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Esteban was enjoying a rare moment of peace, leaning against the barrier, watching the mechanics prepare his car. Then Ollie appeared beside him, carrying two water bottles.
"Are you leaving already?" Ollie asked, handing him one. "We haven't even started practice yet."
"Just getting some fresh air." Esteban accepted the bottles with a small smile. Ollie had a talent for disarming him, his presence a welcome respite from the constant pressure. He was certainly young, but he possessed a natural confidence, making their connection feel natural, not forced.
"You know," Ollie said, his playful gaze fading away, his face a little worried.
"I wonder if I'm being sarcastic... I've been seeing that guy around you a lot lately..."
Esteban's smile faltered. "He's not relevant anymore."
Oli paused. "But if you ever feel uncomfortable, tell me. Then... don't just let it slide."
Esteban smiled brightly and patted Olli on the back.
"What are you going to do?"
Oli's earlobes flushed slightly. It was a subtle change, but Esteban, nine years older than Olli, noticed it and his eyes narrowed slightly.
"I wanted to get along with you as teammates—well, I wanted to get along as team drivers, so I read some of the interviews from last season, and you and Pierre were practically... close."
Esteban paused for a sip of water. "Close is too strong a word. We were just teammates. There's a difference. And that's... that's how it seemed."
Esteban avoided eye contact and continued.
"Interviews are always exaggerated."
"That's right," Olli said, stretching out the word. "But you two did make it to the podium, didn't you?"
"That was the only time." Esteban spoke with his usual calm and composed voice when talking about Pierre. “It was just that back then, we got along a little bit. And… people change, you know.”
“I agree with that.”
Oli’s voice suddenly dropped.
“But there’s something about his perspective that doesn’t change much. I think he’s still…”
A shadow fell over them, and a sharp, clear voice interrupted their conversation.
“What are you talking about?”
Pierre stood there, not in his Alpine racing suit, but in a simple polo shirt from another team. Since Esteban had moved from Alpine to Haas, they no longer had to share the same garage. The distance was palpable, but rather than alleviating the rivalry, it only intensified it.
Oli’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “We were just talking.”
“Then later,” Pierre said, staring at Esteban. “I need to talk to him.” Esteban felt the eyes of the staff around him focused on them. This was exactly what they did: openly display their hostility toward one another and create a commotion.
"Whatever it is, we can talk about it later," Esteban said dryly.
"No, you can't do that." Pierre said firmly, reaching out and grabbing Esteban's wrist. His grip was firm, a possessive force that sent goosebumps down Esteban's spine. "Right now."
Esteban recognized that look. It was the same look he'd seen that night in Monaco. A look of raw, unguarded possessiveness that shattered all his defenses. He also knew that arguing here, in public, would only fuel rumors for weeks.
"Fine," Esteban said curtly, pulling his wrist away but starting to walk anyway.
They didn't go to the motorhome or the hospitality facility. Instead, Pierre led Esteban to a quiet corner of the paddock, near the temporary barrier separating the F1 world from the outside world.
"Are you satisfied, your new teammate?" Once they were out of earshot, Pierre's voice became low and dangerous.
"What are you talking about?" Esteban asked, facing him. He tried to appear calm and indifferent, but his heart was already racing.
"Oli," Pierre said, almost cursing. "He's always laughing with you, touching your arm, acting like he has the right to do so."
Esteban stared at him in disbelief, anger welling up inside him. "He's my teammate, Pierre. That's what teammates are supposed to do. You shouldn't forget that."
"I remember a lot of times when we were your teammates," Pierre snapped, leaning in close enough to almost touch. "I remember how you gave everyone else your prettiest smile, but looked at me like I was your problem to solve."
"That's not true," Esteban denied, but even to himself, the words felt hollow.
"Isn't that so?" Pierre's voice lowered, becoming rougher and more intimate. "I saw the way you looked at me when I won in Italy last year."
"I was happy for you." The bitterness of those words lingered in his mouth.
