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The last race of the season. Without doubt Pecco is going to win the title this year, even if he won’t win this race. He is looking forward to the end, because then he will be able to celebrate and of course have the whole winter break to spend it with Fabio.
Well engines ready, lights are out and away the formation lap we go.
…
They started dating somewhere at the begging of this season. At first they kept it to themselves, but nothing can stay as secret for a long, especially when you bring your on-track-rival to Vale’s ranch during summer break. The first one to suspect something was Valentino, thanks to Marc, that was coming from his personal experience. Others were left clueless. They had good relationships with the Frenchman, so were happy to have someone new to practice with.
The biggest mistake which Francesco had made at that day, was to sneak into Fabio’s room in the evening.
*knock on the door*
“Fabi, may I come in?” a tender voice with a thick Italian accent on the other side of the door throws such a stupid question. Of course he can, even more, Fabio would have been offended if Francesco hadn’t come.
“Oui, mon cher” it's cloyingly sweet, but Fabio loves affectionate names
As soon as Pecco gets into the room and closes the door behind, his attention fully captured by an insanely handsome figure which was standing in front of a big window. His soft features were illuminated by the light of the sun, which was shedding its last warm rays before it set completely below the horizon and left the Italian summer sky in total darkness.
“you know how hot your ass looks in those dirt bike pants” Francesco says as he slowly approaches Fabio from behind. Immediately as he is in reachability, Pecco places his hands on tiny French waist
“yeah didn’t have time to change yet, I see you really like this” giggles Frenchman before rubbing his thigh on the growing bulge in his boyfriend’s sweatpants and forcing a groan out of him.
“aahhh … sì, amore” Bagnaia tucks him closer, so that Fabio can fully feel his state right now.
“you were hot there as well. While driving that bike … mmm … so aggressive … Had it not been for Valentino, I would’ve let you fuck me right there and then” Fabio breathes right into Italian lips before those lips slowly are getting as close as couple of centimeters and whispering:
“what a shame, we need to fix it … now” before initiating a sweet kiss, which soon turns into some kind of Brazilian dance between their tongues.
“Fuck Pecco, you’re so - ugh,” yeah he needed to breath before saying something, but, well it worked out anyway, it’s not like he needed to say the whole speech “I want you in me. Fuck, I want to ride you so bad. Do you have any idea how hot you were?”
And how is he supposed to deal with that?
The only thing he can even think to do is just nod stupidly, because yes that, please and run his hands up and down over Fabio’s waist, thighs and hips again and again.
“Bed. Now.”
“sì”
It’s not that graceful, because they’re both trying to take everything off at once and Pecco has never hated clothing quite as much as now when it keeps his hands off of Fabio’s skin. He meets Frenchman halfway onto the bed, one knee on the mattress while Fabio tries to put his hands everywhere and Italian tries to leave kisses everywhere he can reach. Fabio nips at Pecco’s bottom lip and shoves him down to lie on his back, impatiently crawls on top of his boyfriend to straddle him. He rocks his hips against, sliding their cocks together in a way that is hot and slick and not nearly enough. Pecco slides his hands over Fabio’s thighs and up to his hips and over his back and chest, restless and as impatient as French himself.
Fabio leans over to grab lube from somewhere Francesco doesn’t even see, and he doesn’t even care where Fabio got it from because he refuses to take his eyes off of Fabio right now, because he wants to see his precious face, his emotions, his eyes - pupils blown wide, his kiss-swollen lips. He wants to press inside of him and see if he’s hotter than the sunny day in Italy during the summer. To see whether Fabio is as intoxicating as the white wine that Francesco likes to drink once with dinner.
“I can …” Italian starts.
“No, I want to. You watch.” he pours lube over his fingers and drops the bottle beside, all focused as he shifts up just a little.
Oh Pecco can tell the exact moment that Fabio slips his fingers into himself. Frenchman makes a loud sound, his mouth falling open as he squirms away from his own hand. And damn he takes his time, Fabio doesn’t like to hurry especially in bad.
This whole show goes on for quite some time before he is ready.
Fabio sits up a little to take Italian's cock in his hand and place it against his opening, as hi does do he lets the tip slip inside. Leaning down, Fabio places his hands next to Francesco's head and while he locks eyes with the older rider, he slowly sinks down onto him.
"Oh god..." Pecco growls.
