Work Text:
I take my helmet off and, after removing my balaclava, scrub a hand through my hair. I try to sneak a glance at the timing board but my engineer for today is pulling at my elbow, indicating that I should pull my ear-pieces out. I do as he wishes, pulling a face at the sensation of the ear-pieces coming out. As my engineer talks, I let my hand rest on the rear-wing of the car I have just stepped out of. It was meant to be a light touch but as the conversation goes on I let the ridge of my forefinger press a little too hard against the tapered edge and feel a dull pressure pain flicker through my nerves.
The engineer wants to know how the car felt, if I have any pearls of wisdom as far as possible performance improvements go and I’m torn on how to reply. On one hand some of the information I have gleaned from the car could lead to some small change that could improve the overall performance of the car, but through that I could also be handing a faster time to Tonio or even Ralf tomorrow. They say that speed doesn’t matter, but that’s bullshit, everything becomes a factor in a game like the one I’ve entered into here.
I fumble over my words and even as I’m talking I know that I’m doing myself no favours. In an attempt to salvage the situation I bring up the same handling problem that I mentioned back at Spa and ask if there was some sort of issue with resolving it. Almost immediately the guy looks as though he’s been caught in the sights of a gun and is looking right down the barrel. Now it’s his turn to fumble through his words as he makes it painfully clear that he wasn’t even in the team the last time I tested for them. He makes his excuses and leaves for the other side of the garage as Fisichella pulls in, I’m sure he won’t find the Italian any easier.
I linger next to the car for a few moments, letting my thumb draw tiny circles on the smooth surface of the endplate. Could that session have been my last drive in a Formula One car? I don’t quite know how I ended up in a shoot-out for a seat in the slowest team on the grid, against names such as Fisichella and Schumacher. Although apparently I’m, not that slow if the preliminary times up on the screen in the corner are to be believed, excellent. Actually, that’s a lie, I know exactly how I ended up here, through no direct or in-direct fault of my own, I’m just here.
Fisichella is being helped out of his seat and I take that as my sign to move. The changing facilities out the back of Jerez garages are cramped but it’s worth facing them to change into warmer layers before braving the Spanish winter outside. I don’t fancy being stuck in there with the guy pretty much guaranteed the seat that could so easily have been mine so I tap the rear-wing one last time and make my way towards the back of the garage.
Damn Fisichella, with his respected name and reputation. Sure, that reputation may be slightly tattered around the edges and stained with a Renault shaped mark but it’s far better than the sorry thing I carry around on my shoulders. He’s a nice guy as well, which somehow makes it all the worse. Despite our paths rarely crossing, when they have done the conversation has always flowed easily and I can’t put my finger on exactly why we don’t try to maintain some sort of friendship. Actually, that’s another lie.
I know exactly why I have never sought out Giancarlo in the paddock or tried to contact him out of season. I simply don’t trust myself around him.
There’s something about Giancarlo that doesn’t come across in photos. It’s not possible for a camera to convey the dark twinkle in his eye or how his features are perfectly highlighted by the shadows that linger around the circuits at this time of year. He’s only touched me once and just from that I knew that there could never be any form of friendship between us. It was only his hand resting on my knee for the briefest of moments during a shared joke at a drivers’ briefing, back in my first year, but it set a dangerous fire coursing through my veins.
I shake my head a little as I reach the back of the garage, there are rumours about almost everyone in the paddock, but there’s no need for me to confirm my bisexuality by making a pass at Giancarlo or anyone else in the pit lane. My business is my own and I can’t afford to make any public mistakes or yet more enemies – bad enough that people still think that ‘Tonio and I were involved. I shudder a little as I pass through the doorway into the changing rooms, sleeping with ‘Tonio would be like sleeping with some sleazy cousin.
The changing room is marginally warmer than the garage but not by much and as I rummage around in my bag I almost miss the comforts that used to come with driving at Red Bull. Someone enters the room behind me and I’m already turning when my mind registers who it must be. Damn it. If I hadn’t spent so much time moping about and letting my mind roam I could have prevented this.
Giancarlo looks in no mood to talk so I turn back to my bag and leave him be. From the team I know that he was faster than me today on the normal tyres, it was only the slicks that gave me the edge – still, I don’t think he’ll be happy.
