Chapter Text
“So, can we?” asked Xander eagerly, pulling on his t-shirt for the day, a sassy thing Maryanne had gotten him, trying to be supportive, that read, “BEWARE OF TANTRUMS: Get off my bumper.”
He’d worn it so long it had little holes along the shoulder seams and Uncle Chris gave him shit about it, but he always had that smile on his face, like it meant something to him that Xander hadn’t thrown it away yet.
“You’re not wearing that,” declared Robert, slipping into another one of his endless fucking polos.
“It’s Mercedes colors,” said Xander shortly. “And, ‘nless you want to be one of those doms, Rob, telling me what to fucking wear every day, laying it out on the bed every night, which you swore you wouldn’t do…”
“Their PR people are gonna have nightmares,” Robert said shortly.
“Their PR people seen my tapes. I wore my same clothes at VAR, the whole time,” said Xander stubbornly. “They give me race-day clothes and send a stylist for-” he waved a hand- “all that shit, and I’ll wear what they make me, and when I’m not doing PR, I get to wear what I want to wear!”
“You’re driving F1, in a ten-year-old shirt your auntie gave you for your birthday, Xan! You were fourteen,” sighed Robert.
“It’s a good shirt,” protested Xander, shrugging. “Why, you want to talk to Maryanne about it, tell her she’s got shit taste? Because I think Chris Jr. can take you, Robert.”
“The fuck he can,” declared the man, finishing tucking in his polo like an asshole. “And I dunno yet, I’m still thinking.”
“He’ll let us drive his cars, if we make friends,” coaxed Xander.
“He’s not gonna make friends with you, brat,” snorted Robert.
Xander thought of the way the man’s hands felt, cupping his chin.
He thought of the way the man had said I want you for my team.
The look in his eye when he’d said, Maybe, if I am lucky, you will come to me and say, your words have touched my heart, and I feel heavy with what I have done, will you help me, non?
He had a feeling they might already be sorta friends, after all of that.
Pierre seemed, not, like, overwhelmed by him, but- but friendly. Like he wanted Xander, specifically, around a bit.
He’d offered them his guesthouse, and, yeah, Paola had told them both he would- she’d said he was known for doing that and that they should take him up on it, because he was within walking distance of HQ if you didn’t mind a stroll- but it still mattered.
The man didn’t have to do that.
He coulda been like, fed up right away.
Some people got that way.
Xander reminded himself the right pocket had that hole in it so he shouldn’t put anything in it, and tucked his wallet on the left, where it didn’t sit right, but whatever.
“I’m probably gonna say yes,” growled Robert, filling up his own pockets and scowling at Xander.
Xander couldn’t help the happy little bounce he gave, on the balls of his feet.
“What’s on your schedule today?” asked Robert.
“Uh, meet the PR team first thing, then I’m in the garage all day, got some safety briefings and sh- stuff, and then, Pierre promised he’d talk to the principal about letting me get some track time in. Said it’s not good, being so many days without a chance to embody the- whatever, he said some shit. Uh, stuff.”
“Getting your head on straight,” said Robert, nodding once. He patted Xander’s ass as he walked by, and said, sounding sincere, “Good boy.”
Xander scowled at the fucking hotel art in front of him and rubbed his chest a bit.
They didn’t really have time this morning- Robert had some meeting at fucking 8:30 so they had to roll out.
Said it was fine with him if someone else at HQ gave Xander his morning tune-up, and Xander… didn’t disagree.
Living in each other’s back pockets was gonna be fucking weird.
He’d never spent much time with Robert. They were on good terms, ‘specially now, but there was too much difference- Robert had always hung with that older set of cousins, and Xander had always been stuck with the younger set being supervised, and Robert was in high school when Xander started presenting, but he definitely whupped Xander more than once, even then, and that left an impression that like, Robert was one of Them, the Adult Doms, and he’d never really thought too hard, as Robert had really become an adult and gone on to do all that stuff he’d done.
He’d been grateful for the man’s constant, unwavering belief he could race fucking everything, and for his introduction down at U of T and Mercedes academy.
