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Dunk wondered if Arlan would be okay with him punching a driver.
A mechanic is always there to serve his driver, Dunk remembered the old man’s words often and with disdain when he looked at Aerion Targaryen and had to listen to his insults. Dunk wished he had been assigned to be one of Valarr’s mechanics, God, he knew he’d have an easier time with him than he had with the blonde driver.
Aerion did nothing but complain about every decision Dunk made. The setup was wrong or the car was a shitbox and Dunk was always, very conveniently for Aerion, the sole reason for it all. It was a delusional belief but Dunk didn’t think that the driver actually believed it was all Dunk's fault. No, the tall mechanic was sure that Aerion just enjoyed making his life hell. He was the only one in the team that came from practically nothing. The other mechanics came from families where motorsport was in their blood, fathers and grandfathers all involved in one way or another; Dunk came from an orphanage and was raised by a man who wanted to pass all he knew about fixing cars onto someone else. He had used everything Arlan had taught him to climb his way to the top, not scaring away from getting covered in oil and grease and it had all paid off. In some cruel way, at least.
He’d spent the entirety of last season wondering what he had done wrong to be cursed with both a blessing and a curse: being a mechanic for Ferrari, of all teams, was a dream come true but being the mechanic assigned to Aerion was a living nightmare that kept him grounded in reality.
He had been told constantly by the other mechanics that he just had to take the constant nagging, stay silent and stand still whilst the blonde shouted at him and blamed him for the fact he was never winning over Valarr who had won the championship last year. (Without contention, but if you said that in front of Aerion you could say goodbye to your job.) Dunk couldn’t do it, though. It wasn’t in his nature to just take what was given to him. He had decided that it was probably best not to hit the driver but it didn’t mean he couldn’t shout back…
The garage was empty at this time of night, the rest of the team had all gone back to their hotels by now; some still lingering in one of the rented out nightclubs where most stayed up to party, celebrating another well fought race win for Valarr. Aerion had finished fourth. And had lingered, watching as the team of mechanics packed up the two Ferrari’s and sent them on their way. The rest of the mechanics were gone by now but Dunk had remained, as he always did, to clean up any of the mess left behind alongside making sure nothing had been forgotten. Aerion, Dunk thought, would have gone straight to his own hotel or reluctantly joined the celebrations to save face. He hadn’t thought to see the blonde standing by the door, watching as Dunk wiped away the last few splotches of oil that had been spilt earlier during the day. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t irritate the Irishman.
The cleaning after everything had been moved out was almost ritualistic to Dunk, a way to destress and cooldown after the tenseness of a race weekend and having to deal with Aerion. And now he was intruding upon that sacredness, daring to ruin it for him. But he quickly realised it was unfair to think like that since the blonde hadn’t even opened his mouth yet, simply stood there with a pout on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest. He was still dressed in his race suit, the top peeled off so it dangled from his hips and let his red and black fireproof undershirt be seen. It made Dunk feel a little better about the fact he was still wearing his grease and oiled covered jumpsuit, though Aerion’s race suit was much cleaner.
“The setup you gave me was shit.” Aerion muttered, looking down at Dunk where he was kneeled on the ground.
“The setup was perfect, almost the exact same as Valarr’s.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“Yes.” Dunk didn’t hesitate with his answer. He was tired of being constantly blamed for Aerion's failings and he refused to be the man’s scapegoat anymore.
Aerion sneered at the single word and moved closer, his trainers barely making any noise on the smooth garage floor as he approached. Dunk quickly stood to full height, towering over the driver who seemed to hesitate when he remembered that the mechanic was much bigger than he could ever hope to be. It hadn’t tempered the flame within him, however, he was still glaring at Dunk with his violet eyes full of hostility; only now he was looking up at him and not down.
“I deserve to be here. This sport it- it’s in my blood.” He hissed, his words making anger bubble up in Dunk’s own chest and beginning to spread like wildflame when the blonde continued. “You’re just some stupid stray my uncle hired based on nostalgia, all because your dad died and he used to work in the sport.”