Fabio hums, licking his lips while he keeps sinking down until he has took Francesco's cock completely.
"Amour! Ughhhh… you feel sooo good inside of me … ahhh" Fabio moans trying to keep his voice down and successfully failing this task.
"Fuck … Fabi … mmmm … you are so good for me"
Pecco pulls his legs up so that it would be more comfortable for Fabio to lean back against. Frenchman does just that, rocking from left to right slightly, smirk on his lips when he sees the perfect picture before him. Sweat soaked dark curlz, half lidded eyes and rosy checks. Damn he looks hot. Fabio places his hands on Pecco's chest, he feels Italian heart racing underneath his palms while he starts to rock back and forth, swiveling his hips and stopping before he starts again.
"Hm … you fill me up so good with that dick of yours"
Italian groans with the words, hands moving around Fabio and grabbing his ass cheeks to pull him against him while he rocks upwards into Fabio.
“you are too talkative” Francesco breathes out before swapping their places, now he was above and Fabio on his back, taking Italian fat cock obediently
"Oui, fuck, come on, bebe" Fabio says, as he tries to make Pecco be a bit rougher and so does he, starting to fuck him harder and deeper
“I see you want it rougher” after this, increasing the pace, Fabio’s hand was pinned above his head with one Italian hand and the other one goes right at the neck, squeezing it lightly. Pecco’s lips never left Fabio’s jawline, leaving there a couple of bite marks as well as one, or maybe two, hickeys.
Francesco doesn’t stop until Fabio stops saying anything other than “Pecco”, “please” and “Amour”.
“Cazzo, ti senti bene,” Italian groans. “Così perfetto per me, così dolce, così bello e solo mio. Dio, sei così sexy, tesoro.” Yep, Pecco knows how much Fabio loves when he speaks Italian. Francesco convinced that French can come just from hearing him speaking about the weather, they will try it anyway.
Their pace picks up, just a little, and Pecco has worked out the angle he needs to unravel Fabio from the inside out, and every time he hits that spot Frenchman tightens around him
“andiamo tesoro, vieni per me” that’s all what it takes
“Pecco, Amour!” with the scream Fabio comes. Together with his comes and Francesco, taken a bit by surprise.
…
Wow, half the race is behind; it almost feels like a win to him. Pecco is happy, he will finish remaining laps, give some interviews and will be off to go in any direction. He will celebrate with Fabio, he wants it, he looks forward to it. None of the engineers will be against Fabio partying with them, everyone loves him.
Francesco does not let his brain to get too distracted, firstly he must finish his job, then he can relax and do whatever he wants but ton now. What fully bring his attention back to the track is the yellow flag, someone crashes. It is pretty long safety car. As he approaches 13th corner again, it was the second lap under a yellow flag, he sees motorcycle in gravel. Black and dark blue. With Monster stickers over it. With a bit of red. Most importantly, with the number 20 on it.
“cazzo!”
...
The next morning was interesting. When the Frenchman was limping a bit and not so talkative, as the day before. That is when academy boys understood everything. It would be more precise to say that they heard everything during that night.
“Ciao, amour” oh hell nah, it is okay to hear it from Fabio, especially concerning yesterday’s night activities, but not from Marco paring with laughter from Celestino.
“Stai zitto, cazzo. La prossima volta che sentirò Celestino urlare il tuo nome, non ti lascerò vivere libero per almeno una settimana”( Shut the fuck up. The next time I hear Celestino scream your name, I won't let you live free for at least a week) now it is about time for Cele go tomato red
“Francesco, non vuoi dirci una cosa?” (Francesco, don't you want to tell us something?) Vale is smiling, he knows, he’s been in exact situation as Pecco now. Somehow he adores this, almost feverishly, like some kind of kink. Valentino loves torturing his boys with uncomfortable questions. If he wasn't a racer he'd be a policeman interrogating suspects. It’s not that he hates Francesco or something, it’s that he loves the look on his face. It is always funny, to confront his so called students with those kind of questions. Vale knows that they are young and hot-blooded, but sometimes they are too loud. Yes, he is exactly the same when Marc is next to him, that’s why he is not accusing Francesco of anything, he is just fooling around a bit and tries to make Pecco blush. Because it is always hilarious.