But they hadn’t been close, was all.
He didn’t need Robert tuning him up every morning before work, like they were best friends who were living together because they wanted to be living together.
In fact, if Robert didn’t want to go move in with Pierre, maybe he’d just- ask Pierre if he could still move in or something.
Not sure how that’d line up with the little R on his sub ID card, and the whole- thing- that the UK did where they made a big fucking deal about some shit that had happened when he’d been ten.
Not for the first time, he thought of Uncle Gabe with some anger around the edges.
Man had a lot to answer for.
But Paola had given him that warning, back when he’d been sixteen, about how it would be, if he was dead set on Mercedes, and so he’d known he’d need a registered and so he shouldn’t be bitching about it, that he got Robert, and the man and him were working it out.
He didn’t need a morning spanking and he never had!
Just because Grandaddy had whupped his ass with his morning coffee didn’t mean anything. Like Robert said, Grandaddy had been short-circuiting him or whatever. It hadn’t been good, what the man had done.
“Nothing wrong with my shirt,” he muttered at Robert’s back, as they headed downstairs to grab some grub.
The hotel was a fancy little place, with a partnership so they got the Mercedes guests all the time, so the little dining room was set up to be fancy and impressive and bullshit, because they just sat you and so Xander got a kneeler, every morning.
It didn’t seem worth it to argue.
He missed the Netherlands, though, strolling through the foggy early morning to his favorite cafe, sitting down, nobody saying boo about a sub ordering his own shit for himself if he met a friend who happened to be a dom.
And then he thought about the way Pierre had bowed him into the little privacy room, the day before, all old-fashioned and respectful.
That was the whole thing with the kneeler, after all. You were supposed to feed your sub to respect them, to show them care, to like, give them status. It was about that ying-yang stuff they were always jawing about over here. Subs rights, yes, but also- not forgetting the role of dynamicism in society or whatever.
Anyway, it was a little bullshit, because they had to plan for breakfast, be up early, so Robert could feed both of them, and then Robert hadn’t let him buy a car for them, so they had to call Reggie, and Reggie came and got them, but you had to plan for all of that wait time.
When they got to Mercedes, they were both staring out their windows, gearing up for their day, alone and separate and Xander, at least, wishing like hell he could actually be alone.
Reggie’d sensed the general mood, and sent them off with a cheerful, “Enjoy your day!”
He was a good sport, never seemed ruffled no matter what they got up to behind his seat.
Robert patted him on the back and took off- probably had the whole floorplan memorized, and he had an office somewhere in there that Xander would have to find. But Xander had no fucking idea where to find the PR folks, so he stopped at the front desk, rubbing his chest and scowling.
“Hello,” said the woman, and his mind was racing because Robert had known her fucking name! “How may I help you today, Mr. Champers?”
“Oh, please,” he said, leaning on the counter, “please, can I- can y’all huddle up and kinda agree that y’all can call Robert that, but I can just be Xander? Is there a form I gotta sign? Please?”
“Very well, Xander,” she said, giving him a happy smile. “How can I help you today?”
“I don’t know where I gotta be,” he confessed. “Like, I know that way’s the garage, and I’d love to hide out there, but I think yesterday they said I was in with PR, and-”
“One minute,” she said pleasantly, clicking her mouse on like fifty different things, as far as he could tell.
You couldn’t work cars and not know something about computers, but if it didn’t have a piston, he didn’t really fucking care for the machine.
If he had to click on fifty different things right away every morning just to know where he was gonna be, he was gonna die.
“You’ll be in Suite 201, the conference room,” she said.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and he said, “Hey, Pierre.”
“I will also be in Suite 201, in a half-hour,” Pierre told him, giving him a shake. “Shall I guide you there?”
“Fuck ye- I mean, sorry, I mean, yes, please,” said Xander, standing back from the desk.
The woman smiled happily at both of them.
“Thank you, uh, Lacey, right? Or Lonna?” offered Xander, putting on his most charming grin.
“Lacey, sir,” she said, pinking up just a little near her ears.
“Lacey,” he repeated, smiling back.