“I worked hard to be here, Aerion. My old man didn’t have much of a reputation and your uncle Baelor may have hired me because he knew him once, but I know I was hired because of my actual skill.” Maybe he should have stopped there but he didn’t. “I don’t need my fathers name to cling to a spot in this team. I don’t have to rely on my family’s legacy in this sport to pretend that I’m not a talentless idiot who likes to drive fast and pretend he’s fit to be here!”
Dunk watched as Aerion stepped away, swallowing hard as his purple eyes darkened with a feeling of something other than the anger he had moments ago. They were filled with some other emotion that Dunk had never seen before on the blonde’s face, something that, for a moment, made the Irishman regret his words and the anger in himself immediately lost its energy and died.
“I do deserve to be here. I won’t listen to- to a- a lackwit like you! You’re my mechanic, you’re meant to help me!”
“And I’ve tried!” Dunk shouted. He clenched his fists, restraining himself greatly from punching the blonde driver who immediately flinched back at his raised voice. The anger that was extinguished was quickly relit just by how infuriating the blonde was. “I give you the best setups and upgrades I can! I try my damn best to make sure that your car is good enough to equal Valarr’s and you always fuck it up! And then you stroll in here and blame me every bloody time! I don’t care if you think you deserve to be here, I know you don’t. You’re a disgrace to the Targaryen name.”
Dunk knew by how silent Aerion was (such a rare occurrence) that he had gone too far. The man had gone paler than he usually was and was trembling slightly, not out of fear, God, Dunk hoped it wasn’t out of fear, but from distress. He likely wasn’t used to being the one shouted at, let alone in such a way that his entire sense of self worth was dashed against the wall.
“You don’t know me.” Aerion frowned, stepping away until his back was pressed against the wall, the coldness of it seemingly helping the blonde ground himself.
Dunk frowned before he moved closer, stopping when Aerion looked back up at him with a warning look that screamed ‘not any closer.’
“Then let me know you.”
“Why? You made it clear you hate me.”
“I don’t like hating you.” Dunk groaned, frustrated by him. “I don’t want to hate you. I want to like you. I’m your mechanic, I’d do my job better if we were at least friendly.”
There was a heavy, pregnant silence between them until Aerion let out a frustrated sigh and nodded slowly.
“I don’t want you to hate me either.”
Dunk had barely ventured the Monacan streets every year he had come here. He had never seen reason to. He wasn’t a fan of nightlife anywhere and the idea of experiencing it in one of the richest places in the world was daunting. The streets were busy, full of fans who were spending a final night in Monaco before returning home after the race weekend; sometimes Dunk saw groups of members of other teams, still dressed in the colours of their uniform as they celebrated a successful weekend. He was sure he even saw the familiar flash of Ferrari red with the black Targaryen sponsor accents but he wasn’t too sure. Aerion refused to stop walking even for a moment and Dunk desperately didn’t want to get lost in Monaco, possibly miles away from his hotel.
He had expected Aerion to take him to a popular bar or nightclub, probably one of the ones where Valarr and the team would still be celebrating and drinking. Instead, they kept venturing further away from the centre of Monaco and eventually they were on a dark empty street where only a singular building was still lit. Aerion didn’t hesitate to enter, stepping in and not bothering to hold the door open for Dunk who had rushed to follow him in.
The smell of fresh coffee had hit him immediately. It was soft and calming, a sensation of feelings that disarmed Dunk for a moment before he regained himself and continued to follow Aerion in. He didn’t go to the counter, instead sitting down at an empty table and looking at Dunk like it was stupid for just standing at the door. The taller man quickly made his way over, sitting down opposite him at the table. They stayed silent for a long moment, only speaking when an employee came out from the back and took their orders, returning moments later with two hot cups of coffee. The drink was the perfect balance of sweet and bitter, exactly what Dunk loved when it came to cups of coffee; it was better than the shitty coffee he was served in hotels and at the paddock. All that tasted like was dirty water and not actual coffee.
Aerion had taken a short sip of his own cup, staring down at it when he set it down onto the table. Dunk stayed silent himself. He didn’t know what to say and he was wondering what it was they even had to talk about, he usually made friends based on situations and not sit down conversations like this. But he wasn’t sure if he was even trying to be friends with the driver. He just wanted to be able to tolerate the blonde if nothing else.
