his eyes focused on Franco's lips. When he was close enough, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly to Franco's. The Argentinian responded immediately and their kiss grew deep and needy right away, their mouths pressing hard, opening up to explore more, a tingling feeling running through Franco's body as his cock twitched and his knees grew weaker.

Pierre quickly joined them, claiming Franco's mouth as soon as they broke the kiss to get some air. Charles moved behind Franco, pressing kisses on his neck and shoulder. Franco pushed his body backwards to rub against Charles, as Pierre moved himself closer to the younger driver as well. 

Clothes were soon discarded, falling recklessly to the floor or flying across the room. There was a certain sense of urgency in them, although they took their time to appreciate the exposed skin, the warmth of their bodies as they twisted and turned to savor each other in a somewhat clumsy exchange of kisses, bites, licks and touches. 

"Bed", Pierre commanded but then he turned to Franco, asking softly, "how do you want to do this?" Franco looked gone. He needed a cock inside of him, he didn't care. But it looked like Charles was sharing his desperation. He looked at the Monegasque, a silent question. 

"I'm gonna fuck you, like you're Ferrari and Pierre can fuck me at the same time. People say I'm like a puppy, but I'm not going to be gentle". The older drivers looked at each other, knowingly. Franco just swallowed, hard, and nodded. That would work, he thought, although he felt a bit of regret for not getting to have Pierre's cock inside of him. He had gotten quite addicted to it lately. Charles' looked a little bit wider though and he wondered how that would feel.

He had stretched himself in the shower earlier, anticipating Pierre's visit. Charles had done so too the minute Pierre invited him after letting him in on the support group and his activities with Franco. 

The Argentinian laid on his back then, a fluffy pillow under his head to be comfortable while he spread his legs and pulled them up. Charles licked his lips and he leaned into him, arms on either side of Franco supporting him while Pierre knelt behind him. Charles put on a condom before he positioned his cock over Franco's opening, a lubed finger running over the ring and entering slowly, making sure he was ready. 

"Please, Charles", he practically begged and the Ferrari driver complied. He pressed the tip of his cock in and kept going, inch by inch, slowly, as Franco adjusted to him. He leaned in to kiss him again, as the younger man got used to the sensation of having freaking Charles Leclerc inside him. Franco smiled as he thought of all the times he had wanked just dreaming about it. F1 really was making all his dreams come true.

Charles' ass was on display and Pierre didn't hesitate. Another condom on, a bit more lube and he was quickly inside his friend, that sense of familiarity once again made Franco realise they weren't new to this. The way they synched actually made him wonder how many times they might have done that before. He didn't want to know if a third party was also part of the scene. 

Charles started moving inside of Franco, faster, deeper, harder. He wasn't kidding when he said he was not going to be gentle. Pierre matched his rhythm and his strength and soon Franco felt that Pierre was fucking him through Charles as well, the hard thrusts reaching all the way into his prostate, his own cock hard and unattended leaking with pre-cum. 

Pierre leaned in and bit Charles on the shoulder. The Monegasque moaned and threw back his head, looking gorgeous with his eyes closed in pleasure and he licked his lips and moaned Pierre's name. Franco was pleading for more and they followed wishes as if they were commands. Charles intensified his pace and  Franco felt the Ferrari driver was close, so he grabbed his own cock and gave it a couple of strokes. Charles came with a gasp when he felt Franco's hole tightening around his cock, his body shivering as the Argentinian spilled onto his stomach.

Pierre kept going, over stimulating Charles, who was still inside Franco, a tandem that kept him thrusting into the younger driver, now moaning incoherently as more drops of cum fell out of him, draining him completely.

The French driver finally stilled as he groaned and came in the condom, collapsing on Charles' back. He pulled away quickly though, to leave his partners room to breathe and move. 

After a couple of minutes, Pierre got up to get some wet towels. Franco and Charles whined at the loss at the same time. "Don't be such babies", he said when he returned, kissed them both softly and wiped them clean before falling back on the bed, this time behind Franco, wrapping his arms around him. 

