Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They had scored double points at the Monaco Grand Prix. While Liam felt he could’ve qualified better, ideally closer to Isack, he was still happy with the race result. He had finally earned his first points of the season and was now determined to prove he deserved them.

But with Monaco came doubts. Had he scored because of genuine race craft? His skill? Or had the others simply been unlucky thrown off by Monaco’s tricky conditions?

Laurent was in a great mood too. Racing Bulls were now in serious contention with the midfield teams, which seemed to light a spark in him. And it wasn’t just his team principal, Isack was happy as well. He’d insisted they celebrate the double points finish together.

So when he heard there was a good restaurant near the hotel, he invited Liam to dinner. And when Liam tried to decline, Isack insisted, he said it would be fun, that he’d done the same with Yuki.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But Liam was nervous. Not because he didn’t like Isack, but because he wasn’t like Yuki. Yuki could talk to anyone, win them over with his rough-edged English and stupid anecdotes, swear words and all. Liam, on the other hand, despite being extroverted and as charming as he could, had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth eventually.

He’d entered Formula One telling himself he wasn’t here to make friends (a quote that had, naturally, gained quite some traction online). But now, he didn’t want to wreck one of the few good relationships he’d built. If Isack wanted to celebrate with dinner, then so be it. He could handle one dinner. Right?

So Liam pulled himself together. How hard could it be?

He wore white dress pants and a cream knitted sweater that one of his sisters had picked out, declaring it “what a guy visiting Monaco should wear.” After spraying some cologne, he fussed with his hair for way too long, the waves refusing to settle just right. A glance at the hotel room clock made him curse under his breath. He was going to be late.

He shoved on his shoes, grabbed his phone and keycard, and headed out.

A short walk through winding streets lined with elegant homes brought him to the restaurant. He took a deep breath. He was ust a couple minutes late, no big deal.

The moment he stepped through the marble entrance, he was hit by a wave of delicious smells that made his mouth water. The interior was stunning: dark wood furniture, deep red upholstery, mirrored walls, and wine shelves that reached toward the ceiling. Low lighting wrapped the room in a soft, almost romantic glow. The whole place practically screamed old money. Even the guests looked expensive.
Suddenly, Liam was grateful he’d overdressed out of nerves. If he’d gone casual, he would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb.

He frowned. This place didn’t seem like Isack’s kind of scene. Maybe he’d misjudged him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a waitress in a sleek black suit, who approached with a polite smile and said something in French.

“I’m sorry?” Liam asked, blinking. He didn’t speak a single word of French, which made him all the more relieved when the waitress repeated herself in accented English.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asked, still smiling politely.

“Oh, yeah. A table for two.”

She gave him a once-over, just long enough to make him second-guess his answer.

“What name is it under?”

“Uh… Hadjar?” he guessed. Luckily, that turned out to be right, because she nodded and gestured for him to follow.

She guided him through the restaurant, past glittering chandeliers, hushed tables, and couples who looked like they belonged on the covers of luxury magazines. She pointed in a seemingly random direction, but Liam caught sight of Isack already seated at a table on the side of the room.

Liam thanked the waitress and made his way over, slipping into the seat across from his teammate.
Before he could launch into an apology for being late, Isack beat him to it, offering a sheepish smile. “I didn’t know this place was so fancy,” he said, voice low.

That… explained a lot. And it was enough to break the tension. Liam snorted, then laughed, probably a little too loudly.

“What?” Isack asked, confused but grinning.

“Nothing. Just... of course we ended up here.”

Isack chuckled and shrugged. “We could just get drinks? That way we don’t have to stay too long.”

Liam nodded, a little too quickly. The place wasn’t bad, actually, it was stunning, it was just too much. Too polished, too perfect. It made him feel like an imposter in a world he wasn’t sure he belonged to. That familiar unease, the same one that had followed him through the paddock and onto the grid, nudged at his ribs.

Still, he pushed it down and smiled as Isack flagged over a waiter and began ordering in French, of course.

Liam watched cluelessly. After a quick exchange, Isack turned to him.

“Do you want wine?”

“Sure. Why not?” A little wine wouldn’t hurt, they were here to celebrate, after all.

Isack nodded and spoke to the waiter again. A bottle was ordered (Liam assumed) and moments later, they were alone.

“You know,” Liam said, grinning, “I should’ve dragged you around Monaco with me. Half the people here don’t speak English, and I can’t speak a word of French.”

Isack shook his head, grinning. “You just want me to be your personal translator. Unbelievable.”

“Maybe I just need to learn French,” Liam offered with faux nobility. “Then I wouldn’t need your services.”

“Then what would be your excuse to hang out with me?” Isack shot back, eyebrows raised.

Liam smiled. Their conversation was easy—organic in a way he didn’t expect. No stumbles, no awkward silences. So far, so good.

“You don’t need an excuse, you know?” Isack added after a pause, voice suddenly softer.

