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The silence starts to collect, so Fermín tells him: “We should kiss on your first win.”
“What?” Pedro blinks once. “You want to do what?”
“I’ll kiss you on your first win,” Fermín repeats with no hesitation whatsoever. He flips over, faces Pedro on the bed. His eyes are wide, pleading, and there’s a bit of resemblance to one of the puppies laying in the corner of the motorhome. “That’s cute, right?”
Pedro frowns, doesn’t look so sure about it.
Not like kissing is the main problem. They kissed all the time.
Away from the crowd at least.
Most of the time it’s Pedro quietly making his way towards Fermín’s vehicle parked somewhere at the end of the other lot. It gets dark for shit during those nights, but he already has the route engraved in his head.
Then Fermín recognises the telltale knocks on his door, pushes the door open, always greets Pedro there with his stupid- and unfortunately- very pretty smile. He sits like he’s one of his dogs wagging a tail around, hopelessly waiting for Pedro to come show up every night. And Pedro isn’t joking either. He thinks Fermín must’ve been a dog in his past life or something.
So it becomes some kind of obligation since Fermín is pretty fucking clingy. Pedro tells him not to do anything stupid whenever they’re in public, but it doesn’t surprise him anymore if Fermín’s walking by him before he’s briefly panning around and steals a sly kiss every once in a while.
Pedro will plot his own revenge against it sometime soon.
His brows furrow. “In front of everyone?”
Fermín snorts, says “yeah?” like it’s so obvious. “I think everybody should know about us.”
“Well.” Pedro shrugs. He’s not entirely opposed to it actually, tells that in a monotonous “if you want to.”
“Sounds like you hate it.”
“I don’t.”
“Be honest.” Fermín brings Pedro’s hands towards his cheek, letting it rest against the smooth surface. “Do you want it?”
Pedro follows along with the movement, and turns to look at him too.
He pauses- hesitates.
He knows that he’s a confident man usually. But the more he dwells on the thought, he can’t help but wonder whether he’s ready to take whatever stones the public will throw at them. Pedro thinks about how it’ll remain as a fragment of history forever and ever- dozens of angles of Fermín’s lips pressed against his, media outlets broadcasting them for the whole world to witness the silly love he’s always held for his childhood best friend since he was a little kid-
It’s definitely worth what they’ve gone through together, he hopes.
Pedro ruffles his fingers in thick strands of Fermín’s unkempt hair, laughs when the younger complains.
“I just want you.”
No amount of baths will erase the sweet, sticky feeling of Processco poured against his hot skin. Damn, Pedro thinks. He’s used to being on the podium, but not this- a position he’s been edged for too fucking long.
And there it is- he sees Fermín’s pupils sparkling like the slight glisten of the liquid as it slowly itches against his eyes when they meet.
He’s on the podium as well, P3 to be precise, and then approaches Pedro just for a quick hug because they’re supposed to act like regular friends. Like casual rivals who totally aren’t visiting every other night.
There’s more than what meets the crowd’s eyes, clearly.
Pedro whispers against his neck, “you’re gonna kiss me now, right?”
“Didn’t make any promises,” Fermín returns.
Suddenly, he peels away from the hug.
“What?”
Fermín flashes that cheeky grin like he’s done something. The only thing he’s done is evoke the look on Pedro's face when that happened- so subtle, but it’s still there- the disappointment and sheer disbelief when he tries to comprehend those words.
It almost feels like an eternity wandering in his static brain questioning if he’s really hearing it all correctly.
Because no- this isn’t how it’s supposed to turn out. What the fuck? Fermín can’t just say that and brush it off his shoulders like some kind of sick fucking joke. Who does he think he is?
This isn’t how it’s supposed to-
Fermín grabs the bright orange on Pedro’s head.
“Just joking, man,” he mutters, and uses the hat to cover the side of their faces.
Pedro doesn’t remember the exact moment Fermín leans in. He’s stunned, probably baffled, doesn’t even know whether it’s from the rush of panic and confusion settling in as the cameras point and flashes towards their direction. Or how he smiles against those lips, fingers hastly itching to grip Fermín’s waist as he pulls his body desperately closer.
Pedro presses himself on Fermín’s mouth harder, hears the faint moan that slips out of his mouth, and feels like he’ll laugh because it’s so stupid that they’re behaving this way in front of everyone.
Fermín puffs, “okay-” then draws a slow breath, chuckles in between, “-fuck. That was kind of embarrassing.”
He’s definitely as red as Ducati’s suit- Marc who only watches as the events unfold right before him.
But Pedro couldn’t care less about it.
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comments -
ferminaldeguer_54 same time next week?
37pedroacosta I can kiss you next 😉