"I missed you", he whispered in Franco’s ear, low enough for only him to hear, while Charles seemed to be drifting away, their breathing slowing down, sleep starting to claim them. 

As the three of them laid together in silence, in a tangle of limbs and Egyptian cotton sheets, Franco sighed contently. "Should we give Lewis a call?"

Chapter Text

Franco should have gotten his first point with Alpine in Zandvoort. But then again… Alpine happened. When he reached the post race debriefing, he was still fuming. He didn’t even look at Pierre or half the team. Flavio Briatore had been harsh at the start of the weekend regarding his performance so far and now there he was, not a single point and it wasn’t his doing. He had a seamless race in The Netherlands, yet the team took too long to get them to swap positions in the end. Franco had to ask for it, even.

“We are teammates, we should help each other out”, the Argentinian pointed out in Spanish during the post race interviews. He tried to stay away from Pierre as much as he could. The French driver, on the other hand, was frustrated by his race finish. Four cars passed him by when he was ordered to give the position to Franco. 

The atmosphere at the Alpine hospitality was dense. Nobody was joking or loosening up. Some engineers tried to make it lighter, congratulating the rookie on his best performance to date but the disappointment was not fading away.

There were some discussions regarding the final strategy, team orders and the delay. Franco was holding his head high, specially after Briatore’s comments. If he had not delivered a point this time, it wasn’t his doing. Like it hadn’t been in many occasions, like the Silverstone DNS fiasco or the outrageous pit stops at Hungary.

The bright looks and smiles between Franco and Pierre were gone, they were so far away from the start of the weekend, when they ate oats and berries or played reaction games. 

The kink of “Teacher Pierre” was just a distant memory. “Warm me up”, Franco had teased in a video, a hint to those encounters the rest of the team knew nothing about.

When the meeting finally ended, Franco sighed and went to get his things. Pierre had left the room a couple of minutes before him. Franco walked through the corridor that led to the drivers’ rooms, thinking Pierre would already be packing up. But to his surprise, he found him at the end of the corridor, waiting for him. 

“Don’t”, Franco said, not even wanting to look at him.

“Franco”, Pierre stood in the middle of the narrow path. 

“You’re gonna block me here too?” Franco snapped, sighing with frustration. There were some mechanics around that looked at them curiously before gathering their things and going away quickly. 

“They should have told me sooner let you by. How was I supposed to know”, he explained to the Argentinian that was looking at him with his arms crossed, visibly exasperated. 

“I had more pace, you could easily see that”, Franco replied. “Let me through”, he insisted. 

“It wasn’t my fault. You wouldn’t let me by without a team order”, Pierre tried to explain, but Franco was having none of it.

“I thought you wanted to help me, that you wanted to see me grow”, Franco’s tone no longer seemed angry. He sounded hurt, disappointed and Pierre noticed. He moved towards Franco, still not giving him room to pass. He came closer to him, leading him closer to the wall. A tentative hand rose to try to touch Franco’s arm, but the younger driver turned to avoid it. 

“No”, he said again. “Move”

But Pierre wasn’t budging. “I want to win, obviously. I want to beat you, of course. But I want to help you, too”, the Frenchman said. “Let me make it better”, he added finally, taking another step towards Franco.

“You can’t kiss it better and expect it to go away. I am mad, so mad right now I could physically hurt you”, the former Williams driver admitted, sighing again with frustration, clenching his fists.

“Do you want to hit me? Slap me?” Pierre asked, his voice getting lower and his face closer to Franco. “Or do you want to fuck me?” he added, whispering in the Argentinian’s ear. Franco’s mouth went dry. All of the above, he thought. Although he would settle for some spanking before fucking him hard. If it wasn’t his fault but the team’s, Pierre seemed to want to atone for it nonetheless. The Alpine trauma recovery sessions were still in place.