Liam knew that. But it still felt weirdly good to hear it. He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

The wine arrived in a tall, elegant bottle, and they poured for themselves, leaning into the comfort of conversation. They swapped stories—Liam talked about growing up with his sisters, Isack compared Paris and Monte Carlo. Somehow, they ended up discussing judo and quantum mechanics, which was not at all where Liam had expected the evening to go, but he didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

At some point, the waiter returned, cleared the empty wine bottle, and placed a single plate on the table with two forks and a neat little pastry.

Neither of them had ordered dessert. Huh.

The waiter launched into a monologue in rapid French. Liam, of course, understood none of it—but he did understand the way Isack’s cheeks flushed about halfway through.

As soon as the waiter left, Isack dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

Liam blinked. “Okay, what just happened?”

Isack peeked up through his fingers. “He thinks we’re on a date.”

Liam's eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“And, apparently,” Isack continued, “since we’re so sweet together, we deserve a tarte au citron to balance it out. His words. Not mine.”

Liam stared at him. He was not expecting that.

Okay, sure, maybe the low lighting, wine, and soft music were giving date night vibes. And yeah, most of the tables around them were couples. But still.

He wasn’t offended. Just... surprised. But if anything, it made the whole thing even funnier.

“Well,” Liam said with mock elegance, fluttering his lashes, “we do make a handsome couple.”

Isack kicked him under the table. “Shut up. You’re confirming his assumptions.”

Liam just winked and reached for the pastry. It looked like a small pie, topped with whipped cream and delicate lemon slices. His nutritionist would have a heart attack, but it was free and he wasn’t going to disrespect the restaurant’s romantic gesture.

“What did you say it was?” he asked, spinning the fork between his fingers like he was still trying to convince himself.

“Tarte au citron,” Isack said dreamily. “It’s really good.”

That was all the encouragement Liam needed. He scooped up a large piece, popped it in his mouth and oh, holy shit.

The crust was crumbly, the filling thick and sticky. Sweet, but with a sharp citrus tang that made his eyes flutter shut. And the whipped cream? Perfection. Light, fresh, citrusy. Honestly, it tasted like a summer day.

He opened his eyes to find Isack watching him, smirking.

Liam pointed his fork like a weapon. “Don’t even think about laughing until you’ve tried it.”

“I wasn’t gonna laugh,” Isack lied, stealing the second fork. He took a bite, then paused mid-chew, blinking in awe.

“Fuck. That’s the best tarte au citron I’ve ever had.”

Liam raised his fork like a toast. “To the waiter who blessed us with the world’s best lemon pie.”

They clinked forks with a soft tap and then—

Click.

A shutter sound.

Liam’s head snapped toward the flash of light. In the corner of his eye, he saw it: someone with a camera. Not a tourist. A proper lens.

He met Isack’s gaze. The other driver had frozen mid-bite.

“Paparazzi?” Isack whispered.

Liam swallowed hard. “I think so? I mean, probably. That was definitely a camera.”

“What do we do now?”

Liam looked around. No idea who had taken the photo. No idea if there would be more. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But hey, at least it gives us a reason to leave.”

Isack let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

When they made their way back to the hotel, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a twilight haze that softened the world into a muted palette of blues and purples. The yachts bobbed gently in the distant harbor, their lights flickering like stars on the dark water. A sharp, cold breeze arrived with the night, sneaking through the spaces between buildings and making Liam shiver almost without realizing it. Only when they stepped inside the warm hotel lobby, and the chill melted away from his fingers, did he notice how cold he’d been.

He was holding a box wrapped in delicate calligraphy, the tarte au citron they’d been given at the restaurant.

Isack had taken care of the bill, which, even with just wine, had been more than Liam was comfortable with. But it was Isack’s way of saying thanks for holding off the midfield during those pit stops and Liam wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he planned to balance the scales by raiding the mini bar later.

“Wanna come to my room? Continue celebrating?” Liam asked, voice casual, but with just a hint of something more in the way he looked at Isack.

Isack froze mid-step, cheeks coloring faintly and eyebrows rising in surprised question. “What do you mean by that?”

Liam’s mind scrambled, realizing too late how his words might sound. “Oh my god, I’m not trying to proposition you, I promise,” he rushed out, cheeks flushing in turn. “I just wanted to hang out, maybe empty the mini bar, you know?”

Isack’s eyebrows slowly lowered, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe we can finish this together?” Liam held up the box, eyes twinkling.

Isack resumed his stride toward the elevators. “We are definitely doing that.”

Liam chuckled, falling into step beside him, heart skipping for reasons he didn’t fully want to analyze. The idea of sharing more than just a drink tonight was suddenly intoxicating.

Once inside the room, Liam kicked off his shoes and tossed his keycard onto the nightstand, the neat little clink breaking the comfortable silence. He made a beeline for the mini bar, grabbed two beers, and plopped down on the bed. Isack shed his shoes too and settled beside him. Liam carefully unwrapped the tarte au citron and placed it between their legs.

“Cheers to the double points,” Liam said, holding up his beer.

“To the double points!” Isack echoed, their bottles clinking with a satisfying ping before they both took generous swigs.
Then, realization dawned on Isack’s face, his laugh cutting through the quiet. “We don’t have forks. How are we gonna eat the fucking tarte?”

