Chapter Text
Alain's been through this already.
He doesn't think Ayrton understands; Alain doesn't want to be patronizing, but Ayrton's so very young, made even younger for all the things he hasn't lost yet, younger than Alain remembers being, even now, not that many years between them.
They're fighting, because they're almost always fighting these days, and Alain's so intent on blocking the worst of the anger, at being detached and profesional and not letting Ayrton get to him that he completely fails to notice when Ayrton crowds him against the wall.
Ayrton looks down at him, utterly serious, his eyes dark and so very brilliant. "Are you even listening to me?"
"I...no, I'm not." Alain says, mildly proud on how his voice doesn't waver in the slightest. He moves to shoulder his way past Ayrton, and Ayrton presses him back for real now, making Alain's back hit the wall almost painfully.
Not his head though, because Ayrton cups the back of it, fingers digging into his curls.
"And now? Do I have you attention now?" He asks, leaning in, his breath hot on Alain's face.
And Alain's been through this too; he remembers it from the other side, wanting so much he became angry, and though he doesn't think for a second that Ayrton really feels what he felt back then (confused lust mixing with admiration, and such uncertainty. He remembers that most of all).
When Ayrton kisses him is still a shock; he hadn't been brave enough, perhaps wouldn't have been even now.
This wasn't supposed to happen, he thinks, even as his hands grasp Ayrton just as tightly. This can only end badly, it's on repeat on his head, as Ayrton pushes him down. And he goes willingly anyway.
****
It doesn't stop the clashing between them, as Alain knew it wouldn't. They don't speak of it for weeks, until Ayrton shows up on his room after Paul Ricard.
Alain's wary of letting him; he'd been happy pretending it'd never happened, happy telling himself it wouldn't happen again.
(perhaps happy is not the word. But Ayrton's eyes had been too present on his thoughts lately to allow himself to obsess further. Better to let go now)
"What do you want?" he asks, as Ayrton shoulders his way past him, entitled as always.
Ayrton looks at him, expression unreadable for a moment, and then walks close as Alain closes the door, fingers reaching to brush teasingly at his hip.
"It was a good race," he says, voice low.
Alain blinks at him.
"I'm not incapable of admitting someone else deserves to win, sometimes," Ayrton says, rolling his eyes, arm slipping around Alain's waist.
"I never said you were," Alain lies, too stunned to put up more of a fight.
****
He tentatively goes to Ayrton's room after Silverstone.
He knocks and waits for a while before giving up. He tells himself he's not dissapointed; it's most definitely better this way.
He walks slowly back to his room, only to find Ayrton leaning against the wall outside.
"We went for a few drinks. I thought you'd show up, eventually, but..." he shrugs, as if it should be remotedly expected for Alain to seek him out outside...
He remembers nights out with Niki, the weight of his arm around Alain's shoulder, laughing between breathless, alcohol-flavored kisses.
He tries to picture something similar with Ayrton, and can't.
(or won't. He can picture the end of it too clearly, unanswered phone calls mixed with friendly behaviour whenever they meet casually, nights spend awake wondering if he imagined the whole thing)
"Why would I? We're not friends, Ayrton."
Ayrton straightens up, looks him in the eye with far too much intensity for all the booze Alain can smell on him.
"No," he says carefully, "but we're teammates."
"Teammates with benefits. I bet you lot thinks you invented it." Alain says, his mouth running ahead of him as it seems to do with alarming regularity when he's with Ayrton.
Ayrton's eyes narrow at him, and he seems about to say something, so Alain pushes him inside and has him against the wall for a change, kissing him until he groans against his mouth, until he pushes him down on the bed and climbs over him.
That is the last time they fuck without fighting previously.