“What?” Sam is holding a bottle. It’s heavier than he remembers it being. “Okay.”
“I—” Thomas hesitates when they reach the door. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too.” Sam loved fucking Lucas. It’s the coming in Thomas part that confuses him.
“Can we…” Thomas shifts, his bare feet almost graceful against the hotel carpet. “Would you be interested in doing it again?”
Sex is sex, and Sam loves sex. The only problem is what happens at cum midnight—when Cinderella’s asshole turns from Lucas into Thomas. Is he okay with coming in Thomas again if it means fucking Lucas?
Weirder still, can he keep lying about it? Can Sam keep pretending he’s thinking of Lucas while he fucks Thomas?
If Thomas thinks Sam’s only sleeping with him because he loves Lucas, what will he think if Sam admits the illusion was gone before he came? Gone, but he still asked for more?
Fuck, but he can’t give it up. Not when he knows how compatible they are—howgoodthe sex is.
“Absolutely,” Sam says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Just lemme know what room you’re in next weekend.”
“P3. That’s P3.”
For once, Sam isn’t concerned about himself. “Where’s Lucas?”
Please be P1.Pleasebe P1. Please don’t let that slimy little?—
“P2.”
Sam smacks his wheel. “When did he pass ‘im?”
“On the last lap.”
Thelastlap. “He’s going to hate that.”
“Yeah, he hasn’t replied yet. Congrats on the podium, though! You dragged that thing all the way to the end.”
Yeah, but if he could’ve held Thomas off for justone more lap?—
Sam pulls up to the number three sign and hops out of his car. He crosses straight across, to the other Red Boar. The Ferraro almost bowls him over as Thomas parks in between.
Lucas takes his time emerging from the car. When he's out, he triple-checks his steering wheel is reattached.
Sam can wait for him. He can wait all night.
Thomas does his on-car poses before throwing himself into the arms of his team. The whole Ferraro mafia is out to celebrate the Italian team’s first win of the year.
Sam wants to be happy for him, but whytoday?Why did Thomas have to win the German Grand Prix?
Sam gathers Lucas up and squeezes him as tight as he can manage after a hard race. It isn’t the first time Lucas has lost the German GP, but if he’s serious about retiring, it could be his last ever home race in Formation 1.
“I’m fine, you big baby.” Lucas pulls back from their embrace but doesn’t let his teammate go. “Seriously, I do not need to win every race. Losing is part of it.”
Sam forces a smile. Always smiling. “Guess there’s a good reason to come back next year.”
Lucas gives him a final squeeze and taps Sam’s helmet before wandering away and congratulating Thomas. He’s such a good fuckin’ person.
If it was Sam, he’d tear pieces off the Ferraro until the car fell under weight.
Sam avoids Thomas by reporting to the scale. When the Frenchman follows him, he wanders off to exchange his helmet for his team’s hat and dry towel. Face dried, he figures it’s as good a time as any to get the interview out of the way.
Sam waves to the crowd before stepping up in front of the screen.