I find my change of clothes and frantically try to block out the sound of Giancarlo getting undressed behind me. There goes the rip of Velcro at his neck and the metallic drag of a zipper being pulled down. What should I do? If I linger too long he’ll think that I’m some sort of pervert, but if I rush out too quickly I’ll look rude or even worse he’ll guess at my haste. The best I can do is aim to finish around the same time as him, and stop acting like a school boy who can’t control his own thoughts.
My fingers feel cold against my neck as I reach up to undo my own Velcro and the metal of the zip is colder still. Despite my best efforts my mind starts to wander again as I pull at my zip. It’s so tempting, and it would be so easy, to glance over my shoulder and catch sight of a view I’m sure would fuel my dreams for many nights. I tug at my zip again, wanting to be out of this situation as quickly as possible.
Oh fantastic. I stare at the flat rectangle of metal I’m holding between thumb and fore-finger and resist the urge to scream. Of all the moments in all of history why did this zip, my zip, decide that now would be an ideal time to break?
“Fuck.” I didn’t mean for that to slip out, it just did, hopefully he won’t have heard it though. How the hell am I going to get out of this race suit?
Suddenly, I’m aware that there’s someone standing very close behind me, oh fuck it.
“Christian, are you ok?” Right, there should be a law against that. People who I’ve had any number of depraved fantasies about should not be allowed to sneak up behind me and growl into my ear. Ok, so he wasn’t really growling but the back of my neck is flushing so hot that he can probably feel it.
I almost jump out of my skin as I feel his hands rest on my shoulders and too late I realise that I haven’t replied. “Christian?”
It takes all of the parts of me that aren’t tingling to think up a coherent sentence to respond with and for me to not sound too strangled. “I’m fine. It’s just…well…my zip has broken and I’m a bit stuck.” I sound like such an idiot.
Giancarlo laughs and a warm puff of air hits the back of my neck and divides to wrap itself around my throat before being swallowed by the chilled air. “I think I should be able to help you with that.”
My brain is doing little back flips and has totally left me to my own devices, I’m so doomed. “Thank you.”
His hands lift off my shoulders and I know that there’s no time for hesitation here, so I turn to face him. He must have taken a little step back as he doesn’t seem as close as he did before, but then he takes a step forward and my vision is all but full of him.
I deliberately avoid making eye-contact with him, instead focusing on the patch of wall just behind his left ear. It doesn’t take long for my peripheral vision to pick up on the fact that Giancarlo had been nowhere near close to being fully changed, his race-suit is clinging to his hips whilst his torso is bare. This knowledge draws my eyes back to the man in front of me, I guess there’s nothing to do but try to enjoy myself as discreetly as possible.
There’s a slight frown on his face as he ducks a little to look at the zip of my overalls, which is still up near my neck. All I can see of him is the wave of his dark hair and the naked expanse of his back sloping away from me – even now, at the start of winter, his skin has a light tan. He must be cold; I don’t care what they say about Italian’s having warm blood. Even as I think that I notice the slight bumps sprinkled over the backs of his shoulders, I wonder what he would do if I ran my fingertips along them…
“I should be able to fix this, don’t worry, it’s easy.”
Anytime my mind would like to get back to me I would be very grateful. This is not a situation where I should be left to follow my instincts.
Giancarlo is busy working on my zip and every so often I can feel the brush of his skin against mine. It must only be the merest touch of fingernail or knuckle against my throat but it’s making it very difficult for me to focus on anything else.
The goose pimples along his shoulders seem to have vanished, as if his body has found some form of inner warmth to fight back the cold. I don’t know what to do with my hands, or even my voice. It’s far too quiet now that all of the cars have returned to their garages and beyond the sound of Giancarlo making small noises of consternation as my zip puts up a good battle against his efforts, we are surrounded by silence.
Giancarlo has stopped fiddling with my zip and is trying to catch my eye but I avoid him, I have a feeling that it would be fatal. Over the beating of my heart, accelerated beyond belief by the raw streaks of desire his proximity is sending through me, I hear the slight rip that signals the release of my zip. Giancarlo’s eyes are still fixed on where mine should be as I feel the zip being pulled down the rest of my body. Even through the thin layer of fireproofs I can feel his fingers brushing down my chest – I can’t be imagining it.