Franco eventually agreed to let Pierre come to his hotel room later that evening. And now there he was, the Frenchman stood naked, in all fours, on the bed. Franco had taken a few steps back and was looking at him, at the pale skin of Pierre’s ass, leather belt in hand, folded, just taking his time, letting the anticipation get the best of his teammate. The idea of spanking him had seemed too gentle, considering Franco’s anger was taking long to dissipate. 

Smack! The first contact of the leather against Pierre skin was hard. Gasly groaned. Franco wanted to take his frustration out on him. He should have known, he should have helped him, he thought as he watched a red mark forming on the Frenchman’s skin. 

Smack! The second time the belt hit Pierre let out a cry. The skin grew redder, hotter. Pierre took it, staying in place. He should have said something after Briatore’s comments, Franco thought about his teammate’s silence on the subject. 

Smack! Franco didn’t waste any time and launched a third attack and Pierre gasped, tears rolling down his cheeks while his cock grew harder despite -or because of- the pain. The skin looked dark red now and he knew it would be purple the next day. Franco was coming for him. It wasn’t personal. He felt more comfortable with the car. If the team cooperated, he was going to take Pierre down.

The older driver did not complain, did not ask him to stop, did not ask for more either, he just panted, waiting for the next blow. But it never came. Instead, Franco took the bottle of lube and let some fall in between Pierre’s ass cheeks, right above the tight ring of muscles. Then a finger pressed on the opening, touching the area, the tip of a finger starting to make its way in. A second finger followed after the first one had made its way inside. Soon Franco had three fingers inside Pierre, stretching him. His subject was moaning.

“Please Franco”, he sounded impatient. “Fuck me hard. Make me pay. Make Alpine pay for all the mistakes” he begged. Franco complied. He put on a condom and entered Pierre right away. He was hard and he filled him completely. He was not going to be gentle or considerate. He wanted to punish Pierre for not giving him room, for not reacting faster than the team, for not standing up for him, for not being head over heels for Franco.

He wanted all of Pierre, all of his attention, his smiles, his advice, he wanted teacher Pierre warming him up. But that would have to wait for another session. Now Franco was just pounding hard into Pierre’s ass, his rhythm frantic, his cock filling the tight and hot hole. He was so close to coming, the idea of breaking Pierre fixed in his. Pierre begged for more and Franco lost it. He was not supposed to love this. He wanted to punish him. So Franco got out of Pierre’s ass, missing the warmth of his depth. He stroked his cock a few times, his hand going up and down fast, eyes fixed on Pierre’s butt, the opening right in front of him. And with that he came, leaving streaks of cum on his teammate’s skin.

Pierre turned to look at him, confused, aroused, frustrated. Franco was putting his underwear back on. “What?”, he asked.

“You can go now”, Franco said, flopping on the couch, turning on the TV. 

“Just let me…”, Pierre started saying as his had went for his own cock in an attempt to get himself off. 

“None of that. Get out”, Franco said. Pierre felt humiliated, disregarded, abandoned even. But he understood. It was his teammate’s way of making him pay, of making him feel as ignored as he had felt that day, when the team did not go out of its way to try to win. 

A new team principal was starting on Monday. Maybe he knew how to turn things around. Maybe he would do them good. And they would put the Alpine trauma recovery group away for good, Franco thought. He didn’t hate it though. It was fun. A lot of fun. But he wanted to stop feeling miserable weekend after weekend. He wanted to enjoy his F1 experience, not find an endless trail of mistakes in every race.

As he watched Pierre struggling to get dressed, trying to walk around despite his painful erection, Franco wondered if he really wanted it to end. Pierre and him had been having quite a lot of fun at the expense of Alpine induced trauma. 

“Oh god, you’re pathetic”, Franco said, taking pity on him in the end. “Touch yourself, let yourself go”, he instructed and Pierre was overtaken by a wave of relief. “Let me watch you and maybe I will fuck you some more”.

