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Pierre knows he shouldn't text. He knows he shouldn’t even think about it at all. He’s helpless at stopping the bouncing of his leg as he stares at the open contact on his phone wanting to hit
message
on the phone screen.
It's a terrible idea yet he still can't help himself from wanting to do it. The contact is open, staring at him, face up on his phone. The harsh glow of the screen, void of notifications feels as though it's mocking Pierre. A text he knows will never come, from a name he wishes just would. From a name he hasn't texted either. But he’s not sure he can take another reminder of all that's gone wrong this weekend. A race weekend in Monaco he’d been genuinely excited for. Now one he cannot wait to forget.
Pierre could not get away from the team’s post-race celebration fast enough. He hopes no one blames him for that. Ben did not question it, Ilies did not question it. He keeps replaying the shocked look on Esteban’s face over again as Pierre dodged and ducked splashes of champagne before the bottles were even open. Pierre not wanting to bear the sticky reminder of what should have been his. What should have been double points, Pierre fighting Esteban for that spot on the podium.
All Pierre can think of, tucked next to Esteban too close in the pouring rain, hands clutching the pit board with a message celebrating Esteban's podium, was if his smile was convincing enough. Pierre was struggling to hide his emotions and dejection during post-race media. The hundreds of questions from the media asking why wasn't he higher up the order twisted the knife already through his heart. Frustration and anger hid the anguish and pain he was feeling the last 20 or so laps. His race was thrown away by a terrible pit call for dry tires even though he insisted his tires were fine. That they should wait for the rain to make a change. He could feel the tears welling up under his helmet in frustration as Karel did not listen to him, insisting Pierre pit even though his tyres were fine and rain was coming. Pierre begging for one more lap. Let him go one more lap. However, something in Karel’s next call seemed to snap something in Pierre's subconscious he’d long packed away. The fear of insubordination in a car. By muscle memory peeling off into the pits trying to keep himself calm as his stop went long, doing little to subside the tears he was trying to keep at bay.
He wants to be happy for Esteban and his race result. He really does. But Pierre is finding it difficult to take away any joy from the race weekend. Even for Esteban. Because Pierre knows when it comes to him, Esteban will not feel the same. He’s made that abundantly clear. He made that clear a long time ago. And while the lines of clarity have blurred a few times when they find their way back to each other. Esteban still makes it clear he can never feel for Pierre in any way what Pierre feels for him.
“You know you should not” Pierre lifts his head from Charles’ shoulder. Charles offered a literal and figurative shoulder for Pierre to cry on if he wanted it post-race. Which Pierre absolutely wanted. Charles also needed a friend, his best friend. Their platonic closeness was something Charles said he could use after such a disappointing weekend. Pierre knows it's because Max is out celebrating his race win. Charles is not quite ready to face his boyfriend. Who is now, officially, more successful than he is on his home streets.
“I cannot see you destroy yourself the same way you have before” Charles adds bluntly before Pierre can argue that he wasn’t thinking of sending a text. Yet Pierre knows Charles is right. He does not want him to be right. Pierre bites back a fresh batch of tears pricking at his eyes. Pierre said he was done doing this a long time ago, offering another sad look at the name of the contact on his phone screen.
Just like he said he’d stop with Esteban a long time ago.
Charles made him promise to stop tearing apart the things that make him him. Pierre knows he’s already stopped laughing too loudly, cracking too many jokes, answering too bluntly, and trying to stop his eyes from crinkling too much when he smiles. Just like the way he stopped dying his hair blonde when he saw that the boy he liked started dating someone not blonde. All the little things that made him Pierre. Pierre stood before a hollow shell of that man staring back at him in a mirror after so many years of it. Charles even told Pierre through tears that he missed his best friend, which may have broken Pierre’s heart more than Esteban ever had.