Is he deliberately trying to torture me? No, he can’t be, in order for him to torture me he would have to have some sort of idea about me... Oh please don’t let him be trying to play me; I don’t think I could stand that.
Giancarlo isn’t looking at me anymore; he’s tilted his head down to study my zip again. His hair is slightly damp where it finishes at his spine and it curls a little against his blushing skin – wait, why is he blushing? Have I made things too obvious, have I embarrassed him?
“There, I’ve done it.” Giancarlo’s voice breaks through my little meltdown and his head comes back up.
I feel the need to apologise or at least thank him, so I reach out with my left hand and rest it on his shoulder, a gesture of friendship and an excuse to touch him before this all goes to hell, yet, as I do, my thumb brushes against his cheek. It’s only the slightest and most momentary of touches but Giancarlo tilts his head into it slightly and I freeze.
I shut my eyes then, not caring if I look like a fool, if I have interpreted this whole thing wrong. If I look into his eyes this, whatever it is, will go far further than it ever should – and it feels as though it’s gone too far already. I should move my thumb away from his face but my mind is waving a white flag and instead of withdrawing, I turn my palm and lay it flat against his cheek. My thumb feels as though it’s resting on his cheekbone and it’s far too easy to trace its line.
The breath he takes rushes past my wrist and draws my eyes open with it. I’m looking straight into his and he’s staring straight back. A dark gleam rests over his pupils, the very thing I’ve always avoided looking at because I knew I would be lost. All too quickly the sight is stolen from me as he closes his eyes and turns his head into my hand. He presses the faintest whisper of a kiss to my palm; his lips cool against my heated skin.
This cannot, should not be happening. Yes, he’s making all the moves but I was the one who touched him and anyone could walk in any second now… I lose my train of thought as his eyes capture mine again.
Again comes the desperate silence and it’s all the louder now he’s so much closer to me, the feel of his lips still lingering against my skin. I’m filled with the desperate need to do or say something. “Th-” I’m stopped in my tracks as he presses his lips to mine.
It’s a quick kiss, so quick that I would have doubted its existence at all if my lips didn’t burn like they had been branded and if he wasn’t still so close to me. My body is craving more and this is no time to be thinking. I flex the fingertips on the hand that rests against his cheek and use the leverage to pull his head slightly closer to me. He started this and although I could easily escape, I don’t want to turn away from. So let the heavens fall and the whispers fly, since he entered the race for the seat I never stood a chance of remaining in this world anyway.
My plan is to keep my kiss just as innocent as his was, but the moment I feel his lips against mine again some inner instinct takes over. For years and years I have been fantasising about this man, it was never meant to happen this way, never meant to happen at all in fact, but now that it has there’s no way I can stop.
His mouth is small and hot beneath my own, demanding and intoxicating. Without asking for permission his tongue sweeps past my lips and with naught but a flicker against my teeth, coils and curves around my own. In our kiss I taste my own destruction, for who could ever say ‘no’ to this? A kiss that makes my spirit soar, even as he takes over and presses me backwards till my legs are straining against the bench behind me.
I can feel the chill from his bare chest stealing through myfireproofs and as he presses his hands to the small of my back I know that this situation is as inescapable as the destinies that brought the pair of us to this moment.
I should breathe.
I should stop this.
I let my hand glide over his face and curl my fingers into his hair, whilst the other falls between his shoulder blades. It’s only as I feel cool skin shifting beneath my palms that I remember Giancarlo’s half-dressed state, but he moans as I touch him and I do not have the strength to change my mind.
The edge of the bench is biting into my legs but Giancarlo is nibbling at my lower lip and the two sensations are cancelling each other out.
It doesn’t matter that he’s male, or so different from anyone else I’ve ever kissed. At the moment he’s just Giancarlo, a human and he wants me. I’ve been afraid of this for so long, afraid that I could destroy what little faith people still have in me, but after all of the holding back what difference has it made? Jaguar, Red Bull, Honda, Spyker and now Force India, I’ve got nowhere by keeping my integrity in check so maybe it’s just time to let it go. I stand to gain nothing from this, nothing but the possible carnal knowledge of a man I entered the sport respecting and grew to desire with more passion than I have been able to muster for years. He’s going to get the seat that I was too quick to call mine and somewhere in my heart I am happy for him.