Liam shrugged, already swiping his index finger through the sticky lemon filling and licking it off with an amused grin. “Easy.”
Isack eyed him skeptically but quickly followed suit. He grabbed one of the lemon slices and dipped it in whipped cream. Liam guessed it was candied, judging by its glossy sturdiness. Unfortunately, the cream’s weight betrayed Isack, sliding down and melting over his fingers.

Isack put the lemon slice down and started licking the cream from his fingers, the soft sounds oddly enticing. When he reached his index and middle fingers, he popped them in his mouth and muffled a soft moan. Liam’s breath hitched, heat blooming low in his stomach.

Liam wondered what the hell he was feeling, his gaze fixed on Isack’s sticky fingers.

“That is so good, it’s not even funny,” Isack sighed, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

Liam bit his lip, voice catching slightly as he replied, “Yeah?”

Isack nodded, eyes sparkling. “You should eat some too, before it melts on the tarte as well.”

Liam’s sigh was softer this time, heavy with something unspoken. What am I hoping for? His heart was pounding a little too fast.

“Don’t wanna get my hands all sticky,” Liam muttered, trying to go for nonchalant but failing spectacularly.

Isack hummed, then shrugged, smirking as he picked up some cream on the same fingers he’d just sucked clean and held them out toward Liam. “Say ahh.”

Liam’s breath caught. The world seemed to narrow down to those fingers, glistening with cream and a little of Isack’s spit, which should’ve been gross but instead set fire to his nerves. Without thinking, Liam leaned forward, lips parting, and wrapped them around Isack’s fingers, sucking off the cream. The taste was intoxicating in more ways than one.

Isack pulled his fingers back slowly, eyes darkening with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something dangerous. He squirmed slightly under Liam’s gaze, and that was all the confirmation Liam needed.

He picked up the lemon slice from the plate, teasing, “You can’t just take this and not eat it. That’s not very polite.”

Instead of taking the lemon, Isack opened his mouth and held Liam’s gaze through his lashes, challenging him. Liam’s heart hammered.
He slid the lemon onto his tongue and closed his mouth, but didn’t swallow. Isack put the tarte aside on the nightstand and, closing the distance between them, scooted closer. His thumb rested gently on Liam’s bottom lip, warm and insistent.

Liam’s thighs squeezed together, a jolt of surprise sparking through him. Since when was he this sensitive? None of his past girlfriends had stirred him quite like this.

His jaw slackened, lips parting invitingly. Isack leaned in, soft lips brushing Liam’s in a gentle, lingering kiss.

But Liam needed more, so he pulled back just enough to say, breath rough, “Come sit on my lap?”

The question hung between them, vulnerability and promise woven together. Isack didn’t hesitate, he swung a leg over Liam’s thighs, settling with knees bracketing Liam’s hips.

Liam loosened his black shirt, fingers trailing over Isack’s stomach, the heat between them almost unbearable. He tilted his head and kissed Isack again.

Isack’s hands slid up Liam’s shoulders, fingertips digging into the knitted fabric of his sweater. The kiss deepened, breath mingling as
Isack transferred the candied lemon slice into Liam’s mouth.

Liam’s hand went to Isack’s hair, pulling him closer even as he tried to savor the tangy sweetness. Isack’s hands roamed, toying with the seam of Liam’s sweater, pushing it up slowly.

“So pretty,” Isack murmured, voice husky. “Need to see all of you.”

Liam raised his arms, letting the sweater slip off, the cool air a shock against his skin.

Isack’s eyes drank him in, heavy and hungry. Liam closed his eyes, heart pounding so hard he was sure Isack could hear it.

Suddenly, Isack pushed him back onto the sheets, Liam’s eyes snapping open as his back met the mattress.

Isack was straddling his hips now, hands resting on Liam’s chest, steady and comforting.

“Ah,” Liam gasped, grabbing Isack’s hips and pulling him closer, the hard length of his cock pressing through fabric. “So good… fuck, please.”

Isack moaned into his skin and lowered his head to kiss along Liam’s neck, teeth grazing softly, sending shocks through Liam’s body.
His hips twitched, meeting Isack’s movements instinctively.

Isack traveled down further, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses over Liam’s collarbone and sternum until he reached his chest.
He licked over Liam’s nipple, slow and deliberate, making Liam arch off the mattress.

Encouraged by Liam’s reaction, Isack deepened his ministrations, sucking and nibbling with growing urgency.

Liam’s hands roamed freely, sliding under Isack’s pants to palm his ass, pulling him down whenever Liam ground his hips up.
A soft whimper escaped Liam’s lips at the new angle, but embarrassment was a distant feeling in this heat-filled bubble.

Isack bit down gently, breath hitching.

“Liam, tu es… mh, se bon!” His voice was thick with his French accent, saying Liam’s name like it was the sweetest word he’d ever tasted.
Right then Liam knew he was done for.