“I don’t think I like it anymore.” Aerion muttered suddenly, tearing Dunk out of his thoughts.
“Like what..?”
“Driving.” The blonde man sighed. “I used to love it at first when I was a kid. I grew up thinking my dad was amazing for being an F1 driver. Karting was the best thing that ever happened to me, until my mother died and he started making it… I don’t even know. It felt less like what I wanted and more like what he wanted.”
“Your father was a good driver.” Dunk didn’t know what else to say.
It wasn’t false. Maekar was a good driver. He had won a single championship, only he had won it only after his brother, Baelor, had retired from the sport after winning his fifth championship the year before. That year had been tense and the brothers had gotten into a terrifying crash that they were both lucky not to have died in.
“I guess yours was good, too.” Aerion attempted a nice comment. It came off as stiff but Dunk couldn’t ignore the stirring within his chest at it.
“He was.” He nodded. “We all have good fathers who want the best for us. You, me, Valarr - all of us have something to prove to them. Valarr has the whole team behind him, though, since Baelor is the team principal. You have…”
“I have you.” Aerion quickly said, leaning forward slightly. “Don’t I?”
Dunk hesitated before he slowly nodded in response. “You have me.”
“Good-” The blonde leaned back and Dunk leaned forward this time.
“But you only have me if I know you. If you swear to me that you’re finished with blaming everyone but yourself for your lack of wins.”
He didn’t miss the scowl on Aerion’s face at his words but the blonde nodded anyway.
“I swear.” He muttered quietly.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Jesus Christ, I swear, alright?”
“Alright.”
They both drank their coffee, speaking occasionally about whatever small talk either of them could come up with. At some point, Dunk had ended up speaking the most about his upbringing and Arlan and the garage and all the things he had learned. Eventually, Aerion paid for the both of them and they began to walk back towards the centre of Monaco.
“I, er, I think my hotel is this way-”
“Fuck your hotel, you can crash in my hotel room.”
Dunk hesitated. It was probably better than trying to guess how to get back to his hotel.
The hotel Aerion was staying in was unsurprisingly lavish and the room he was sleeping in was much larger than the tiny one Dunk was paying for. What was surprising was how Aerion made sure Dunk had enough pillows and blankets to sleep with on the small sofa. It was almost enough to make Dunk like Aerion, but he forced himself to ignore the tightening in his chest and draw the line at just tolerating the blonde driver. For now, at least.
The next few months were incredibly busy.
Dunk had grown used to spending long nights staying in the garage with Aerion or sitting in his hotel room, pouring over plans for setups or how he should race; which risks were worth taking and even attempting to analyse how Valarr drives despite neither of them being particularly good at analysis. It felt strange how different their relationship was now in comparison to how it was months ago. Aerion had kept true to his promise and hadn’t shouted at the mechanic or blamed him for his own mistakes, something that seemed to stun the rest of the team within the garage who always expected him to start shouting the moment he climbed out of the cockpit of his car. Dunk’s chest swelled with pride at that, even more so when the team's social media admin, Aerion’s own older brother, Daeron, had said he had tamed him. Maybe he had.
Dunk held a steady hand to Aerion’s hip, helping the blonde climb out of the cockpit whilst Daeron quickly took what photos he could for his post-qualifying results posts. Dunk didn’t even realise his hand was still on the smaller man’s hip until they were stood at the side of the garage, Aerion taking his helmet off whilst he removed his hand off of him.
“I know it’s not pole but-”
“Second is good.” Aerion’s voice was muffled as he took his fireproof balaclava off. “He’s weak on this track, remember? I can take him off guard.”
“Little to no risks when you do-”
“Of course, yeah.”
Aerion didn’t sound as serious as he wanted him to be but Dunk didn’t say anything else.
Maybe he should have.
Rain at Zandvoort was a factor that neither Aerion or Dunk had taken into account. It wasn’t supposed to rain but it had and he had expected Aerion to focus on at least finishing the race in second, the weather destroying any of his chances of getting a clean overtake on Valarr for that first place. But he still tried. And he still failed.