"Nonsense," Pierre growled. Then he placed his hand again, not on Esteban's wrist, but on his chest, pushing him against the wall. "You've always been like this. So calm, so perfectly concealed. Everything hidden behind that perfect mask."
"Go away," Esteban said, his voice trembling. He was much taller than Pierre, but in moments like these, Pierre's intense gaze seemed to neutralize his physical superiority. "Go ahead," Pierre said defiantly, bringing his face right up to Esteban's. His eyes burned with a familiar fire, a mixture of anger and something Esteban had struggled to name for years.
They stood there, transfixed. The unspoken past stretched back more than a decade. They shared the same roots, but their paths had been different. Yet, they relentlessly circled each other, drawn by a force neither could fully comprehend.
"Let's go," Pierre said, his tone suddenly shifting from confrontational to commanding. "Right now."
"Where?" Esteban asked, knowing he would follow.
"A place where there's no need to pretend."
Esteban didn't resist when Pierre took his hand again. This time, their fingers were intertwined, and the feeling was surprisingly intimate. As Pierre pulled him away from the fence and toward the exit, Esteban turned toward the Haas garage. There, Olli watched them, his expression pensive and concerned.
He knew how this would appear to her, to the team, and to the world. It would simply be another fight between two drivers who loathed each other.
Only Esteban and Pierre knew the truth. Their fight wasn't about hatred, but about a history too complex to express, a connection that could only be revealed through conflict. And now, as Pierre led him away from the stables' gaze, Esteban wondered whether he could finally break the vicious cycle, or if it would perpetuate it in an even more dangerous way.
Pierre's cabin was thick with unspoken stories. It was a simple space—a sofa, a small table, and a coat rack for his racing suit—but it felt more comfortable than any hotel room they'd ever shared. As soon as the door closed, Pierre ran to Esteban and grabbed his shoulder tightly.
"Do you know what they're saying?" Pierre's voice was low and hardened with anger. "About you and Ollie? About Haas's 'new golden partnership'?"
Esteban tried to push him away, but his large frame proved difficult to resist B's intense attack. "That's what public relations is, Pierre. Shouldn't your media team have taught you?"
"PR? Do you think your teammates think that?" Pierre let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "You call it PR when you let him touch you and laugh at his jokes like he's the only one in the world? Like I never had a teammate before?"
The accusation was so absurd, so absurd, that Esteban almost burst out laughing. But he couldn't hold back his laughter, and pushed harder, barely managing to distance himself. "Are you crazy? Don't you remember last year when you and I were publicly exposed to each other in the media?"
"Yeah, it was just last year for you."
“What are you talking about?” Esteban stared at him.
“Does that mean your time is still frozen in that place?” Pierre lowered his gaze.
At that moment, something shifted in Esteban’s expression. The composure he had been trying to maintain finally crumbled.
“Since we were fourteen… I’ve only seen you.”
And in the next sentence, Pierre’s voice wavered for the first time.
“Then why aren’t you letting me in?”
Suddenly, Pierre’s voice trembled, visibly weaker.
“Why did you let Ollie in but keep me out for years?”
Ten years of unspoken emotions hung heavily between them. Esteban felt the mask he had been trying to suppress crumble under the intensity of Pierre’s emotions.
“Because it’s easier,” Esteban finally admitted, almost in a whisper. “It’s always been difficult with you.” Before Esteban could react, Pierre lunged at him again, but this time it wasn't anger or blame. It was despair, a raw, yearning that had built up over the years. Pierre's lips crashed against his. It was more of a kiss, teeth and tongue intertwined, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between them.
Esteban reacted instinctively, reaching up to grab Pierre's hair and pulling him closer. Years of fighting, rivalry, and all the distance he'd struggled to maintain melted away in that moment of contact.
"I know," he said quietly. "But I didn't give up."
"Only when I'm with you," Pierre replied, his voice almost a whisper. He took a step closer, raised a hand, and brushed a stray strand of hair from Esteban's forehead. "Only when I'm with you."
Esteban flinched at the touch, his body betraying his efforts to maintain distance. "I'm not trying to beat you right now," Pierre said quietly. "It's just... I missed it. Talking to you in private."