Nice to know.
Pierre patted his back and then drew him away by the elbow. “How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Like the dead,” confessed Xander, tossing his head just a bit.
“And did you wake feeling very well rested and ready for your second day, here with us at Mercedes?” asked Pierre, ducking his head to look down at Xander.
Xander scowled up at the man. “If you’re gonna be nosy about it, yeah, guess I did wake up rested.”
Pierre’s eyebrows flew. “Xander, I am only being courteous.”
“You’re being something, all right,” Xander said, lifting his chin right there in the hallway, tossing his head a bit because it was starting to buzz, low grade.
“Come,” said Pierre cheerfully, “I have someone you need to meet, before the meeting with PR.”
“I don’t wanna meet anyone,” Xander informed him shortly.
“Oh, but I insist,” Pierre said, a glint in his eye that made Xander open his mouth to give the man some language he could use to kickstart his day, about bossy fucking assholes who insisted shit when technically, the man wasn’t even on his, like, chain of command??
But he didn’t get a word out, because Pierre just plucked him right the fuck off his feet, pinching his ear and hauling him along behind the man, casual as fucking anything!
“Pierre, man! Ow!” he yelped.
“Shh, we are in the halls,” Pierre scolded him. “People are working here, Xander!”
The man was fucking ridiculous!
“I’m supposed to be working here!” he bellowed.
“Shh, do not disrupt all the busy people, working hard,” Pierre called back over his shoulder, sounding mildly irritated.
Xander would stomp his feet about sounding mildly irritated while fucking- hauling him through the hallways- but Pierre was moving too fast and he had to race to keep up with the man.
He grabbed the man’s hips at one point, so he didn’t crash into him when he slowed.
“Ah, Assad,” Pierre greeted the man happily. “Just the man- where can I find Richard?”
“He is- oh,” said Assad. “Hello, Champers.”
“Hi,” spat Xander, rubbing at his chest and glaring at the other brat, because glowering at him was probably safer than glowering at the asshole who had him by the ear. “Happy second day,” he spat sarcastically.
“Yes,” said Assad, shrugging at him. “I am sorry, he is- always like this. It is worse for you, because you are his second, I think.”
“Oh yeah?” demanded Xander incredulously. “You mean he don’t just haul off and grab other people by their damn ears?”
Assad’s eyes got wider.
“Oh, sh- I mean- I didn’t mean-” stammered Xander, feeling giddy, like he’d just called down doom on himself and was standing there waiting for the hellfire and brimstone to begin raining down.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Assad said quickly.
“You didn’t?” asked Pierre, in a sharp-edged voice.
“I didn’t say anything,” said Xander firmly, wincing as Pierre pulled him forward before him and peered down at him with a very stern expression. “I promise, I didn’t, and if I did, I didn’t mean it, Pierre!”
He tried his most innocent expression, but caught the heel of his hand rubbing on his chest, which was fucking thrumming with his special fucking brat cycle signal according to Robert and his fucking reading.
Different people carried it in different places, but Xander’s was dead center of his chest, which was apparently the most common fucking place to feel the pressure.
“Where is Richard?” demanded Pierre, glaring at Xander.
Xander glared back, because the asshole still had him by the ear and that was attached and fucking rude as hell, to boot!
“He is in the little galley, getting coffee,” said Assad, giving Xander a sympathetic look. “You should-”
“Yes, thank you, Assad,” said Pierre loftily, like he was a fucking High and Mighty Lord and Assad was a peasant.
“Yes, thank you, Assad,” mocked Xander immediately, and he wasn’t all that shocked when Pierre tsk’d his tongue and dragged him off.
Why the fuck were they looking for the team principal?
He’d already met with the man during his interview, spent the whole day talking through everything, and sweating under his fucking collar.
“Ah,” said Pierre, dragging him into a little room, where sure enough, they had a coffee kiosk and there the brawny man was, leaning on the little counter and reaching for his cup. “Richard, I have- something you will like.”
“F-what?” asked Xander plaintively, as Pierre spun him around by his ear and put his hands on Xander’s shoulders, giving him a little shake.