Pierre promised he’d stop doing these things. He promised he’d stop doing them to one day be who he hoped Esteban wanted him to be. With a hope, it would make Esteban actually want him. Want Pierre in the way Pierre’s always wanted him. Not in the way they’ve found themselves now.
Since Pierre’s signed to Alpine, he's been starved for any ounce of approval, of attention from his former friend turned teammate, and he was taking it any way he would get it from Esteban. Esteban would pin Pierre against the wall in Enstone mouth hot, hands heavy around him. With a cunning smirk telling Pierre he wanted to offer him a proper congratulations and welcome to Alpine, how glad he was to be racing with Pierre alongside him again.
Esteban had strolled away from Pierre, the older Frenchman still in shock, his chest heaving, kissed breathless. That had been more than Esteban said to Pierre in nearly three years outside of hotel rooms and secluded corners of bars.
He thinks that's Esteban knowing that Pierre loves him and in part what keeps Esteban coming back. Its what makes this so much worse. Its why Charles is telling him to stop. A cycle of hurt where Charles has had to pick Pierre up time and time again even back when they were teens.
Pierre told Esteban he was in love with him with burning cheeks, tinged pink at the karting track they grew up racing at, and Esteban hadn’t said it back. And again a few years later, falling back into each other he confessed again only for Esteban to again insist that he did not feel that way for Pierre. That he likes Pierre as a teammate and fuckbuddy, but not, in the same way, Pierre liked him.
Pierre is absolutely helpless at denying Esteban when he does text or call, relishing in the worship and reverence of what he wishes he could have. What he wishes could be between them. The very thing he’ll never get to be with Esteban. Esteban also knows this full well and knows Pierre will answer when he calls. It's fucked up and it's toxic. Pierre knows it. But he cannot stop himself.
Part of him hopes that one day Esteban will come around the longer Pierre shows Esteban he’s what he wants, he can be
exactly
what Esteban wants. The other part of him has always known it will never go beyond whatever they’ve been doing all these years. Now more frequently now that he’s in Esteban's daily orbit. But it's impossible to rationalize with that part of himself when everything he’s ever wanted is just right there.
“I should go.” Pierre stands abruptly. Charles lets out a startled noise, caught off guard by Pierre's movement but stares up at him from his place on his living room couch with pity in his verdant eyes. Pierre does not want it or need it. He will not text Esteban. He is not sure he could even face his teammate any longer than he had to after today's race. He’d rather go back to his hotel and ruminate in solitude and silence. Without whatever judgment Charles holds at this moment.
It is not that Pierre is mad at Charles for saying that. Nor does he resent him for it. He knows Charles would think he was being a bad friend if he didn’t and is thankful for Charles being unafraid to say it. Right now, Pierre just does not want to hear it. He does not need to hear it. He can't handle any more conciliatory words from anyone this weekend. He cannot cling to threads and scraps of comforting excuses from those around him trying to make him feel better. He knows he is allowed to wallow and feel his feelings, and he does not need to feel like he deserves to feel like he feels. But right now he feels like he does.
He’s let so many down in what should have been a strong start to his debut Alpine season. This was a fresh start, a new chapter. Its been anything but. All he sees are tweets that say he was a waste of signing. That it should have been Daniel. That they should have left him at Alpha Tauri. Tweets asking why did Alpine waste 10 million dollars on someone like him? Should have spent it on the car. Ben has had to limit his social media time because of it. He even made sure Ilies also keeps Pierre honest and following his screen time limiting instructions when he’s not around. It's to the point of Ilies relieving Pierre of his social media, only giving him access to write his own post captions.
He appreciates Charles for saying it. Even though it's not what he wants to hear, Pierre knows it’s what he needs to hear. But he does not want to right now. He moves quickly, scooping up his bag and pulling on his hoodie, flipping the hood up hoping it hides the tears he’s still blinking from his eyes. It will help him move with a clandestine ease through Monaco's bustling streets back to his hotel too.