The heat has left our kisses now, but he presses himself closer to me and I can just feel his arousal pressing through the combined thickness of our overalls. He breaks the contact between our lips, and moves until his mouth is next to my ear. At the same time one of his hands leaves my back and strokes around to my front, lightly resting over my own erection.
“I’ve seen you staring at me Christian.” Well that proves that I’m not as subtle as I thought I was.
“You’ve been so careful.” I knew that there were people watching me, never could have guessed that one of them was him.
“Do you love me Christian?” That question is unexpected and accompanied by the heel of his palm pressing against the head of my erection.
I don’t love him. I lust after him yes, but love? No. Why is he asking me? What does he expect of me? Will my answer be what changes this situation in one direction or another?
Giancarlo’s hands clasp my face and he presses his forehead against mine. His breath comes in hot gasps and it’s hard to tell where our breath separates. I look at his eyes and they could belong to a totally different man, so stripped are they of that gleam I used to be so afraid of. His eyelashes flutter and his eyes flick to the right as he speaks again.
“You can lie to me, its ok.”
If we were any further apart I doubt I would have heard his words, so quietly were they whispered. It takes less than a second for them to sink in and in that fraction of time I fall for him. My love may only last for this moment, or this evening, but right now it’s there and I think he will understand that. It could be all he wants.
With a slight movement of my head I force him to look at me again, and forehead to forehead it’s impossible for there to be any lies between us. “I love you,” and there’s no need for further definition.
Giancarlo may have just whispered a ‘Thank you’ but he’s kissing me again and it’s hard to think. He’s kissing me tenderly, like someone’s pressed rewind and this is the first time we’ve ever done this. Every contact is as soft as a feather and each small exploration tentative in nature. In fact, it’s pretty much perfection until there’s the sound of a soft cough from the doorway.
Instinctively we both freeze and then let our arms fall away from each. Giancarlo turns and as he does the intruder’s identity is revealed to me. Leaning against a doorframe, with a wolfish smirk playing across his face, is Franck Montagny.
Giancarlo breaks the silence just before it gets awkward. “Franck.”
“’Carlo.” And Franck’s smirk changes then, blossoming into a beaming smile. “Just wanted to let you guys know, the team wants to start the debrief in about 5 minutes.”
“Thanks Franck, see you there.”
Franck looks at me then, “Christian”, nods and then leaves the same way he came.
I don’t know what to think. Franck didn’t seem shocked at all but I don’t know enough about him to know if I should be worried or not.
“Hey, Christian,” Giancarlo’s facing me again and as I look at him he takes my face in his hands. “Don’t worry about Franck, he’s a good friend of mine and he may seem a bit insane but he doesn’t spread gossip.”
I believe him without question, as I said before, I have nothing to lose.
I press a quick kiss to his lips, “We should get to that briefing, every little helps.” Damn it, why did I have to allude to the reason we’re even here in the first place?
It doesn’t seem to faze him though, he sighs a little before dropping a kiss on my forehead and stepping away from me.
“I’m in the same hotel as you, Room 26, alone, will you come?” His voice is earnest, laced with a hint of nerves and I have to take the tension out of this room.
“You can count on it.” He smiles as he turns from me and that alone will be enough to keep me tingling all the way through the debrief.
I’ve only got as far as sorting out my top layer; my overalls are still tied around my waist, when I hear Giancarlo zipping up his bag. When I glance over my shoulder at him, he’s already standing in the doorway, “See you in the briefing then”.
He smiles again and I can’t help returning it as a feeling of warmth runs through me.
“Looking forward to it,” and with that he leaves.
My mind goes supersonic as it tries to process what I’ve just committed myself to, so I distract it with the mundane task of getting properly dressed. For now I have to focus on the briefing, I can’t afford to do anything else. By the time the briefings over it will be dark outside and I’ll be ready to welcome a new sort of light into my life, one that gleams.