Chapter Text

“What’s this trauma support group that’s going around and why haven’t I been invited?”, Max asked, finding Franco in the media pen after free practice. His voice was throaty, a whisper in the Argentine’s ear, who was surprised by the question and the sudden approach as well.

“Well, it’s Alpine induced trauma, so you would have to actually be in Alpine”, Franco explained, relaxing, a cheeky smile on his face as he looked at Max.

“I’ve had a pretty shitty year though”, the world champion insisted, looking at Franco through his long eyelashes. “And I heard the sessions are quite good”. 

Franco was taking a sip from his water bottle and almost choked at Max’s comment. “Where did you hear that?”

Max laughed. “I’m not gonna rat out my sources”. They had finished the media duties, so they started walking back to their garages together. “Is it a large group?”, he tried again. He really loved paddock gossip and Franco knew that. 

“Not really”. The younger driver wished Max had had an Alpine past, anything to justify bringing him into a session. He was Max Verstappen after all and Franco was not going to deny that he not only felt admiration for him. He loved being around Max. He took any opportunity to hang out with him at the drivers’ parade. It was lucky that both him and Pierre were always paired up with Max and Yuki at the fan forum, he got to spend more time with the Red Bull driver and Franco loved that. 

“You know… you almost drove me into the wall today”, Max said. It was a comment he had made on the radio and Franco saw that in a highlights compilation while he was waiting around to be interviewed.

“I’m sorry about that. Pierre was coming through, If I fucked his lap they would have killed me”, Franco explained. 

“I wouldn’t mind ending up against the wall with you”, Max leaned closer to whisper in his ear again. Franco swallowed hard and felt a wave of heat rising to his cheeks. The Argentine licked his lips. He was unusually silent for a moment.

“If you had crashed into me today, that would have counted as Alpine trauma”, Max continued, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Double Alpine trauma, almost, if Pierre had crashed into you, you would have crashed into me”.

“Lucky for you, we didn’t”, Franco replied, trying to sound casual although inside he was wondering if Max would agree on a session after qualifying. Franco could probably use some therapy. The car was, once again, not looking great for the weekend.

“Not lucky at all”, the Dutch said. There it was again, the husky, throaty whisper that sent shivers down Franco’s spine. “I feel I’ve been traumatized”, he added trying to seem concerned, serious.

“Really?” Franco raised an eyebrow. “Poor Max”, Franco pouted in sympathy. Two could play the game. “Maybe we should offer some compensation”, he suggested. Three could play, too, if Max wanted to bring Pierre into the mix. It was his car the one Franco tried to avoid, actually. 

“What do you suggest?” Max was interested. Genuinely interested. Franco smiled at him with confidence. 

“I can offer you one of those Alpine trauma support sessions”, he said, licking his lips without realizing it. “I can talk to Pierre if you think we were both a risk for your lap”.

Max looked hesitant, like he was weighing his options. 

“I think you were the only real risk”, he said finally. “You always are”, he said suggestively. Franco realized it wasn’t a remark about his driving. Quite far from that, actually. As they reached the Alpine box, Franco nodded. “You got it then. After quali, is it good for you?”

“Perfect”, Max said with a wide smile on his face, blue eyes shining with anticipation.

When they met after qualifying, Max was satisfied with his second place, although he was still fuming about Lando ruining his lap with dirty air. His bad mood evaporated as Franco started to plant soft kisses on his lips and started to undress him.

“How do you want to do this?” the Alpine driver asked. Max pressed his lips harder against Franco’s and started leading him to the wall. He pushed him hard against the wallpapered surface. “Against the wall seems fitting”, he whispered in Franco’s ear as he made him turned around, facing the wall, while Max pressed his body against the younger driver’s back.

Franco moaned when he felt the warmth of world champions’ body against him, his growing erection pressing against his butt through the fabric. It was something he had dreamt of more than once, just like that, standing up, hard, fast, needy, even uncomfortable. He wanted Max inside of him and the blonde complied. 