“I will see you tomorrow for Gasly-Leclerc family dinner, yeah?” He supplies looking over his shoulder to see Charles, staring at him, with the same dejected look in his eyes as he had post-race, but this time it's hurled in Pierre's direction which hurts. The joint family dinner is a time-honored Monaco Grand Prix weekend tradition.
“Yeah, I will see you tomorrow P. Be safe, yes?” Charles replies the concern in his voice hard to hide.
And with that, Pierre is out the door.
Pierre has barely had a chance to toe his shoes off when there is a knock at his hotel door. He sighs running a hand through his hair smoothing the way the hoodie hood has messed it up. If this is Charles he’s honestly the last person Pierre wants to see. It would be very Charles to follow Pierre back to his hotel, apologizing if he’s upset Pierre for his remarks.
“Charles, you did not–” Pierre throws the door to his hotel room open. The rest of his words die on his lips, and the wind feels like it's been knocked out of him in the same woosh of the door opening.
“Bonne nuit Pierreot.”
Esteban.
Pierre should shut the door in his face. Esteban is the last person he wants to see right now. He is the only person Pierre wants to see right now.
“You ran off so quickly after the celebrations. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Esteban says with a soft smile. “And I wanted to celebrate.”
The double entendre is not lost on Pierre with Esteban's use of celebration.
He
wants to celebrate and knows full well Pierre is looking for anything to help him feel good about how the weekend went.
The fact that Esteban said he
wanted
to celebrate with him sparks something warm in his chest that Pierre can't fight. Esteban's consciously seeking out Pierre is something that Pierre knows Esteban has done on purpose. He knows Pierre can't say no to him. That Esteban saying these things satisfies the feeling of being sought out, of being wanted by Esteban. It is also something Pierre can't seem to stop his body from taking an interest in. The twisting knot of desire already burning low and warm in his belly.
And that's the problem with all of this. They know each other so well. Pierre knows that knowing Esteban as he does is his biggest on-track strength but his biggest off-track weakness. They know exactly what each other is doing how the other will react. What the other wants at any given moment. Their childhoods and adult lives are so intertwined that this was never meant to end any other way than it has and always will. Exactly like this. Pierre half hard at Esteban’s words, Esteban staring, brown eyes brooding with desire. Esteban the first to move, as he crowds Pierre against the entryway wall in a crash of limbs and lips. Pierre's lips on Esteban’s equally needing and wanting.
Esteban lips taste sweet; mulled in celebratory champagne that is fresh on his tongue as he licks his way into Pierre's mouth. Pierre returns his kisses with equal fervor. He wants to savor this, taste all of Esteban and lock it away for safekeeping. Pierre is not sure the next time he’ll get Esteban like this. He never knows sometimes when they will be together. They won't even kiss sometimes. Esteban will say there are too many feelings involved to kiss, or that there are more feelings than he wants. And Pierre will sigh but oblige because otherwise, it means no Esteban. So he’s going to savor every moment of the sweet taste of Esteban's lips, champagne drenched and supple as though this is the last time he will kiss them.
Esteban pulls away first, with a smirk on his lips. Pierre leans his head against the wall, exposing the column of his neck with a sharp inhale. He can't seem to get his mind to quiet down the way it usually does when he's with Esteban. He should tell Esteban off, tell him he can't do this right now. He’d rather spend the night alone. As much as he doesn't want to be alone, he feels like he should send Esteban away.
Esteban's lips work their way down his neck. God, it feels so good though. Pierre squeezes his eyes shut and sinks his teeth into his lip doing his best to bite back a moan and the words he wants to say.
He wants to tell Esteban he can't do this right now and keep doing this like they are, that he can't keep doing this with Esteban unless they are together. Esteban will tell them that they can't. And Pierre will close his eyes and imagine that he tells him they can. What it will really be like if they can. That after all these years Piere is finally enough for Esteban. But he knows that will not come. He can't handle laying awake with the same thoughts after Esteban is gone, slipping out with a kiss to Pierre's shoulder. The gesture is something new he's been doing when he thinks Pierre is asleep. So he bites his tongue.