The honesty in his voice caught Esteban off guard, and he felt a sense of unease he hadn't felt since his early days in kart racing. "No," Esteban said uncertainly.
"I know," Pierre replied, gently stroking Esteban's cheek with his thumb. "But I'm tired of pretending not to know."
"This is a mistake," Esteban said, his voice choked up.
"Maybe so," Pierre said, placing a hand on Esteban's shoulder. "But what if it's not?"
A turned to him, his expression conflicted. "What do you want from me?"
"The truth," Pierre said simply. "This time, let's just tell the truth between us."
The request was so simple, yet so complex. For years, Esteban had built walls around himself, around the secrets he kept hidden. Not just the secrets Pierre had discovered in Monaco, but also the deeper secrets of his emotions, fears, and desires.
"I don't know what to do," Esteban admitted, almost like a confession.
"Then let me help you," Pierre said, reaching out and cupping Esteban's cheek. "Let me in, Este. Just a little."
Before Esteban could protest, Pierre leaned in again, capturing his lips with a softer kiss this time. Esteban's resistance crumbled.
Pierre pushed Esteban toward the sofa and frantically unbuttoned Esteban's jeans.
"I need to see you." He stared straight at him. "All of you."
Esteban forgot to resist for a moment. His mind was awash with thoughts. He was torn between the primal anxieties about their relationship and the overwhelming desire Pierre had somehow stirred within him.
"...Why are you doing this?"
Pierre insisted, unbuttoning Esteban's jeans and pulling them down to his buttocks. "For ten years, we've been saying 'no,' no matter what the consequences."
Pierre stroked the soft skin of Esteban's groin, his jeans still hanging over his hips. Esteban was thin, but his buttocks were plump, giving his hips a curve. Pierre squeezed Esteban's sides. Esteban stared blankly into space as all this unfolded.
“Focus on me.” Pierre’s large, warm hand rested on Esteban’s stomach. Esteban felt a sense of relief in the warmth, but then a sudden surge of emotion finally forced him to cry.
“Pierre, we have to stop this.”
“...Do you want to?” Pierre asked, pulling his hand away from Esteban.
Esteban looked into Pierre’s eyes, searching for the anger and possessiveness he’d always expected, but only understanding and patience filled them.
“No,” he finally admitted. “I don’t want to stop.”
Pierre’s answer was a small, sincere smile that transformed his face. The lines that had been strained and competitive softened. “Then don’t.”
When Pierre finally unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, Esteban didn’t flinch or try to hide. Even when Pierre confronted his secret again, he simply accepted it.
"You're still beautiful," Pierre whispered softly, gently tracing Esteban's private area with his fingers. "It's still you."
Estebans breath caught as Pierre's fingers touched Esteban's most sensitive spot, and his body responded with a startling passion.
"Are you okay?"
"...Yes."
"I'll take care of you," Pierre said in a low, earnest voice. "Just this once, I'll take care of you."
Before Esteban could respond, Pierre knelt before him and gently spread Esteban's thighs with both hands. "I'll do it," he whispered, his warm breath brushing Esteban's most sensitive skin. "Please." Esteban was speechless, and could only nod as Pierre's tongue touched his clitoris, sending a tingling sensation of pleasure through his entire body. All the self-control and composure he had so desperately maintained crumbled in an instant under Pierre's touch.
Esteban almost instinctively pulled his legs together, but Pierre's strong hands held them. Pierre continued, unstoppable. His mouth, like a driver's car, was aggressive yet precise, its movements intense. He alternated between sweeping his tongue and focusing on Esteban's most sensitive area, gauging Esteban's response through gasps and involuntary hip movements.
Amidst this, Esteban, with a last shred of pride, bit his lip and tried to suppress a moan. Even as Pierre's teeth occasionally brushed against his sensitive clitoris and his tongue slid deep into her vagina, inducing orgasm.