“Yes, I do like our new acquisition,” said the older man, blinking once but otherwise not really giving any kind of sign that Pierre was fucking crazy. “Very much. Hello, Xander.”
“Hi,” said Xander as politely as he could, while trying to squirm out from under Pierre’s hands. “Uh, nice to- happy second day, I guess!”
“Happy second day to you,” agreed the man, blowing across his cup and capping it with a lid. He tilted his head and looked across at Pierre, the question clear on his face.
“Xander needs to be spanked,” Pierre said, as if proud of this fact.
“Fuc- I mean- shi- I mean- don’t fu- don’t- you don’t gotta tell the team principal that!” Xander hissed, trying to scowl up at the asshole.
“Ah,” said Richard, pulling the little tab on his cup lid, tucking it gently so that he could take a slow sip.
“He’s a busy man,” Xander hissed up at Pierre. “Stop fu- stop messing around, Pierre!”
“I am a busy man,” said Richard, shaking his head. “But-”
Xander’s breath caught, staring up at the legend, as the man bore down on him, and tucked his hand around Xander’s elbow. “Shall we?” he asked Xander, nodding his head at the hallway he’d just been drug down.
“Uh, no, I- um,” stammered Xander, heart racing. “We- don’t- I mean- you’re busy, yeah? Don’t y’all have some big meeting at 8:30?”
“Mm,” hummed Richard. “Well, it is 8:00, just now. You are very punctual, Xander. I do like that in a driver.”
“That’s Robert,” Xander told him, just to set expectations and clear the air. He didn’t want these people thinking he was a fucking saint.
“Xander has opinions about Dylan, and you should ask him about them,” said Pierre with some urgency. “I did express, during the season-”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” sighed the man, tugging gently on Xander’s arm and he wasn’t gonna not go where the man clearly wanted him to go, was he?
Fuck no.
That was Richard Stevenson, all right, who had him by the elbow? That was Richard Stevenson, he wasn’t gonna do nothing but follow the man.
“I did tell you I shared those concerns,” Richard continued, taking a long sip of whatever was in his cup as they walked. “He did well, for the F2 team, and there is some adjustment necessary, when shifting gears, as it were, to the F1 competitive level.”
He nodded his head at people they passed, most of whom smiled brightly at Xander and gave a little friendly wave.
“You did, but you did not take action,” pointed out Pierre. “You allowed him to remain cautious, like Martinetto.”
“Wait, are y’all- can you fire Dylan’s ass?” asked Xander, catching up to the conversation all at once, between one step and the next.
Both men hissed at him, and he shrank back, just a little.
Not enough that he dislodged Richard’s hand on his elbow.
He would never.
“Not in a hallway, Xander,” sighed Pierre, shaking his head.
“My office,” said the man, and then they were climbing stairs, fast, and Xander stumbled on one, so Pierre grabbed his other elbow with a snort, and he was being dragged up the stairs, practically, and where the fuck was Robert when he needed him?
The man’s office overlooked the track, and he dumped Xander down on the low, long, wide couch that overlooked the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the fucking track.
“Holy shit,” said Xander, in awe.
“Mm, yes,” said Richard. “Now, your colors, Xander.”
“Oh, uh, red-yellow-green,” recited Xander, unable to peel his eyes from the fucking view.
“Adorable,” drawled the man.
“He is, yes,” agreed Pierre.
“I’m not fuckin- I’m not!” spat Xander, glaring up at the man before shooting daggers at Pierre. “And you can’t just- like I- you- I’m-”
“We take our team approach very seriously,” Richard told him. “I said, in the interview, that we will ensure your needs are met, Xander.”
“Uh, yeah, I- remember that part,” mumbled Xander, ducking his head.
They’d actually had a whole presentation about the brat amenities offered at Mercedes HQ and while Robert had taken serious notes, Xander’d mostly been praying a sinkhole would open up under him and swallow him- or the fucking cheerful presentation, HR rep and all- whole.
“Please take off your hat,” said Richard.