Chapter Text

When Liam woke, his head throbbed with a slow, pulsing ache, like a bass line vibrating beneath his skull. He blamed it on the combination of expensive wine and whatever was left in the minibar. He made an attempt to sit up, instantly regretted it, and collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan. Apparently, vertical wasn’t on the menu just yet.

Fine. Bed it was.

He fumbled blindly for his phone, squinting toward the nightstand, only to freeze at the soft exhale that rose beside him. And just like that, the haze of sleep evaporated.

Last night came rushing back.

Heat bloomed low in his stomach.

He turned his head, breath catching when his eyes landed on Isack. Still wrapped in the hotel sheets, only his face visible, hair tousled chaotically and lips slightly parted. Peaceful. Pretty. Lit softly by the streaks of morning sunlight that managed to sneak past the half-closed curtains.

Hotel curtains never worked right. For once, Liam was grateful.

The golden light danced across Isack’s cheek, catching the constellation of freckles scattered there, sharp and vivid in the glow. Liam stared. He’d never noticed how many there were, not in this detail. With nothing better to do, he started counting them.
He lost track around thirty-seven, distracted by the gentle rise and fall of Isack’s chest, the flutter of his lashes, the memory of his hands. His mouth.

Liam wasn’t used to company in the morning. Hookups usually came with a time limit, an unspoken rule. But Isack hadn’t left. And Liam… didn’t want him to.

He reached out slowly, then paused. His hand hovered above Isack’s cheek, irrational nerves coiling tight in his chest. He’d done much more intimate things just hours ago, but this, this quiet, tender gesture somehow felt more vulnerable.
Still, he let his fingers rest lightly against Isack’s cheek, brushing his thumb beneath one eye.
Isack stirred. A soft sound. Then his lashes fluttered, and warm brown eyes blinked open.

“Morning,” Liam whispered. “Sleep okay?”

Isack nodded, still half-asleep. He stretched languidly, arms reaching overhead, and yawned. “You look like you got mauled.”

Liam followed his gaze downward and choked out a laugh. His chest was a minefield of hickeys and bite marks in shades of plum and rose, blooming all the way to his collarbone. One particularly brutal one near his nipple earned a wince when he pressed a finger to it.

“Damn,” he muttered, grinning. “Souvenirs.”
“They’re kind of sexy,” he added, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Isack snorted, but the pink creeping across his neck and ears betrayed him.

God, Liam thought. He’s so fucking pretty.

Still grinning, Liam pushed himself up, headache be damned, and nudged Isack back onto the mattress. “You’re just jealous,” he accused Isack. “I could fix that.”

He climbed onto Isack’s lap and leaned in, placing a featherlight kiss on the warm skin at the base of his neck. He smelled like Liam’s cologne and sex and something sweeter still, lemon and heat. Liam licked experimentally at the spot, savoring the mix of salty sweat and leftover sugar.

Isack sighed beneath him, hands slipping up to rest on Liam’s thighs.

Liam scraped his teeth across the sensitive skin and began to suck, intent on leaving behind a few marks of his own. Isack gasped softly, nails digging in. Encouraged, Liam pulled back a moment later, taking in the view—Isack, flushed, marked, breathless.

He witnessed in real time how the image burned itself into his brain.

“What’re you thinking about?” Isack asked, voice low.

“You?,” Liam said simply, brushing fingers through Isack’s messy hair. He tilted Isack’s chin up, eyes raking over his handiwork. “On your back for me, fuck—”

His breath hitched, the words slipping out more ragged than he’d intended.

Isack’s eyes widened, one hand flying up to cover his face. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he mumbled through his fingers. “We have places to be.”

Right. Planes. Real life. The Grand Prix was over, but the season wasn’t.

Liam collapsed onto Isack’s chest with a theatrical sigh. “You’re too comfortable to leave.”

Isack laughed, the sound reverberating through Liam’s cheek. “I have to pack my bags.”

“Ugh. Good argument.”

Liam let Isack roll out of bed, collecting his clothes from the night before. Liam didn’t move, just watched him dress again, like watching the credits roll on a movie he wasn’t ready to end just yet.

But before Isack left, he paused by the door. “I liked this,” he said, voice soft, but stable.

Liam’s smile morphed into something rawer. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

And he realized that he meant it.

When the door clicked shut, Liam finally dragged himself out of bed and rummaged through his suitcase for ibuprofen. He was going to need it.

Especially after he spotted the paparazzi the second he stepped outside the hotel.

Two of them. Lenses pointed. Clicks already echoing.

He should’ve known. The restaurant. The flash.

And he’d been stupid enough today to wear a shirt with a wide neckline, one that gave everyone an unobstructed view at the bruises still painted across his throat.

Fantastic.

Later, after the flight, during the drive home, he checked his phone for the first time. A notification blinked ominously at the top of his screen. The icon of his professional email account was unmistakable. Great.

Once he opened the notification, an email loaded with exclamation marks popped up, attached with a handful of JPEGs.

The photos started innocently enough: him and Isack, laughing in a dimly lit restaurant, clinking forks like champagne glasses. Then came the hotel shots, Isack exiting alone, then similar pictures of Liam, both their necks decorated in unmistakable marks. One photo even had bright red circles around the bruises. Classic tabloid editing.