“È stato tutto molto bello sentire ieri sera. Scommetto che domani Fabio zoppicherà ancora. Ehhh Pecco Pecco... non avrei mai pensato che potessi far gemere un ragazzo così.” (That was all very nice to hear last night. I bet Fabio will still be limping tomorrow. Ehhh Pecco Pecco... I never thought you could make a boy moan like that.) Thank god Fabio doesn’t know Italian that much. This golden speech catches Pecco off-guard, he literally chokes on the air. Someday he will kill this old Italian while in his sleep.
“ma abbiamo saputo che a letto gli piace sentirti parlare italiano” (but we learned that he likes to hear you speak Italian in bed) nah that is too much, after this replica the closest apple to Francesco, was thrown straight into Marco’s face
“stupida stronza, ancora una parola e ti soffoco” (stupid bitch, one more word and I'll suffocate you) Francesco is furious and this does bring laughter but with that and Valentino’s hand which stops Pecco from further movement “rilassati, non c'è bisogno di versare il sangue” (relax, there is no need to spill the blood) yeah that is wise because he is ready to kick Marco’s ass.
The only one who understood nothing was Fabio. He was standing, in Francesco’s T-shirt, which was obviously far too big for Fabio’s lean body, next to countertop and making himself a cup of morning coffee.
“What is it?” if Fabio had known Italian, he wouldn’t have been this formal in his language and most definitely his checks would have been the darkest shade of red. He must have understood a bunch of phrases but Pecco is not so sure, perhaps he was not really paying attention, and that is good.
“Amore, it’s nothing” this phrase makes Frenchman’s eyes go 5 cents wide when he hears this covenantal word “amore”
“da fuck are you doing” Fabio hisses as quietly as he can
Pecco comes closer to Fabio, standing right in front of him to be able to reach his arms around Fabio’s waist and pull him close only to bury his face in the crook of Frenchman’s neck whispering "you were very loud yesterday" and leaving a light kiss right behind his ear in the spot that always elicits sweet moans from Fabio
“does that mean I can kiss you any time I want?” still quietly he asks, worried whether he got something wrong
“sì, tesoro” whispers Italian to his boyfriend and leaves a trace of light kisses starting from behind the ear then on his check and up to the left corner of mouth “you can have anything you want” he whispers into Frenchman’s lips before kissing him, fingers still tracing some, unknown to humankind, patterns on the sides of Fabio’s waist.
“Eh! go get a room!” Marco was fed up with both of them especially after an apple which had hit his forehead
That was stupid. They could have kept their relationship as a secret for at least half a year more, but apparently it is hard to be quite when your boyfriend fucks you pretty good and the exact way you like. Well perhaps they could have avoided this disclosure if they hadn’t been this needy for each other. But it’s no bad, Fabio’s parents were the first to know about them, then were Francesco’s, and now his second family, it’s not like public knows this and if so, it won’t be a big problem either.
…
As soon as he parks his motorcycle he wants to run, however not to celebrate but to see the one particular Yamaha driver who crashed out. He knows, he cannot, so he humbly excepts congratulations from his team and moves on to give a couple of requested interviews. Everything but Francesco’s brain stays calm, his facials, his body but not his head. It keeps putting his nervous system into panic mode. Yeah, the reporters ask him some dumb questions, like how was the race, how he feels after securing the 2ed title, what were ups and downs of this season, how he feel about Marquez’s move to Italian team, how that will affect him and so on and so forth. But no one says nothing about crash mid race, no one asked what he thinks about Fabio, no one cared, except for his heart. He had no information on the state of his beloved one, this was driving him crazy. Not knowing, not being able to ask, to come right the moment it happened, to be there for him. He either will go insane or run on a searching spree to find Tom, and ask all the questions he need answers to.
“Signor Francesco, mi senti?” (Mr. Francesco, can you hear me?) and again one of those interviewers, who wants to know an answer to some kind of idiotic questions, which, if you want, you can find million on the internet as they were already asked and answered dozens of times.
“sì, sì” well yes but no, he can hear him but he wasn’t listening.
“Quindi cosa diresti?” (So what would you say?)