“Oh, uh, it’s lucky?” offered Xander, giving the man a hopeful look. “So, no, can’t do that. Gonna need all my luck to survive, uh, your team approach. If that’s what we’re doing.”
Assad had seemed pretty fucking sure that’s what they were doing, in the hallway.
“We are assuredly doing a team approach to your health and well-being,” said Richard firmly, tapping him on the head. “Your hat, Champers.”
“Uh, no, don’t- think I kind of need it,” hedged Xander, scooting away, sliding down the couch and shooting little glances at the window, at the track.
Crazy to think if he could just get down there, he could- do something.
Hard to fucking think of anything but running, with the pressure in his chest.
“Champers,” said Richard, like he was prompting him.
Xander scooted again, wrapping a hand on his brim.. “No, I- it’s lucky, and I need it, I already fucked up my first day, and so I’m not- look, this opportunity means the world to me and I-”
“Give the man your hat, brat,” said Pierre sternly.
Xander turned half around in his seat and glared at the man.
“Now,” said Pierre, in that fucking voice he got in him, like he thought you were a damn fool and he was putting the world on notice that your ass was grass and he was firing up the lawnmower.
“No!” Xander shouted back, because it was his lucky hat, all right?
His lucky one!
And fuck them if they thought he’d just- give it up to them! They didn’t own his ass or anything, he was allowed to wear his fucking hat, he wasn’t even- he was just meeting with PR, he wasn’t gonna-
“Hey!” he yelped, as Richard Stevenson took advantage of him glaring at Pierre to swipe the cap offa his head! “That’s mine, you as- you jer- you! Man!”
Richard looked down at the cap, tilting it.
Xander swiped for it, and woulda lunged for it, but Pierre’s hand came down and pulled him back hard against the couch.
“It’s a good cap, it has seen good use,” said Richard.
Xander snarled at him, tossing his head and struggling with the hand Pierre kept on his shoulder.
“All honor to the lucky cap, Xander,” said Richard.
“What kinda honor you think you can talk about, you f- you as-” snapped Xander, struggling even harder against Pierre’s hold.
“He’s a fighter,” said Richard, with a tone of satisfaction. “You’ll enjoy that.”
Pierre chuckled, long and low. “So will you, my friend.”
Oh, so they were fucking colluding against his ass, were they? Stealing his cap, holding him down?
“Are you ready for him?” asked Pierre, in that low, teasing voice that made Xander fucking put a hand up to grab the man’s wrist and try to yank him straight over the couch back, half-hoping the geriatric ass’d break a hip or something getting tossed like that!
Richard barked a laugh and gently set his cap on the little coffee table, kicking it away.
Oh, yeah, kicking!
Xander lifted up his foot, and Pierre snapped, “Richard!”
But Richard wasn’t a fucking idiot, he’d been a racer for all those years, too, and he fucking dodged the kick like they were playing mouse-and-cat on the fucking track in the final lap.
“Very, very naughty,” scolded Richard as Pierre hauled Xander half up the couch back while scolding, “Xander!”
“What?” demanded Xander, wiggling in Pierre’s arms, so angry he could spit nails. “What?! Y’all gonna- I’m gonna-”
“Coquin,” sighed Pierre.
“Yes, I- see why that might be necessary, this morning,” said Richard, and then the bastard sat on the couch beside him, and Pierre shoved him at the man, and Richard caught him like he was nothing, tossing him over the man’s knee. Then the asshole tossed the knee Xander’d been aiming at with his little kick over Xander’s thighs, trapping him in place, and began to smack down, hard!
“Owww!” howled Xander, shoving himself up, and not really shocked when Richard shoved him back down and held him to the couch with one hand.
Felt himself starting to give in, just a bit, to sag in the man’s hold- it was clear he was gonna take a spanking, and the other man’s dominance was hard to fucking argue against.
Was a little surprised when the man grunted, “Pierre?”
Was very surprised when Pierre came and knelt in front of his face, lifting his chin.
“You are a very naughty boy,” Pierre told him, in a voice like a thousand fucking hooks, making him kick and shove, trying to get at the man.