The email was pure damage control: the photos had been taken down, Red Bull had exerted pressure. Still, Liam knew better. Screenshots lived forever.

The words PR catastrophe were bolded. A meeting had been scheduled.

Liam snorted. Of course it had.

They could believe whatever they wanted; girls, party flings, coincidence. Whatever made them sleep at night.
But he was not looking forward to another media training session.

It was too early for this.

The meeting room looked like someone had tried to design it to be as uninspiring as humanly possible. White walls. Washed-out grey carpet. A long dark table that reflected the overhead lights just enough to feel sterile. The only splash of color was the Red Bull logo bouncing around the smartboard like the old DVD screen saver from Liam’s childhood.

He watched it in a daze, eyes tracking the logo as it hit a corner, then ricocheted off again. Mesmerizing. Way more interesting than the voice currently droning on about “professionalism” and “responsibility in high-visibility roles.”

Liam had heard the speech before. Different soulless meeting room, different tired faces, same patronizing tone.
None of them had cared when fans had dogpiled him online after his demotion. No one had rushed in when he’d been chewed out on forums, clipped into humiliating TikToks, or dubbed the “strategy mistake” by people on twitter and professional press alike. But now? Now they cared. Because this? This was bad for their image, not his.

He slouched deeper in his chair, shirt buttoned high to hide the evidence still blooming along his neck. One purplish mark near his collarbone kept peeking out anyway. Liam pressed a finger to it beneath the fabric. A dull ache flared, more memory than pain.
He missed it already. Missed all of it.

Isack’s weight on top of him. The tang of lemon between their mouths. Isack’s breath stuttering as Liam let his hands wander. His voice, husky and half-broken, whispering Liam’s name like it was a prayer.

Liam shifted in his seat.

Fuck. He could not be getting hard in a meeting with the Red Bull PR team.

He forced his thoughts elsewhere, but it didn’t help. Because everywhere his mind wandered, it circled right back to Isack. To the way he looked that morning, hair messy, cheeks pink, marks spreading down the slope of his neck like Liam had claimed him. And the sounds. The ones he made when he licked Liam’s stomach clean, tasting sweet lemon filling and salty come, after Isack had taken both their cocks, clumsily jerking them off with one hand.

Liam squeezed his eyes shut for a second, jaw tight.

This was getting out of hand.

“Liam,” the woman leading the meeting said pointedly, interrupting her own monologue with a smile so tight it could cut glass, “do you think you could be present for the remainder of the session?”

He blinked. “Right. Sorry.”

Next to him, someone chuckled under their breath. It wasn’t Isack, he was seated a few chairs away, per team policy. But Liam caught the slight turn of his head. The twitch of his lip. Their eyes met for half a second.
Isack looked away first, but the ghost of a smile remained.

Liam exhaled slowly. He’d never wanted a repeat of anything so badly in his life.
His leg bounced under the table. Not out of anxiety— but out of anticipation. Out of the knowledge that he could still feel Isack’s breath against his skin if he closed his eyes hard enough. And if they ever got five minutes alone again…

God, he’d lose it.

A slideshow flickered to life on the screen, filled with comments, screenshots, and Twitter posts that had already amassed thousands of likes and even more speculation. Red circles. Zoom-ins. Captions written with smug innuendo. Most of them were shitposts, some of those Liam didn’t even understand, and then there were some genuine hate comments.

A romantic night in Monaco? I’m so jealous, my boyfriend would never.

Not the Racing Bulls yaoi?

I remember when I was young and racers were still real men, not fags!

Yeah right. Someone snorted.

Liam didn’t. He stared at the screen, at the photo of him and Isack clinking forks with those ridiculous grins on their faces, and for a second, he didn’t care how viral it had gone.

Because it looked real.

It looked like something worth getting caught for.

He’d take another media lecture. Hell, he’d take ten more. As long as he could press his fingers into Isack’s hips again. As long as Isack looked at him the way he had that night. Flushed, breathless, and wrecked.

They’d get in trouble for this. Again.

Liam was starting to think it might be worth it.

So when the meeting concluded, Liam slipped out quickly, positioning himself against the wall just opposite the meeting room door, the prime spot to catch Isack the moment he came out. He crossed his arms, pretending he wasn’t actively waiting, even though his eyes scanned every person stepping through the door.

A few team members exited first, speaking in low voices filled with too many legal terms for Liam to bother interpreting. He tuned them out completely. He only perked up when Isack stepped out. Liam pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him, casual like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Isack gave him a small, crooked smile, shaking his head. “I think they’re overreacting. A few days from now, no one’s going to care.”
Liam matched the smile with one of his own. “Right? It’s really not that deep. You’d think we insulted prime Senna on live television.”
Isack chuckled, voice still a little rough from the long meeting. “After seeing all the posts, Gabi told me he’s planning to make out with Hülkenberg during press, just for the media attention.”