The garage was filled with tense shouts, the rest of the mechanics had started to look away from the tv and moved to prepare equipment for Valarr’s incoming pitstop now that the session was red flagged immediately. Dunk was stunned, staring at the screen that showed the number 53 car lodged into one of the barriers of the track; dust of the gravel obscuring most of the view still but he didn’t see Aerion getting out yet and it made him sick with worry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It shouldn’t have been like this. For a single moment he wished that Arlan was still alive so he could give a smack to his ear and force him back to his senses so he could actually do something instead of standing there like a big idiot.
Why didn’t he think it would rain?
The pit stop for Valarr went by like a blur, changing the tires like a zombie who was barely aware of what was happening around him. He should have known. Maybe months ago Aerion was right and everything was his fault, maybe he truly didn’t deserve to be there in the pinnacle of motorsport in one of the greatest teams in history. He should have stayed in Arlan’s garage, he should never have sold it the moment the old man passed away. So many things he should have done that could have avoided all of this. A hand pressed against his back, making him jolt as he turned to see Daeron who was looking up at the tv screen too. Dunk hadn’t even realised he had finished the pit stop and gone straight back to staring at the screen.
“He’s fine, see? Look, he’s getting out.” Daeron seemed less shaken up than Dunk felt, which was strange to Dunk. He couldn’t have cared that much for Aerion, he simply tolerated him. Nothing else.
The cameras were focused on the car, showing Aerion climb out of the cockpit only with the assistance of the marshals who had quickly made it to the crash. The other mechanics hissed at how the car was damaged, hissing and smoking with flames that the rain did nothing to stop. Dunk knew that most of them would be thinking about the job of fixing the car, the hours that would be spent toiling over the damage and replacing multiple parts of the vehicle. Dunk was hoping that nothing in Aerion needed to be repaired, that he was okay. He needed to be okay. He should’ve been there, helping him out of the car with a hand on his hip. Daeron’s hand moved to take hold of Dunk’s arm, guiding him out of the garage and leading him somewhere Dunk had never been to before. He supposed he was lucky to never have been to the medical rooms and he almost hated Daeron for taking him there with him, lying to the medical staff on hand about Dunk’s relationship with Aerion so he could stay there, waiting to see him when he was stable enough. He didn’t know how many minutes passed, if it had been minutes and not hours. The mechanic found he didn’t know much about what was happening when all he could think of was if Aerion was okay.
“What are you two idiots doing?”
Dunk’s head snapped up when he heard Aerion’s voice. He was closing the door to the medical room behind him, turning around to look at Daeron and Dunk with a frown on his lips. He looked fine, Dunk let out a sigh of relief and quickly stood, he looked okay and Dunk was relieved. He couldn’t stop himself from moving forward and wrapping his arms around the driver, pulling away almost immediately when the blonde let out a hiss of pain.
“How bad is it?”
“My head’s a little dizzy and I have some bruising. If it was anything serious I’d be in hospital, idiot.” Aerion’s voice lacked the harshness it once had and a single hand was raised to pat Dunk’s back for the hug before he stepped away and look over to Daeron, scowling at his older brothers knowing smirk.
“What are you grinning at? Does it please you to see me like this?”
“Greatly.” Daeron smiled and stood up himself. “We should get you back to your hotel.”
“No, the media will be there waiting especially if I snuck out of here-”
“You could stay at my hotel.” Dunk offered, his mind going to Monaco all those weeks ago when Aerion had let him sleep in his hotel room.
“Do you remember how to get there this time?”
Dunk ignored Aerion’s teasing and placed a hand on the smaller man’s hip, not giving him any chance to protest before he began to guide him out of the medical rooms.
Dunk watched as Aerion flopped down onto the tiny hotel bed, a guttural groan escaping him as he made himself comfortable and let his eyes flutter shut whilst Dunk set his bag down by the door, hanging his own backpack on the back of a chair.