“Fuck you,” Xander shouted, “Fuck- you! Both of y’all- all y’all- fuck-”
“Naughty!” scolded Pierre, shaking his head a bit.
Richard huffed a laugh as Xander bucked up and a few of his hits went off-target.
But like a fucking F1 driving legend, he got himself back on track pretty damn fast.
Xander was wriggling, his head caught by Pierre’s hands. He scrabbled at the hands with his fingers, trying to rip ‘em off, but he couldn’t do it. With his lower half trapped between Richard’s legs, toetips shoving against the carpet but not- he couldn’t get no hold, could he, the way they had him all tucked tight!
“F-fuck-” he spat at Ferouchard, who smiled at him, the grin on his face so fucking smug and delighted, and the light in his eyes fucking- his fucking laugh lines going wild, so happy he was having a good fucking time with his buddy, yeah?!
“I ain’t-” Xander spat angrily, as that hand did good work on his ass, warming him up for the day worse than Grandaddy’s belt, it felt like, heavy and hard work, from a hand that had gripped a wheel when his daddy had been racing karts! “I ain’t- I-”
It was so tight in his chest the words were getting hard, and fuck, fuck! It was so hard to fucking think when he was getting whupped!
He turned his head in Pierre’s hands, trying to fucking bite the man, but the man just moved with his movements, which the asshole could only do because he wasn’t fucking held down and taking a fucking spanking.
It wasn’t fair! He’d been- he’d- he couldn’t remember, but it wasn’t fucking fair!
He kicked a couple more times, and then he had to breathe, didn’t he?
Big gasping things, which sounded awful, which came out sounding like-
“Naughty,” said Pierre, slowly, with weight in the fucking word.
“Very naughty,” said Richard, with that deep dom voice some of ‘em had, the one that made you wanna slide to your knees, and he’d known it, he’d heard the man since he was a baby, probably heard the man in his mama’s tummy, because she’d been- she’d been F1 mad, and that had- dad and her had always been fighting about it, ‘ccording to the family and-
And he’d tried to kick the man.
The man who’d given him this chance!
The next gasp-and-gulp turned into a sob, and then he couldn’t actually- he couldn’t actually stop, could he?
He couldn’t actually stop crying, then.
“Mon petit pilote,” crooned Pierre. “Just like that. Just like that, give it up. Give it up, sweet boy. All that mad, what a start to your day.”
He hadn’t- he hadn’t been mad, before they’d started- before-
Pierre’s hands threaded through his hair, while Richard kept smacking his ass, and he couldn’t stop crying about it.
Eventually Pierre cupped his chin and said, quietly, “You see? Magnificent. I had to show you.”
“He is glorious,” said Richard, slapping down hard so Xander yelped, and then resting his hands on Xander’s back, rubbing the same gentle circles Pierre used.
“‘Cause I throw fits?” hiccupped Xander, eyes closed tight, because then he wouldn’t have to see them. “And try to- kick you- in the knee so you like, fall, and brain your -hic- head, and then you’re dead and I’m like- kicked- outta F1 forever and I-”
“Shh,” said Richard and Pierre as one, Richard patting his back as if impatient with his tirade and willing to go back to the spanking, the clear and present danger so obvious it made him wiggle closer to the man, letting his whole body beg for mercy. “I’d be unlikely to be dead. I have a hard, thick skull.”
Pierre laughed softly, under his breath.
His thumbs wiped away the tear tracks, and he kissed Xander’s forehead, once, fondly. “He does, Xander,” Pierre murmured. “And you are his favorite kind of brat.”
“If I gotta have ‘em around, I want ‘em full of fire,” confirmed Richard. “Can’t stand it when they’re all sneaky.”
Pierre hissed a low laugh, jiggling Xander’s head. “How do you feel, mon petit?”
“Like I oughta get to bite you and then him, sir,” muttered Xander. “That was a- you riled me up on purpose.”
“Well, you do give a good show,” said Pierre apologetically. “And it has been some time since we have had a brat to Richard’s exacting specifications. He has been very sad at work, this whole time. It is very sad, Xander.”