“beh... em... sì, mi riposerò un po', come probabilmente faremo tutti, nessuno andrà ad allenarsi subito dopo la fine della stagione. forse mi prenderò una piccola vacanza e poi ovviamente tornerò in pista, preparandomi per la prossima stagione. quindi ci vediamo nel 2024. oh, e ora per favore scusami, devo andare” (well... em... yeah, i'm going to have some rest, as all of us will probably do, no one is going to go practice right after the end of the season. perhaps i will have a little vacation and then of course back on track, have some preparation for the next season. so see you in 2024. oh, and now please excuse me, i need to go) that’s it, he won’t be able to proses one more question, he needs to find Tom, or otherwise his brain will explode.
just after he leaves he heads to Yamaha garage. On his way there he bumps into several other drivers asking whether they know where Tom is. Unfortunately for Pecco no one knew, so the only option left was to get to Yamaha garage and search for him there. Finally, at his destination Francesco asked one of engineers, and thank god the very first person knew where Tom was. The guy said, that he saw Fabio’s manager about 5 minutes ago, on the way to the driver’s room. So he ran. As damn fast as he could. It was not too far from where Italian already was. He should see Tom, before he leaves. Fabio will never tell who he really feels, but Tom will, he knows how much Pecco cares, so of course he will.
“Tom, wait!” he yells for his dear life
“Ow, I was looking for you too”
“Where he is?”
“In yours room, in the hotel”
“is he fine?”
“khm … about that, not so fine. He was feeling dizzy and lost consciousness, so the whole team was concerned about his health and we insisted on going to the hospital to get him examined. You know him, he was against that, said he was fine. But, well, he was pale and lost consciousness the second time, so we called for an ambulance”
“oh god” the Italian man was speechless, now not only his brain was going insane but also his heart.
“he said that you will be too worried, so I was looking for you to tell you what happened. So we were in hospital, Valentino was also there. Primarily he was there with Marc, because of his hand or something, but then helped Fabio get home. He said that heard how you two fucked so he is fine with getting Fabio to the hotel”
“okay, that does sounds like Vale, but what’s with hospital?”
“yes, doctor ran all the tests, and … emm … well, the crash was pretty nasty, and em … doctor said that Fabio hit his head badly … he’s got brain concussion and real ugly hematomas allover his body. Doctor prescribed strong painkillers, said that tomorrow Fabio will need’em. They gave him some before Valentino took Fab to the hotel, so for now he is fine, but tomorrow he will probably be in agony, cuz they said there were several bruises on his organs as well as on his body, and well, they said that his head will hurt a lot, for at least several days. He will need a lot of rest, not much movements for the first time and definitely a whole lot of painkillers”
“is it all what I need to know” his brain hasn’t processed every bit of information, but he must know everything in order to understand what his boyfriend needs now
“apart from that he feels really guilty for ruining your title celebration, that’s it. Now go see him, I’ll chat you the name of medications a bit later.”
“okay, thanks Tom” he practically yelled, running from the garage
…
Francesco shook his head, trying not to think about the worst and pushed the door fully open, stepped in and then shut, locking it behind him.
Fabio was noticeably tired but in one piece. He was laying on the bed, against several pillows. Quartararo was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. T-shirt sleeve revels a pretty badly, fully, bruised left arm bruises can be seen on his neck right under the jawline, where the helmet was pressed against. His t-shirt was pulled up and tucked underneath him, because of his restless attempts to sleep, revealing his stomach, on the left side of which was a frighteningly large dark purple hematoma located right on his ribs. He was drifting in and out of sleep, trying to stay awake to congratulate Pecco with his 2ed title. Even though Frenchman knew, that most definitely Italian is going to celebrate his win with Ducati team and probably it is going to be till the late night if not early morning, but he wanted to at least be awake by the time Francesco return.
“bambino, I’m back” he quietly came closer to the hotel’s bad which they shared, thanks to Valentino and his popularity no one from Ducati or Yamaha stuff was against them being in one room. Pecco carefully placed himself next to Frenchman tangling his fingers, in the soft French hair. Fabio's eyelashes began to flutter like the wings of small butterflies before opening to reveal light brown sleepy eyes.
“Bonjour” he whispers “pourquoi es-tu ici, tu es censé faire la fête maintenant” (why are you here, you’re supposed to celebrate now) well, he is being reduced to French in to situations, first one when he is having too much pleasure, second one when he is too tired to think in any other language, apart from his native. Italian figures out it is not because of pleasure, but well he can deal with that
“j'avais besoin de te voir, j'étais inquiet, et ton apparence ne me calme pas” (I needed to see you, I was worried, and your appearance does not calm me down) Pecco praise to all polyglot gods, that his rusty-dusty knowledge of French is good enough “comment te sens-tu?” (how are you feeling?)