Esteban pulls Pierre off the wall by the hips. They’ve always been such a perfect fit, their hips slotted together. Without breaking their kiss, Esteban walks them back until the bed catches Pierre’s knees. Pierre is the one who breaks their kiss this time, pulling off his hoodie and shirt in one movement, looking up at Esteban who is above him, having fit into the vee created by Pierre's legs. He pulls his shirt off in one swift move, exposing the expertly chiseled muscles and abs Pierre loves to kiss. Pierre resists reaching out to run his hands over the hard lines of Esteban’s torso, wishing desperately that his mind would just shut off and distract himself from his frustration and anger with pleasure, even for just a little while.
Esteban is back on him even faster this time pushing him back onto the bed. Pierre’s breath leaves him with a small huff. Esteban kisses his way up Pierre's torso from the waistband of his joggers, laving his tongue over spots he grazes with his teeth. It’s not nearly harsh enough for Pierre, all soft kisses and flicks of his tongue.
“How was Charles? Esteban asks, mouth hot against Pierre's abs looking up at Pierre momentarily, as he waits for an answer. Pierre freezes. How does Esteban know he was with Charles?
Pierre sighs. Ben. Or well, Esteban's trainer Tom told Esteban, who was told by Ben.
Ben knew Pierre was off to go have ‘bestie time’ as he calls it, with Charles post-race. He dropped him off on the moped at Charles’. ‘Bestie time’ is also what Ben calls time with Tom, where Ben was heading after dropping off Pierre. Except Pierre does not think Ben can call what he does with Tom ‘bestie time’ if it involves getting fucked. But Ben never wants to have that conversation when Pierres tries to call him out on it.
“Good,” Pierre chokes out as he bites back a moan. Esteban taking one of his nipples in his hand, rolling the bud between his fingers. His other hand runs flat-palmed and firm up the length of Pierre’s achingly hard dick through his sweatpants. It’s too much yet not enough all at once. He slides his hand up the length of Pierre’s body to give his other nipple a twist. It's devious and almost cruel; Pierre is already so keyed up.
“Oh. That’s good. Just like you are right now,” Esteban praises, his hands firm on Pierre's hips pushing him down into the bed to stop him from arching up into him. It is apparent he wants to draw this out tonight much to Pierre’s impatient ways. Pierre feels himself practically melt at the praise.
Pierre lets out a frustrated groan as Esteban captures his lips again, swallowing the rest of the noise Pierre makes as he repeats the firm stroke over his joggers. Pierre weaves a hand into Esteban's hair to keep him on his lips, as Esteban's hand disappears, instead grinding down against Pierre. A smile against his lips blooms as Pierre lets out another moan. He apparently has gotten the memo but is continuing to tease Pierre, which only frustrates Pierre further. With a chuckle he breaks off their kiss again with a nip to Pierre's lower lip that stings deliciously, beginning to kiss his way back down Pierre’s body.
“Este- Est, I- I cannot” Pierre pants, grasping for any part of Esteban he can get to. Pierre's embarrassingly close after Esteban's teasing. But it is more than his embarrassing display of stamina tonight. His head and his heart can't do this tonight.
"Yes you can, Pierre, I have you," Esteban responds so encouragingly Pierre nearly believes it, biting back the wonton noise it threatens to bring out.
Pierre can't do
this
tonight. Not after the race he’s had. After a shit race, normally he’d want this. To feel wanted, to feel like he’s enough for something. But tonight it is the last thing he wants yet everything he wants. And his body seems to disagree with his mind, so close to cumming that the slightest intentional movement from Esteban might set him off like.