“Very depressing,” agreed Richard, a laugh in his voice as he patted Xander’s ass gently, chuckling when Xander hissed in fear that he’d start up again, because Xander’d been sassy.
“You’re jerks,” Xander said, realizing it was true as he said it.
He let himself go limp. “You’re totally jerks.”
They both were chuckling then, Pierre’s finger playing at the nape of his neck.
“So sorry,” said Pierre. “Did you not read the brochure?”
“I thought we always made HR cover that in the first day seminars,” said Richard thoughtfully. “Didn’t we agree to that, Ferouchard?”
“Certainly by the second day, he should have known,” said Pierre.
“I hate y’all, and I hate this place, and I hate working here,” Xander said, but it wasn’t very convincing, because he’d started laughing helplessly.
“Yes, we can tell,” said Pierre smugly. “It’s the way you’ve gotten up and run for the phone and dialed 9-9-9.”
Richard patted his back. “You’re free to go. Anytime you want to run screaming.”
“Ahhhhhhh!” mocked Xander, kicking his feet weakly and wiggling his fingers. “Help, help, they’re fucking jerks!”
After a second, he winced. “Sorry.”
Another moment, and he muttered, “I am trying. With the language. Sir. Sirs.”
“It is good that you are trying,” Pierre assured him, hooking his chin up with a crooked finger and lifting his whole head until he hissed. “Because PR is your meeting this morning, and they have thoughts about your prior media training.”
“Fuu- I mean, dang,” swore Xander viciously.
“You can see why the strategy, to ensure you were in the right frame of mind,” said Richard, sympathetically. “Although you are always welcome, Xander. You are, as my old friend has said, a delight, magnificent. I do miss my days in the garage.”
“Uh, thank you,” said Xander. “I- I’m real sorry I tried to kick you. I really coulda hurt you, there.”
He had no idea why he’d gone for it- the kicking and wriggling and biting. It reminded him of the wrassling Lex had done, to keep him in line over at VAR. But he’d never made the team principal wrestle him! And it’d taken Lex and him a bit to figure out what worked for both of them, those first coupla month when they’d just showed up at F3 together.
Richard laughed, and Xander could kind of feel it as well as hear it, the way he was pressed up against the man as tight as he was, when he’d been panicking. “You would have to catch me first, brat,” he said cheerfully, and then there was another hand, scrubbing through his hair.
Xander couldn’t help smiling and ducking his head, wiping his face on his ratty old t-shirt as best he could.
“Now, about that hat,” said Richard. “Pierre, if you please?”
“It is a very loved hat,” said Pierre, standing easily.
Xander watched, eyes narrowed, as the jerk swiped it up from the table and put the hat on display in his hands.
Lex had gotten him that hat for their first race- just a stupid ballcap for AS Monaco, Lex’s home soccer team. Man was insane about his beloved le foot and had made it very clear Xander was expected to rep his home club until he developed his own informed opinions.
He’d debuted with a podium finish, second place, with that cap on his head for all the press before and after the race, despite VAR being a little pissy about it.
“Very loved,” agreed Richard.
“Very lucky,” corrected Xander, feeling a little of that hotness return.
But only a little.
The man had his hand on Xander’s ass, didn’t he?
“Well, we thought you ought to have a hat for your new number,” said Richard genially, as Pierre turned and lifted a box from the coffee table. “One in our colors, one that we-”
“Hot damn!” yelped Xander, pushing himself to his feet and sprinting over to where Pierre stood, holding both hats now in his hands. “What the-? How’d you get it made so- are you shit- are you kidding me?”
It had his name stretched around the brim, exactly like Pierre’s cap for race days had, last season.
“All yours,” Pierre said, grinning and holding it out.
Xander scowled at the man, but lifted the hat reverently.
His first Mercedes team ballcap.
It fit perfectly.
“Our colors look very good on you,” said Richard Stevenson.
Xander bounced on the balls of his feet, and fucked with the brim.
He swiped his lucky cap from Pierre’s hand and tucked it in the worthless left pocket.