They fucked hard against the wall, it was urgent, demanding, it had been something they both had wanted for a while and now that they had each other, they didn't spend time on pleasentries. It was just raw sex and they both came hard and fast in the heat of the Singapore night.

“That was a bit of a short session”, Max said after, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He exhaled and sat on the floor, bringing Franco to rest onto his lap. The Argentine legs were still shaking.

“If you want something longer, you need actual Alpine trauma”, Franco laughed. 

“Drive into me then next time”, Max suggested before kissing Franco hard once again.

“I can’t”, he pouted. “I’m not allowed to crash the car. I still need to secure a seat for next year”, he shrugged. 

“You are so in for next year”, Max added. “How do you feel about the second Red Bull seat?”, he asked, jokingly.

“And miss on the Alpine trauma support sessions?”, Franco exclaimed, a cheeky expression on his sweet face. “Not a chance”, he added, although it could be a win-win. That second seat should come with its own therapy sessions, too.

Chapter Text

"Mate, it's not fair. I'm sorry, that's not fair". Oscar's radio messages to his engineer after Lando pushed past him at the start of the Singapore race were everywhere. So was the constructor's championship celebration without him, and the awkward realization of what was going on at the podium while he still was at the media pen.

Franco watched him from the corner of his eye while he was still answering some questions as well. He could even feel Oscar's frustration. Pretty much everyone did, but his stomach sunk a little as he saw him, obfuscated, sweaty, tired. Franco looked at the incident between Oscar and Lando on the screens once again. It was on repeat. He would never tell that to Oscar but he had to side with Lando on that one. It was just racing.

"I bet Alpine doesn't seem so bad right now, uh?", Franco teased, a whisper behind Oscar's ear as they moved away from the microphones. The Australian turned, a sour expression on his face that melted a little once he noticed it was Franco.

"McLaren almost makes me miss Alpine. Almost", he nodded, the tinniest of smiles attempting to appear on his face. He looked really frustrated. 

"I'm really sorry", Franco laughed, he couldn't help it. There was no real comparison, although he could understand Oscar's anger. "You got points though", he pointed out. It was a huge difference with Alpine, no matter how lame the Papaya rules and team choices were sometimes.

"I know Alpine has nothing to do with this...", Oscar said, hesitant, looking intently at Franco, licking his lips without realizing it as his eyes searched the Argentinian's. He didn't need to finish the sentence. Franco was already smiling at him, nodding. 

"You know I'm always here for you", he whispered. It had been a while since the last time they had been together. Franco knew he was mostly spending his time with Pierre. Well, and Charles that one time. And Max after qualifying. But Oscar was the reason why it all started. He would always have time for Oscar, for his fair skin, bunny teeth, deep brown eyes, the mousy hair...

"Well?" Oscar asked.

Franco's brain had wandered off from the conversation. He noticed that when he figured out Oscar had said something he didn't quite catch and was looking at him, waiting for an answer. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Franco asked.

"Can I stay with you?"

"When?"

"Tonight. I don't want to go to the party", Oscar replied. The idea of having to put up with Zak celebrating while he felt he was being neglected even though he was the top scorer for the team was making his stomach ache.

"I don't think you can ditch that. But come over as soon as you get out of there, sure", Franco managed to say as Pierre came over to them. 

"Franquito", he said, his tone low, a sheepish smile on his face. "We've got some debriefing to do", he asked, casually pressing his hand on the small of Franco's back. "Congrats on the constructor's championship, Oscar", he added. The Australian stretched his lips and gave him a nod before leaving for his box.

"Someone's not happy", Pierre rolled his eyes and Franco laughed. 

"His skin is not as thick as ours, pink panthers", the younger driver winked at Pierre.

"Speaking of skin...", the French whispered in Franco's ear, his mouth brushing his cheek.

Franco made it to the shower after a quick "we arrived in the same position where we started, what a fucked up strategy" Alpine trauma support session in Pierre's room. He was exhausted and once again, sweaty. When he finished, he dried himself quickly and didn't even bother to put on clothes, crawling into bed and under the soft cotton sheets. He moved the pillows around as he settled, face down, ready to let sleep take him when his phone lit up. A message. From Oscar.