Esteban's lips and hands are everywhere and it is overwhelming as it always is. Pierre is electric with anticipation as though it is his first time. Strong hands encircle his waist, tapping cold, deft fingers against Pierre's hot skin. Esteban’s mouth is hot and devilish along his collarbone, stopping to leave a mark below the divot of his neck. Teeth grazing his jaw, a soft chuckle at that spot where Pieres beard starts. Esteban always says it tickles.
“Est, I cannot, I cannot do this. I cannot do this anymore unless we try for real, for really real. We try,” Pierre insists. He thinks his cheeks might be wet. He’s surprised he’s even said it, but he’s proud of himself for it. It has been a long time coming. But now he’s worried it may have upset Esteban. The sound of his own ragged breath is too loud in his ears as Esteban just stares.
“Well we can,” Esteban says against Pierre's skin like it's common sense with a shrug.
“What?” Pierre asks weakly. Esteban words sound incredibly placating, like he might just be saying them to get what he wants out of Pierre tonight only to leave before the sun is up, but the look in his eyes says differently. There is so much adoration in them as he studies Pierre. It's a look Pierre has only seen directed at others, never at him. It leaves Pierre feeling even more confused than he was.
Pierre thinks he might be dreaming, and he is definitely crying. He blinks a few times, bringing Esteban into and out of focus. Esteban is still there staring at him through his lashes, lips kiss-reddened, looking for something in Pierre’s expression that may have an answer. Pierre is unable to fight his tears now, unfurling one of his hands that had been clutching the duvet to swipe furiously at them. He does not want Esteban to see. He has cried too many tears in front of Esteban and for Esteban.
“Yes Pierre, I said we can.” Esteban stops his trail of kisses and sits up rather abruptly, his thumb still drawing circles along Pierre's hip in a motion that feels more rooted in nerves than anything. Pierre goes to push his hand away, only for Esteban to grab him by the wrist, and use it to pull Pierre up against him, interlacing their fingers once he’s content with the way Pierre is seated to face him, their knees touching.
Pierre shakes his head as Esteban reaches up to wipe away a couple of Pierre’s tears, Pierre ducks from his touch.
“I am serious”
Pierre feels like he can't breathe as he continues to cry. This is cruel, even for Esteban. He's always told Pierre exactly what he wants to hear, the exact words that play into the feelings that keep him wrapped up in Esteban. This is on another level though, this is the one thing Pierre's always asked for, to make him think he finally has that, to say this only to keep Pierre engaged is absurd. To rip Pierre’s smile away, again, as easily as Esteban can bring it to Pierre's face makes the pain of his words hurt worse. Pierre hoped it'd start to hurt less when Esteban is like this, or says things like this. He's either as masochistic as Esteban says, or no matter what Pierre says or Esteban does, the pain never really goes away.
“Well you probably should know all of this time, I have been such an idiot,” Esteban takes a sharp inhale before continuing. “It took me calling Lance your name in bed for the eighth or ninth time since last season to come to terms with it,” Esteban adds with a chuckle, his cheeks tinged pink. He reaches back for Pierre tentatively, Pierre is in too much shock to duck away. Esteban's thumbs are warm and comforting as they trails across each of Pierre's cheeks as he studies Pierre and his tears.
“He sat me down and told me: Este, I can not let myself love you and continue to wait for you to love me like I want you to, because your heart is with someone else whether you want to admit it or not. No matter how much you deny it, no matter how much you tell me ‘Lance it is not like that’ I am pretty sure your heart never left Rouen.” Esteban puts on his best Lance voice. Which draws a wet chuckle out of Pierre and makes him cry harder.
Part of him isn't sure he believes Esteban. Or if he can trust what he’s saying. All the times he’s led him on. Told Pierre similar things only to tell Pierre he did not mean them at the end of an evening together. How does he know this time will be any different? That this time Esteban's words are not as empty as the champagne bottle he celebrated with on the podium?
“I- I really just want to be left alone right now”. Pierre finally breaks their silence through his sobs. Esteban looks crestfallen. “But I do not want to be alone tonight.”