Pierre brought Esteban to the brink of climax twice, only to stop just before ejaculation each time. Esteban remained silent, glaring at him with tearful eyes. But Pierre didn't give in to Esteban's wishes. Instead, he delivered a sharp jolt to his most sensitive area. Esteban screamed in pleasure, his body still sensitive and on the verge of orgasm. Pierre's hand slammed down again, this time harder, and the sound echoed throughout the small room.
"You've always been stubborn," Pierre growled, his voice thick with lust, and he slapped Esteban's vagina again. "Just now, we were talking about facing the truth, and I told you not to stop. And yet you kept challenging me. Someone had to punish you."
Each stroke sent a tingling jolt of pleasure and pain through Esteban's body, rekindling the fire that had gripped him just moments before. He couldn't speak or think, only feeling Pierre's touch marking him as his. Esteban groaned without protest.
But unintentionally, the painful sensation caused him to ejaculate. Hot liquid flowed from his vagina, and his vagina, now glistening with fluid, sloshed with every stroke Pierre made.
Pierre briefly looked down at his hand, now covered in Esteban's ejaculate. Esteban caught his breath when Pierre paused. He felt ashamed of himself for ejaculating from such an unexpected stimulus. The wetness in his vagina continued unabated.
And Esteban thought Pierre would stop now that he had reached orgasm, but Pierre didn't.
When another strong hand reached his vagina, Esteban instinctively sat up and grabbed Pierre's arm. Esteban, his face flushed with the frailty of a small animal, looked at Pierre.
"...I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Pierre, please..."
Esteban couldn't continue. He was clearly trying to tell Pierre to stop, but he didn't want to. He managed to speak, but he wasn't sure whether he wanted to stop or continue.
Pierre looked at Esteban with dark eyes. "Please, what?" His voice was rough with desire. "Please stop? Please don't stop?"
When Esteban couldn't answer, Pierre leaned down and kissed her vagina. He then inserted his tongue back into the hot, fluid-filled vagina.
Esteban felt the pleasure of his orgasm, now overflowing, ecstatic. Finally, Esteban's back gave out, and he lay back down on the sofa. But now he moaned, not biting his lip.
Perhaps Pierre couldn't bear to see Esteban so devastated. He concentrated on teasing Esteban's clitoris with his tongue and inserted his finger into her vagina.
Esteban could no longer control his orgasm. Pierre's fingers continued to attack a spot deep inside his vagina, and the liquid flowed out again, this time thinner. Esteban arched his back and tried to move, but Pierre's firm grip on his lower body prevented him from moving.
"Pierre... Pierre..."
All Esteban could do was moan and scream Pierre's name.
The orgasm that followed was explosive, and Esteban's entire body convulsed with pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. His vision blurred, sounds seemed distant, and waves of sensation washed over him.
This time, as Esteban was overcome by pleasure, tears streaming down his face at the moment of climax, Pierre held him, cradled him in his arms, and whispered reassurances against his skin.
"I'm here," Pierre whispered, stroking Esteban's trembling hair. "I'll always be there for you." The aggressiveness vanished, replaced by a tenderness Esteban had never felt from Pierre.
Something fundamental had changed between them, something that transcended rivalry, nationality, or even team loyalty.
“Why am I the only one who’s naked?”
Esteban looked feeble yet grumpy. Pierre simply smiled and kissed the back of his neck.
“It’s too bad to hide your beauty.”
Esteban rolled his eyes.
“Ollie will be waiting.”
Esteban bent down to put his discarded jeans back on, but Pierre stopped him.
“Why?” Esteban was bewildered. “Your face is still red. Are you going to leave like that?”
Pierre didn’t say, but Esteban’s lips and cheeks were even redder after multiple orgasms. And although it wasn’t visible, if you tried hard enough, you could see the dried tear stains around his eyes.
“...Is it bad?” Esteban asked, still innocently. Pierre felt a burning heat pooling in his groin, and he felt like stabbing his thigh with a fork. Anyway, I couldn't let Esteban go in this state. I didn't know what his damn teammate would do if he saw Esteban in his current state. Besides, if anyone saw Este in his current state...
"Yeah. It's serious, so stay with me until you calm down again."
Pierre hugged Esteban exclusively.