It was so late and Franco was beat. 

OP: I need to get out of here. Can I see you?

Franco made an effort to reply. He could feel his eyes closing. 

FC: Dead. Raincheck?

OP: Please, I need you

Franco didn't know how to say no to that.

FC: Come over

And with that, he left the phone on the nightstand and turned, hoping he would hear Oscar when he arrived.

As expected, Franco had fallen asleep, but the knock on the door woke him up. He got up, cursing, and opened the door. The room was dark. He hadn't bothered to turn on the bedside lamp. The was only a beam of light coming from the poorly shut blackout curtains. Oscar looked tired, so tired. "They told me I was being childish, I couldn't spend the evening pretending everything was fine".

Poor soul, Franco thought. He looked like he had spent the night avoiding sending everyone and everything to hell. Franco hugged him. He felt very sleepy still but he couldn't resist Oscar's sad puppy look. The Australian held him tight, his arms around Franco's shoulders and waist. 

"Were you waiting for my call?", Oscar said, noticing he had a very naked Franco in his arms. The Alpine driver realized then his complete state of undress and blushed. Maybe, deep down, he had. 

"Always", he lied. He didn't have the heart to tell him he was just so tired he couldn't bother to put on his boxers. He didn't have the heart to tell him that Pierre had fucked him senseless and he was so done for the night. 

"Fuck me, please", Oscar begged and Franco couldn't say no to that either. So he kissed him, softly at first. He loved the feel of Oscar's lips against his. He loved how the Australian melted in his embrace, the tension starting to wear off.

They kissed hard as Franco started to undress Oscar, to even the field. The McLaren driver was half hard already. "I want you. The only thing that kept me going tonight was thinking of you, of this", Oscar whispered, trailing open mouth kisses on Franco's neck and collarbone. Franco's cock woke up as he felt the contact with Oscar's skin, the warmth of his body, his hands roaming all over him, over his ass, fingers holding on tightly against his butt, bodies rubbing together, their cocks clashing like swords in a battle where no one would ever lose. 

"Fuck, Oscar", Franco moaned, leading him in a slow dance towards the bed. "Lay on your back", he whispered and Oscar shivered before he complied. Franco knelt between his legs, lube in hand and started preparing him. One glistening finger first, caressing Oscar's rim, the tip pressing against the ring of muscles until he slowly entered him, little by little. Then a second finger, bit by bit, until they were in deep, stretching him slowly. Oscar took a deep breath when the third finger filled him completely as Franco moved them in soft circles, finding different angles.

"Franco, please", Oscar didn't mind begging, ready for more, for all of it. The Argentinian driver put on a condom. He was so hard it ached. Seeing Oscar like that, so damaged, so needy, made Franco want him more. He wanted to bury himself deep inside Oscar and fuck him hard, so hard it could outweigh the pain the team had caused him. So Franco removed his fingers and positioned himself on top of Oscar. The Aussie spread his legs and lifted them towards his chest, exposing himself for Franco, who pressed the tip of his cock against the tight entrance and pressed, slowly, painfully slow, teasing. He would enter him and then withdraw, even if it was torture for himself. He wanted to be buried deep inside Oscar, to the hilt, and wanted to push hard, deep, short thrusts, all the way to the prostate. And yet he teased him, just to increase his frustration.

"Come on, fuck me", Oscar begged again, raising his hips to try and meet Franco and impale himself on the young man's cock. Franco smiled, a satisfied, kind of cruel smile, as he watched his partner grow more and more frustrated. "I've had enough for one day", he added. The tone was almost sad and it broke Franco's heart a little. So he decided to stop torturing Oscar and without warning, he buried his cock all the way in, until his balls were pressing hard against Oscar's ass.