Esteban offers him a wry smile but there is the warmth of understanding in his eyes that makes Pierre squirm. He’s never seen Esteban look at him like this.
“Okay. I understand,” Esteban replies with a nod as Pierre scoots away from where Esteban had him nearly in his lap. Pierre settles onto his side, facing away from Esteban. He does not want to let Esteban see him cry any more tears tonight. How he’s picking apart every letter of every word Esteban said, how he pinches at the skin of his wrist to make sure he is awake and not dreaming, that Esteban really has said those things. How he wraps his arms around himself to stave off the trembling he can't shake.
“I will be right here unless you would prefer I sit on the floor,” Esteban says from over Pierre's shoulder. He feels the bed shift under him as Esteban scoots up to prop himself against the headboard. He lays a comforting hand on Pierre's shoulder for only a moment to let him know he's there before it disappears just as quickly before Pierre can shrug away from it.
Pierre does not respond but the fact that Esteban has not moved he thinks his message has been received. Just knowing someone is right there next to him is comforting enough.
"Thank you for letting me stay. I did not want to go back up to the party that is happening in my room." Esteban is thefirst to break their silence as Pierre's sobs have begun to subside. Pierre wonders if Esteban was tempted to reach for him, and play with Pierre's hair like he used to when they were teens, before the feelings, Pierre's head laid in Esteban's lap.
"Yeah, you never liked those," Pierre quips back with a wet laugh.
"No, not like you do." Esteban's reply is fond as he also laughs along with Pierre. Pierre wipes at a couple more of his tears. No, not like he does at all. Esteban much prefers low-key evenings, or not even hitting the clubs if he’s got a choice. Usually pulled along by Lance if he isn’t. He always looks for an out and that is often Pierre.
Their laughter eventually dies off, the silence heavy around them except for a few sniffles as Pierre's tears seem to pick back up no sooner than they taper off. He hopes that maybe he’ll fall asleep soon rather than let the cycle of calm and tears repeat itself.
When Pierre wakes up the next morning, he stretches, long and languid, with a groan. He does his best to stretch his race-sore muscles. Ben will have to schedule a massage for him before family dinner tonight. Yesterday took more out of him than he must have thought. The hotel blankets are warm around him like the hug he feels like he so desperately needs after last night. But he did not climb under the blankets last night.
Esteban.
Esteban must have tucked him in before he left. Slinking away like he always does when Pierre is asleep. A rare occasion where Pierre has actually slept through him slipping out rather than faking asleep when he goes to leave. He will have to text him that they'll need to talk before Spain. Everything he said last night is still dizzying. The weight of his words is still heavy on Pierre's heart that's been so helplessly Esteban’s for nearly two decades.
Pierre flops over rubbing at his eyes, realizing he has a post-cry headache, to reach for where he thinks his phone is to check the time and see if he has any messages. But freezes at the sight before him.
Esteban is still here. His snores are soft as he's still seated propped up against the headboard, his hoodie pulled back on, and his phone in his lap. Esteban
never
stays. It makes Pierre want to cry again. He'd always wanted to wake up to Esteban next to him the glow of a sunrise around him.
Pierre settles back on his side this time facing Esteban although he’s starting to doze off again which takes over his immediate urge to cry
“Good morning,” Esteban says, voice still gravely with sleep as Pierre is back on the cusp of unconsciousness.
“You stayed,” Pierre says without opening his eyes. He thinks he might cry if he does.
“Of course, I stayed.” He can hear the same fondness in Esteban's voice as last night and a smile paired with it. Pierre is unsure what to do with the warm feeling nestled under where his cross sits over his heart.
It feels like this morning is a fresh start. Pierre feels weirdly lighter than he has in years. He cracks an eye open. Esteban is staring at him with a groggy, affectionate smile. Alpine was a fresh start, a new beginning; they’ve given Pierre so much already, and now they’ve even given him the chance to start anew with Esteban.