Liam laughed, a little too loudly. “That man is so freaky about the old guy, I wouldn’t even be surprised if he went through with it.”
The interaction felt... effortless. Normal. Like nothing had shifted between them. They were still teammates. Still shot dumb videos for social media. Still sat through boring meetings, made fun of PR, and joked around when no one was watching. Except now, Liam knew exactly what Isack looked like beneath him, what he sounded like when he moaned Liam’s name. And unfortunately, those memories were clingy bastards.

He tried shaking his head like that could rattle them loose. Spoiler: it didn’t work.
When they reached the glass doors of the Milton Keynes secondary headquarters, Isack pulled one open. Liam stopped just before walking through.

“Are you doing anything after this?”

Isack tilted his head. “Not really. Why? Do you have something planned?”

Liam shrugged, forcing nonchalance he definitely didn’t feel. “Thought we could hit a club. Have some fun before the race weekend starts again.”

Isack narrowed his eyes a little, curious. “You have a place in mind?”

A grin tugged at the corner of Liam’s mouth. “Wanna go somewhere crazy?”

The door clicked shut behind them as they stepped outside. Isack raised an eyebrow, falling into step beside him. “Define ‘crazy.’”

“Pink Punters,” Liam said, watching Isack for a reaction. “It’s local.”

Isack blinked. “The name sounds... interesting.”

Liam smirked. “A mechanic told me about it and said I wouldn’t like it. So, naturally, I’ve been dying to go since then.“ What he kept to himself was that he had looked up the club after the mechanic’s recommendation, only to find out it was a gay club. But that wasn’t stopping him, especially now that he knew he was not exactly straight.

There was a beat of silence.

Isack didn’t seem fazed. In fact, his expression warmed a little.

“Wanna meet at mine later?” Liam asked. “More comfortable than your hotel room, probably.”

He knew Isack had been annoyed about having to crash at a hotel, especially after moving to Italy to be closer to headquarters, only for the meeting to be at the UK office instead.

Isack grinned. “Just text me when.”

And with that, they parted ways.

Back at home, Liam stood in front of his closet, chewing on his knuckles like it would help with decision-making. He’d looked up the club’s website again earlier and immediately noticed the vibe: glitter, neon, skin. Lots of skin. Very not-cargo-jeans. He’d stick out like a sore thumb if he showed up in his usual look.

Desperate, he pulled out his phone and called the one person who always had an answer when it came to clothes, his sister.

He smiled when she picked up.

“Yeah?”

“I need your help.”

A dramatic sigh came through the speaker. “What now?”

Even though she tried for an annoyed tone, Liam could hear the smile in her voice. They hadn’t talked much lately. The time difference between the UK and New Zealand made it hard, but she always picked up when it counted.

“What do you wear to a gay club?”

There was silence, and then laughter. Pure, unfiltered cackling.

“Bro,” she finally managed, still giggling, “what are you doing in a gay club? Not a lot of girls to take home in there.”

“I’m going with Isack. Are you gonna help me or not?”

Her tone shifted. “Isack? He seems pretty straight to me... but whatever.”

Liam groaned. He wasn’t in the mood to unpack his situationship with his teammate, not because he didn’t want her to know, but because right now, all he needed was an outfit that wouldn’t scream “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Okay, okay,” she said eventually. “Let me think... Do you still have that pink shirt with the star on it?”

“The tight one?”

“Yeah! That one. And one of your light blue jorts, don’t even lie, you have like eight of them. Then accessorize. Throw on some glitter. Trust me.”

“Chur. Love you!”

“Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Now with a plan in place, Liam threw on the jorts and rummaged through his drawers until he found the shirt. It was tighter than he remembered, clung to his arms, stretched across his chest. The pink star on the front had faded a little, the points warped from tension over his pecs. A strip of skin peeked out between the hem and his waistband. Honestly? It kind of slapped.

He added rings, a belt, then headed to the bathroom to dig out a forgotten relic: a can of silver glitter body spray from his glitter-bombing war days with his sisters. Their poor parents.

He’d never actually used it on himself, so he misted his arms and collarbones with it, unsure if it was the right way to do it, but confident it’d sparkle under club lights. The look felt cohesive now, especially after he threw on a pink backwards cap. Pink was his lucky color. That cap was a must.

He sent Isack a quick text telling him to come over whenever. While he waited, he tried his best to be productive with telemetry data, until the doorbell buzzed.

Liam hit the entry button and leaned in the doorway of his flat, waiting.

When Isack appeared on the stairs, Liam immediately had to bite back a grin.

Black jeans. Hugo shirt. A far cry from glitter and mesh.

“What are you wearing?” Liam asked, trying—and failing—to sound innocent, a giggle escaping his throat against his will.

Isack’s gaze swept down over Liam. “I should be asking you that.”

“It’s a gay club. You show up like that, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

Isack gave him a look. “And you couldn’t have told me sooner?” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “So... what now?”

“Come on,” Liam said. “We’ll dig through my closet.”

In the bedroom, Liam threw open the wardrobe doors.

“You still want to do black-on-black?” he asked.

Isack gave a shrug. “Sure. Doesn’t matter.”