"Oh yeah, yes, that's it", the Aussie praised. Franco fucked him with slow, deep thrusts, finding a constant rhythm that grew quicker as Oscar increased his moans, his breathing grew more erratical, his senses all over the place: touch, smell, taste, all of them overwhelmed by Franco.

Franco leaned over and kissed him, his plump lips hard against the thin ones, tongues meeting, fighting, dancing until Oscar gave in, a loud cry, so uncharacteristic. But there had been nothing characteristic about him that day, so it suited him. 

"Hmmm, Franco, yeah", he moaned as Franco kept pushing inside of him, Oscar still riding his orgasm as Franco found his. He stilled, deep inside Oscar, his hips buried as far as they could go, his stomach pressing against the McLaren driver's spent cock, cum soaking his belly, getting smeared on his skin. Fuck. He was so lost in his own release that he hadn't noticed Oscar was crying until he heard him sob.

"Osc", Franco whispered, concern in his voice as he caressed Oscar's cheek. 

"It's ok", the Australian replied. "I'm good. I needed that", he added, his fingers quickly wiping away the tears. "I needed that", he repeated. Franco pulled away and Oscar chased his lips before he could roll over. Franco kissed him, deeply, slowly. They broke apart after a while that was probably a lot longer than it felt. 

"I needed that too", Oscar smiled as Franco finally settled next to him, both of them staring at the ceiling, their breathing slowly becoming more steady.

"I'm sorry McLaren made you suffer today, but I'm also glad they did. I might have to send Zak a bottle of whisky or something", Franco smiled, pulling Oscar towards him. His eyelids felt heavy once again. Oscar held on to him tightly, one leg over Franco's, planting soft kisses on his shoulder. "Fuck McLaren. Fuck Alpine", he murmured before he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

"Ok, mate, both cars are managing here so we just need to hold positions please"

"What? Hold positions? But he's slow"

Franco disobeyed the order from the pit wall to hold his position. He was faster than Pierre, and if he didn't accelerate, Bortoleto would have taken him down. He then passed his teammate, the cars going side by side, Pierre almost going off the track, but it was clean, there was no contact. Nothing to question him for. Or at least that's what he thought until, upon arriving at the garage, his engineer Stuart Barlow told him they needed to talk. Flavio Briatore soon appeared too, and then Pierre.

It was a more tense debriefing session than usual, but Franco stood by his decision. Flavio seemed secretly amused, although his expression remained stern. "Next time we give you an order, you respect it," he finally told him. "The rest, you need to solve it with Pierre," he insisted before heading to the airport to catch his private flight.

"It's nothing personal, mate", Franco told Pierre while they were walking to their rooms later on. "You would have done the same thing". 

"No, I wouldn't. If they tell me to switch positions or hold them, I do", the French driver said. The one time they told him to let Franco pass him by, he obeyed, but he took a while, thus preventing Franco from scoring his first point with Alpine. They had already discussed that, Alpine Trauma session style.

"You need to learn how to hold positions", Pierre whispered when they reached Franco's room door. He pressed his body against the Argentinian's. It was obvious to Franco that Pierre wanted to teach him a lesson. Or so he hoped.

Franco opened the door to his room and Pierre followed him inside. Franco wanted to pretend he was nervous, but he wasn't fooling anyone. The sessions had become more frequent. Almost every weekend Alpine found a way to fuck up their races. They had the worst car of the grid, so post race sex was almost a given. They still masked it as a relieve session, although Franco could swear that deep down, they celebrated every team fuck up, knowing that would mean they would end up naked against each other later on that day. 

This was no different. Although a strange thought crossed Franco's mind. "You solve it with Pierre”, Briatore had said. Was that a coincidence? Or was Flavio aware of what was going on between his drivers after pretty much every race. 

He shook his head, trying to send that thought away. He didn't want to think of Briatore enabling this, knowing about this thing between him and Pierre.

As his mind drifted, his team mate had moved towards him, making him back down to the wall. Franco was nearly pressed against the cold surface, Pierre's face only inches away from his. "You're gonna learn to hold position", he whispered in his ear before catching his earlobe with his teeth, biting softly before licking his jaw line. 