“je vais bien” (I’m fine) he breathes out tiredly, his eyes half lidded
“tu n'as pas l'air” (you don’t seem)
“mais je suis” (but i am)
“ avez-vous besoin de quelque chose? eau? Nourriture? Plus d'oreillers? Couverture?” (do you need something? water? Food? More pillows? Blanket?)
“Pecco, c'est quoi, un quiz? j'ai dit que j'allais bien” (Pecco, what is it, a quiz? I said I’m fine)
“oui c'est un quiz, question suivante, tu veux que je te rejoigne” (yes it is a quiz, next question, you want me to join you)
“oui s'il vous plait. Mais ... s'il te plaît, fais attention” (yes please. but … please be careful)
Francesco took off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, lying directly in front of Fabio, preventing him from moving too much and god forbid lying on the injured side of his body “Puis-je te serrer dans mes bras?” (can I hug you?) he probably shouldn’t ask, if Fabio had already told him to be careful with him then hugging, would probably hurt and he didn’t want to hurt him. But Francesco needed to make sure that Frenchman is in his arms, alive, to know that he was truly okay. Gently, Italian wrapped his arms around tired body, guiding Fabio’s chin onto his chest. He was warm. Alive. Fine. More or less, but, yes, fine.
“comment va ta tête?” (how is your head?)
“fait mal” (hurts) ...“je suis vraiment désolé” (i'm so sorry) he lets out a light sob
“hé hé hé hé hé c'est bien... c…c'est bien” (hey hey hey hey hey it's fine. I … It’s fine) oh no please don’t cry, the first phrase that appears in the head, Francesco knows that after every failure Fabio feels like shit but it never came to tears. He carefully tightens a hug and leaves a couple of kisses on the temple.
“tu étais … censé faire la fête, pas rester … ici à prendre soin de … moi” (you were … supposed to celebrate, not stay … here taking care of … me) he lets out a strangled exhale and tucks his nose into Pecco’s chest.
“mon amour, c'est bon, je ne vais pas faire la fête sans toi... comment tu dis ça... emm... des accidents arrivent, ce n'est pas ta faute. on fêtera ça un peu plus tard, quand tu te sentiras bien. Va bene?” (my love, it's okay, i'm not going to party without you... how are you saying it.... emmm.... accidents happen, there is no fault of yours. we will celebrate a bit later, when you're feeling good. Okay?) Italian pats his boyfriend’s head, carefully, not to hurt or something.
“oui” small and unsure, still sad, answer comes from Fabio
It’s fine, he will be fine, both of them will be fine. It remains quiet, in the room, for a couple of minutes, till:
“Pecco?”
“Sì”
“Tell me how was your day” he wants to sleep, it is too obvious from his voice, and his request just shows it. He need a distraction, something to focus on, something which will help him escape his own head, his thoughts.
“Which language do you want?”
“italien, s'il vous plaît” (italian, please) Fabio loves when Francesco talks Italian, it always helps him to calm down and relax, to forget everything and just listen and appreciate the voice of his beloved one.
“certo, amore mio, come posso dire di no” (of course, my love, how can I say no)
“quindi oggi mi sono svegliato accanto a questo ragazzo meraviglioso. stava ancora dormendo quando mi sono svegliato, quindi ho avuto circa 30 minuti per ammirare quanto fosse bello. poi l'ho baciato finché non si è svegliato” (so, today i woke up next to this gorgeous guy. he was still asleep when i woke up, so i had something about 30 minutes to admire how handsome he was. then i was kissing him till he woke up) Bagnaia was gently stroking soft hair as he continued to whisper in a calm tone, smiling at his memories from this morning “poi gli ho detto … per quasi un'ora di fila, quanto lo amavo. eravamo sdraiati nel nostro letto, lui nascondeva la faccia nella mia maglietta e sussurrava che non voleva uscire da sotto la calda coperta” (then I told him … for almost an hour straight, how much I loved him. we were lying in our bed, he was hiding his face in my t-shirt and whispering that he didn't want to get out from under the warm blanket)
“mmmmm” Fabio’s exhales, his body goes fully relaxed, falling into a light sleep, allowing himself to sink completely into Francesco's arms, his breath evens out
“Amore mio, you asleep?”
“mhm”
“I love you” Italian whispers into Frenchman’s ear and leaves a kiss on his temple