“Do you want me to go get you something to eat?” Dunk offered, watching as Aerion turned his head on the pillow and opened a single violet eye to look up at him. That feeling in his chest began to stir again and made the mechanic’s mouth go dry.
“No.” Aerion sighed. “I’m sorry for fucking up.”
Dunk almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had grown used to Aerion keeping to his promise of not shouting at him and blaming him for everything that had gone wrong, but he had assumed it was because he was simply groveling in those thoughts instead of screaming them out to the world. But now he was receiving an apology for a mistake Aerion had made? It felt wrong, knowing Dunk had messed up too.
“You didn’t fuck up. I should’ve considered that the rain could have happened, even if the percentage was low.”
“But it was raining and I still drove like a prick.”
Dunk couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped him, breathy and not laughing at the driver; moreso laughing at both of their stupidity.
“You’re not too hurt so I don’t really care how you were driving anymore.” Dunk sighed, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“It’s more of an ache than any real pain, if it makes you feel better.”
“I don’t care how I feel, Aerion. I want you to feel better.”
Dunk remembered Arlan’s words. A mechanic is always there to serve his driver, and when he looked down at his driver lying on his hotel bed, he wanted nothing more than to make him feel better. He hesitated before moving a large hand to carefully brush a strand of his short blonde hair away from his forehead and back into its place. He was barely thinking when he let his hand linger, moving slowly from his hair down to his cheek, his breathing hitching when Aerion leaned into his palm. The driver's lips were formed into a pout, like he himself was upset that he was leaning into the mechanic's touch like his hand was made to cup his cheek. Aerion hated how he craved Dunk’s touch, he had grown used to it since Monaco, craving the hand on his hip when he climbed out of the car and how he used it to guide him throughout the garage. How he had done it to guide him away from the medical rooms only an hour before.
Dunk’s touch provided a type of warmth he had been deprived of for most of his life and he hated it. It should have come from a woman, a pretty girl that he could bring him to his father and receive an approving nod about. He couldn’t do that with Dunk, not without the burning shame he felt even now as he laid on the bed in his hotel room. He didn’t say anything as Dunk moved closer, leaning over him as his free hand moved to gently lift his shirt. He had changed out of his race suit before they snuck out, he had dressed quickly and as a result plainly; a simple black t-shirt and jeans that Dunk was now pulling upwards slowly.
Aerion didn’t miss the frown that quickly appeared on the larger man’s lips when he saw the bruising. Aerion was sure he had some internal bleeding when he saw the bruises himself and he couldn’t believe it when the emergency doctor said that it was typical bruising from the force of the seatbelt. It was a relief, of course, but it didn’t stop the pain and remaining concern that it was worse than it was and the way Dunk reacted hadn’t helped.
But Dunk didn’t frown because it looked horrible. He frowned because he knew it was causing Aerion pain. It was a physical reminder of both of their failings that day. He wanted to kiss it away and so he did. Aerion gasped in shock when he felt Dunk’s warm lips on his stomach, gently kissing his bruises in a way that stirred something in his gut that spread up to his chest. For a man as big as Dunk, he was surprisingly gentle in both actions and words.
“I think you’re doing it.” Aerion mumbled.
“Hm?” Dunk hummed against the blonde’s bruised skin, the vibration of it sending a shiver up his spine.
“Making me feel better.”
Dunk didn’t reply, simply continuing his gentle kisses until Aerion flicked the top of his head to get his attention.
“Could we just… hug?”
Dunk almost laughed at how weak Aerion sounded asking for one of the simplest things, but he only laughed and moved carefully to lay down on his side. It was a tight fit on the small bed but it worked in Aerion’s favour, he got to have his mechanic pressed against him, his arms wrapped around him gently and providing him that warmth he craved.
“Next race I’ll do it.” He muttered as he felt Dunk settle behind him, feeling the man’s hot breath on his neck. “I’ll win.”
“I know you will.” Dunk sighed, tightening his grip around Aerion carefully, avoiding doing so near his bruises. “You’re my driver. I believe in you.”
Aerion smiled at that and let his eyes close, leaning backwards further into his touch and warmth. He only wished that he wasn’t the only one who did.