Liam didn’t have much black, but he did have one item in mind. After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a loose black tank top and tossed it at Isack.

“Try this.”

Isack caught it, giving it a side-eye. “Looks basic too.”

“Trust me.”

He peeled off his Hugo shirt and turned to throw his shirt on Liam’s bed. Liam’s eyes trailed down his back—smooth, tan, lean muscles shifting as Isack pulled the shirt on.

Liam almost mourned the loss of the bare skin, but then Isack turned back around, and Liam’s throat went a little dry. The top hung loose around Isack’s shoulders, and the deep armholes offered full views of his torso at just the right angles.

Isack flexed his arms, shooting him a wink that was so Isack it almost made Liam laugh.

“That’s hot,” Liam said, grinning wide as he gave Isack an unnecessaryly slow once-over. “Ready?”

Isack just rolled his eyes, but Liam saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

Yeah. This night might end up even better than he hoped.

The walk to the club wasn’t long, and before they even rounded the final corner, the rhythmic thud of the bass was already pulsing through the pavement beneath their feet, first a faint vibration, then a clear, hypnotic beat. Their conversation, casual and scattered on the way over, had drifted into the usual territory. Liam had apparently stared at telemetry for a little too long while waiting, because now he was dissecting braking point trends at Turn 8 with alarming enthusiasm. And the worst part? Isack was just as into it. God, they were nerds. Car nerds. Fast, overpaid, currently glitter-covered car nerds.

When they finally arrived, the conversation faded into silence. The neon sign of the club glowed like a beacon above the entrance, casting a pink and purple haze over the sidewalk. A group of girls—very drunk, very determined—were locked in an animated debate with the bouncer. A girl in fairy wings was adjusting her eyeliner in the rearview mirror of a parked car, and two guys in matching neon mohawks were smoking something vaguely herbal and laughing like nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

Liam’s stomach twisted in on itself. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was nervous. This was uncharted territory. A gay club. With his teammate.

Isack must’ve noticed, because he gave Liam’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Let’s go make some questionable decisions,” he said with a grin.

“Very encouraging,” Liam muttered, but it made him laugh anyway, just enough to untangle the knot in his chest. He inhaled, exhaled, and followed Isack to the door. The bouncer gave them a bored once-over, then nodded them in.

Inside, the place was chaos and color and body heat. Bass rippled through the floor like a second heartbeat, and the air shimmered with sweat, perfume, and neon. Everything glowed. Everything sparkled. Sequins. Glitter. Skin. The dance floor was packed—people grinding, twirling, drinking under spotlights and strobes, all of them glowing like the countless LEDs spread over the walls like vines.

Liam was mesmerized. A man in a leather harness bumped into him, grinned, and mouthed sorry before disappearing back into the crowd. Liam blinked, dazed.

When he turned to look at Isack, he caught a similar expression on his face—wide-eyed, flushed, overwhelmed in the best way. The pinkish hue climbing Isack’s cheeks made Liam’s chest feel like it was vibrating with something he didn’t have words for.
“I need a drink,” Isack said, pointing toward the bar. Liam nodded, grateful for a task.
The drinks helped. They knocked back a few shots, enough to take the edge off, not enough to forget where they were, or who they were. Tipsy, not drunk. Warm, not stupid.

“You have glitter in your eyebrow,” Isack murmured, lips brushing Liam’s ear.

Liam shouted over the music, “Leave it! It’s part of the vibe!”

And it was. Everything was a vibe—hot skin, flashing lights, sweat-slicked arms brushing against each other. At some point, Isack had gravitated closer. He hadn’t moved away since pointing out the glitter, and Liam wasn’t complaining. Every accidental brush of Isack’s fingers made his skin sing. He wanted more. Wanted to tug that tank top off and run his hands over everything he already knew was under it. But restraint was a thing, barely.

Instead, he let his hand rest on Isack’s bicep, thumb sweeping absent circles over the soft curve of relaxed muscle. It was something. It was enough. Almost.

Isack, apparently done with subtlety, slipped his fingers through the loops of Liam’s belt and tugged. Liam followed without hesitation, letting himself be steered away from the main floor into a shadowed corner of the club. They landed against a wall—Isack’s back first, Liam’s body flush against his.

The grin that curled Isack’s lips was pure trouble. His hands slid up under the hem of Liam’s shirt, teasing the bare strip of skin just above his waistband. Liam could feel every inch of him, even through their clothes—warm and solid and maddeningly close. Their breath mingled, lips only a few centimeters apart, Liam’s heart thundering in sync with the beat vibrating through the floor.

Liam raised his hands to Isack’s jaw, cradling his face like it was something fragile and holy and his. Then he kissed him, messy, breathless, too eager. Isack's head knocked into the wall with a dull thud, but he didn’t pull away. He groaned, and Liam swallowed the sound greedily, like oxygen.

Their noses bumped. Spit smeared between them. Isack bit his lip hard enough to split it, and Liam didn’t care. He’d bleed for this. For him. The taste of blood mingled with alcohol and adrenaline. The sound of their kisses was drowned out by the music, but Liam could still feel it. In his bones. In his spine. In the hard pulse between his legs.