Pierre hands went down to unbutton his pants, then lowering the zipper. His palm pressed against Franco's crotch, over his underwear, pressing against his growing erection. "Stay still. Stay very still", he said to Franco as the Argentinian tried to push his hips forward. 

The younger driver bit his lip as he watched Pierre kneel before him, his face right in front of his straining cock. He grabbed the hem of Franco's underwear and pushed down, taking the pants down at the same time, until the clothes were pooling around Franco's ankles.

Pierre licked his lips as he watched Franco getting harder for him. He leaned forward, his mouth now inches away from Franco's cock. And he blew some hot air over it, his lips parting gently, making Franco twitch with anticipation. The rookie's hands moved towards Pierre's head but the French driver caught them before he could touch him.

"I said still. Hold your position", he commanded, grabbing Franco's wrists and pushing them against the wall, his grip tight around them.

Franco winced, his cock throbbing as he heard Pierre's harsh tone. All he could do was bite his lips hard and look down on the blue eyed men kneeling before him, trying hard not to rock his hips against him to shove his cock into Pierre's mouth.

"Good boy", Pierre said when he noticed Franco's struggle to stay still. He blew another puff of hot air over his cock. Franco moaned. 

"Please", he begged. He didn't mind begging. He knew Pierre loved it and usually caved when he did. The blue eyes looked up at him and he smirked, knowing Franco was trying to tempt him. The Argentinian parted his lips and licked them, a little show for his senior, more experienced team mate. 

The little shit, Pierre thought. He rose to his feet and pressed his body against Franco's, pinning him against the wall before claiming his lips, hard. He kissed him like he wanted to bruise him, to teach him a lesson, all the lessons, all at once, as his still fully clothed self pressed harder against Franco's. Je wanted to melt into him.

"Still", he repeated, as he felt Franco pushing into him again. Pierre's hand found Franco's cock. He wrapped it around the hard flesh, his thumb caressing the red tip playfully to smear the first drops of precum. That hand came to Pierre's lips and he sucked his own thumb, tasting Franco, moaning only inches away from Franco's mouth. 

The Argentinian gasped at the sight and he licked his lips. He was not trying to provoque Pierre then. He just wanted to lick that thumb, taste himself on Pierre's fingers. 

But before he could say anything, Pierre was on his knees again. His tongue now licking the tip of Franco's cock like he was addicted. He wrapped his lips around the reddish head and sucked, like he was sucking a lollipop, the sweetest, softest lolly he had ever tasted. His hand wrapped around the base and started moving up and down.

"Fuck, Pierre, please", Franco begged, wanting to thrust his hips forward, dying to fuck Pierre's mouth as he swallowed him deeper. 

"Hold position", Pierre commanded again, his voice raspy after he took Franco's cock out of his mouth, traces of saliva shining over his reddened lips. His free hand was on Franco's hip, keeping him steady against the wall. And then he took him again, trying to get deeper and then letting go until there was only the tip around his lips. Pierre's hands working him up again and again and again, until Franco stiffened and let out a low moan while he came inside his team mate's mouth. Pierre drank up and then licked him clean. 

"Turn around", he grunted. Franco's legs were shaking after his orgasm. He just wanted to drop down to the floor and have Pierre hold him. "Turn around", Pierre insisted, as he looked for the lube and a condom in Franco's drawer.

The Argentinian complied, letting his forehead rest against the wall as he caught his breath. He heard the sound of Pierre jeans' zipper and then the condom wrapping being torn open. Then a cold, slippery finger was pressed against his tight ass.

"So, are you going to follow pit orders from now on?", Pierre asked, still panting into Franco's ear after coming hard inside of him. Franco was holding himself still against the wall, but his legs really were about to give in.

The Argentinian almost purred as he stretched as much as he could under Pierre's body and smiled. "If this is what I get in return, then probably not", he winked.