“Dude,seriously?” Sam asks, splayed out on the ground. “It’s my home race. Of all races, why’d you takethatchair?”
Thomas feigns surprise. “Oh! I did not think you would care so much.” His stupid accent sounds fake.I did nah zink. “I just sat in any chair.”
Sam scoffs. “Win in France and see how much you care.”
“I am already planning to.” He has such an arrogant rat-faced smile. “You may sit in my seat then. I am sure I will be far too happy that day to care.”
“Congratulations,” Lucas says, wrapping Sam in a tight hug. Though the Red Boar garage is a flurry of activity, when Lucas invites someone into his bubble, it’s like no one else exists. “I know how important this is for you.”
There’s no animosity about his record coming to an end, just an honest commendation. Lucas is such a good,nobledriver.
Sam folds himself over his teammate’s fluffy, light brown hair and inhales deeply. “Nice of you to get that ten second penalty for me.”
Lucas laughs, releasing the hug, and Sam immediately regrets saying anything. “You won’t be so lucky next time.”
“A couple’a guys are going out tonight—you wanna come?”
“Ah…” That’s a negative. “My bones are too old to party like I used to. You know that.”
Sam’s stupid for thinking this time would be any different. “But today is special—you knowthat.”
Lucas’s mouth turns up into a small smile as he shrugs. “Alright, I will think about it. Send me the address?”
“Yeah!” Today may be the best day in all of human existence. “Yes, yeah, of course. See you there?”
“We’ll see.”
Sam is three drinks down when he spots his teammate.
Their group is a rowdy bunch—everyone both happy for Sam and excited for the new season. They have a table upstairs, sparklers, and enough scantily clad bottle girls to spell out “SAM CAMPBELL P1” on individual letter signs.
Women drape themselves over Sam, laughing at everything he says, even when he isn't joking. He’s just that naturally charismatic.
It’s great—definitely an ego boost—but he still spends most of the time keeping an eye out for Lucas.
He spots the German driver along the balcony, clutching a drink and gazing out over the dance floor. The scene from above is addicting to watch—the thrum of sweaty, nearlynaked bodies intermingling, thrusting about to the heavy beat and flashing lights.
Sam has had enough liquid courage to offer his teammate aprivateround of sweaty, naked intermingling and thrusting.
He slides up behind him, casually as ever, and settles his hands on his waist. He ducks down, to Lucas’s ear, and says, “I’m glad you could make it.”
Sam doesn’t pull back, his lips hover just over Lucas’s neck, ready for any signal that this might be okay—that tonight’s the night they can finally cross this line with each other.
Lucas doesn’t say a word, but his hand travels up and buries into Sam’s hair, dragging him closer with a guttural moan.
That’s a pretty good signal.
Sam grips Lucas tighter and lavishes his neck for all he’s worth. They’re both drivers in the public eye, so he knows he can't leave any lasting marks, but he can’t pull himself away.
Lucas’s scent is intoxicating, though it’s different than usual. A new cologne for the club—maybe even specifically for Sam.
The thumping bass and strobe lights distort his senses, making his teammate appear even slimmer, more grabbable. Sam gives himself over to it, splaying his hands over the smaller man’s hips.
Lucas groans, pushing his ass backwards until they’re grinding, swaying to the beat. He fits perfectly in his arms and Sam’s hands wander up his slim body to his chest.
These ‘old bones’ are almost liquid with how fluidly Lucas moves in his embrace. It’s better than Sam’s ever imagined it would be. Sexier.
Lucas’s head falls back against Sam’s shoulder and he moans, “Yes, Rafael, just like that.”