The luck was that he had it, not that he was wearing it on his head.
Had to take it off to put the helmet on.
He’d tested that theory.
“Ah,” said Richard, as his phone chimed. “My 8:30, my apologies, gentlemen, I must-”
“No, no, I mean, thank you, sir,” said Xander, swiping at his face again. “‘M- thank you, I know you’re way busy, I- thank you for the, uh, time and attention and- the-”
“No, no,” laughed Richard, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving him a shake. “Do not thank me for that spanking. I very much prefer you kicking me and growling at me.”
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
Okay, that all made sense then. Primal sado, that made sense. That all made so much sense.
He shared Lex’s designation!
That’s why Xander’d kicked and wriggled and bit at him, that’s why he’d felt so right.
Although the power of his dominance, hoo-boy, that just underlined how Lex had been a young switch, and Richard was a full-grown primal dominant.
Lex said all primals got better with age, and he was not wrong.
Xander bounced a bit, thinking through what it meant, Pierre saying Richard was missing a brat he could wrestle with, Richard saying he liked Xander’s fire.
Lex had loved Xander’s spunk, too, said they might not click on some levels, but they sure as shit checked boxes for each other on others.
“Well, if I get a little fighty some other morning,” said Xander, shrugging, amazed at his own audacity to be saying this to Richard Stevenson. “I’ll- I’ll check and see if I can make an appointment.”
Richard threw his head back and laughed, before climbing to his feet. “You do that, Champers. I look forward to our next match.”
“I’ll kick your ass next time,” Xander told him, judging what would rile the man up a little based on the shit that used to work on Lex.
Richard laughed again, but he also shot Xander a look that gave him such a fucking thrill.
“We also have an 8:30,” said Pierre, sounding smug and satisfied and very, very pleased with himself. “Thank you, Richard.”
“Any time, Pierre,” said the legend, waving a hand at both of them as he lifted a laptop case to his desk.
“Hey sometime can I come up here, and just- look out?” asked Xander impulsively, his heart hammering in his chest. “It’s- it’s some view and I…”
He shrugged.
“Yes,” said Richard, inclining his head slowly. “I take lunch at noon, every day. My attempt at work-life balance. No meetings allowed. You may join me, although… I am often very bad at remembering to break from work, as Elizabeth would wish me to.”
“Thank you,” said Xander, shocked.
“You will spoil him,” scolded Pierre, sounding fond. “And then I will have to work twice as hard to keep him in check.”
Richard gave them both a sheepish grin, and waved them out before him.
Xander took one last look out the window, heart in his throat.
“Dylan will be replaced,” said Richard, as he closed the door, and Xander froze, heart hammering.
“Wh-what?” he stammered.
“I kept him as race engineer to see if he would work for you,” murmured the man. “He does not, so he goes to F2.”
“Spoiled,” scoffed Pierre, shaking his head. “Come, Xander, we must get you to people who will help me to train you up. Richard is weak and old, he is no good for you.”
The man might be old, but Xander was still limping just a little- a hitch in his step put there by that weak old man who was spoiling him!
“Hah!” barked Richard. “I will call you when I need you, old fox!”
“Have fun in your finance meeting,” sang Pierre.
Richard snarled, as he turned from them to the stairs.
“There,” said Pierre with satisfaction, taking Xander by the shoulders and looking him over once. “You have survived the old man. How do you feel?”
“Like I got in a fight with a coyote,” Xander answered honestly.
“He was very happy when he heard you bite,” Pierre told him. “Very hopeful you might… be exactly as you are.”
“He’s really going to go reassign that man just ‘cause I don’t like him?” asked Xander.
Pierre snorted. “His mind is a maze. He thinks in so many directions. It is hard to say, mon petit pilote.”
“Shi-oot,” swore Xander, shocked as hell.
“Be very careful with your words, Alexander Champers,” said Pierre, only half-teasing. “You will find they have greater impact now than you might be prepared for.”
“Shoot,” repeated Xander.
“That is my good boy, very well-behaved,” teased Pierre, shaking him. “Let us go show PR my good work!”