He didn’t think he could stop.

Isack did it for him.

Fingers hooked around the brim of Liam’s cap, he tilted his head back, breaking the kiss with a little smirk. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

Liam blinked. “Like the bathrooms?”

Isack just looked at him, unimpressed.

“Can we go back to your flat?”

“Why?” Liam asked, stupidly. His brain was busy doing very little besides chanting Isack’s name and screaming about how good his mouth was.

But Isack only leaned in closer, eyes hooded, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck, voice a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Oh.

Liam nearly choked on his own breath. “Yeah. Sure. Fuck, Isack.”

Once they managed to escape the club, the cool night air hit their flushed skin like a blessing. They set out on the short walk back to Liam’s flat, bursting into quiet laughter every few minutes, giddy and high on touch and adrenaline. Isack’s hand found its place on the small of Liam’s back, warm and steady, fingers toying with his belt loops, occasionally dipping below the waistband to tease at the hot skin or climb up to his waist to pinch at it. Always returning. Always touching.

It made walking nearly impossible. Every slow, teasing stroke set little electric shocks down Liam’s spine, his legs moving on autopilot while his brain spiraled into a thousand directions—none of them appropriate. But he didn’t want to pull away. Wouldn’t, even if he could.

At his apartment building, Liam punched in the door code without looking, muscle memory doing the work for him. The lock buzzed, the door clicked open, and they were momentarily stunned by the stark fluorescent light of the stairwell. Liam squinted; behind him, Isack groaned like he’d just been flashbanged.

They climbed the stairs quietly. Liam always tried to keep it down at night. He had polite, but nitpicky neighbors, and the man across the hall in particular had perfected the art of the judgmental glare. No way was he risking a noise complaint tonight.

He fumbled with his keys, adrenaline buzzing under his skin, anticipation turning every movement syrup-thick. The second the door opened, Isack pushed past him, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him inside. Liam barely managed to kick the door closed before Isack was already pulling him toward the bedroom.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” Isack said with a grin, peeling off the black tank top and handing it over.

Liam took it and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder, not caring in the slightest about the shirt when Isack was half-naked in his bedroom. He stripped off his own shirt in one smooth motion and then walked Isack backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed.
Isack scrambled up onto it without hesitation, eyes glued to Liam’s chest, dark and hungry. Liam climbed after him, straddling his thighs. The positioning hit him all at once—this was the same way things had started in Monaco. Only this time, the roles were reversed.
It was hot. So hot. But Liam had something else in mind.

He gave Isack a gentle push, and Isack let himself fall back into the sheets, exhaling a soft, open-mouthed gasp. Liam followed him down, hands braced on either side of his head.

“Been thinking about this,” he whispered, voice already hoarse.

Isack’s hands settled at Liam’s waist again, thumbs stroking lazy shapes into bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Yeah?”

“Ever since that morning in Monaco,” Liam murmured, pressing soft kisses to Isack’s flushed cheeks. “Wanted nothing more than to see you like that again.”

He kissed him properly then, slow and deep, letting their bare torsos align to press flushed skin together. He could feel every twitch of Isack’s hips, the hard line of his cock pressing up against Liam’s abs through jeans that were quickly becoming a hindrance. Liam moaned into his mouth and Isack took the opportunity to lick in hungrily, claiming space with a greed Liam didn’t want to resist.

The heat was dizzying. Liam pulled back for a breath, staring down at Isack’s face. Flushed, glassy-eyed, pupils blown wide.

“Need you,” Isack said, low and sure. Possessive. His hands gripped Liam’s waist like he’d never let go.

“Hah, fucking hell.” Liam’s voice cracked, but it barely registered. He reached toward the nightstand, hand trembling slightly, and fished out a bottle of lube. He set it down on the bed, the implication heavy.

Then he dropped between Isack’s legs, settling on his knees, hands fumbling at the button of Isack’s jeans. The black denim slid down, slow and clumsy. He tugged the boxers off too, baring all of him, and for a second Liam just… froze.

He hadn’t done this before. Not with a guy. Not like this.

To buy time, he pulled everything all the way off—jeans, boxers, even Isack’s socks. It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. Because now there was no barrier he could hide behind. Just flushed, sweat-slick skin and long lines of muscle, every inch of Isack laid out under Liam like a gift he didn’t know how to appreciate.

His hands moved on instinct, brushing over Isack’s thighs, fingers grazing the dark hair and warm skin, tracing the shift of muscle beneath.

“Liam.”

God. He loved the way his name sounded when Isack said it. Slurred, French, thick with want. Like it tasted as good as tarte au citron. Like it was something sacred and sinful at the same time.

He stared as a bead of precome slipped down Isack’s stomach and pooled in his belly button.

Fuck. That shouldn’t have been hot. But it was.

Without thinking, he leaned down and licked it up, tasting the salt and sweat, intense and real. Isack groaned, hips jerking upward.
Emboldened, Liam nosed down further, over hairy skin and tense abs, inhaling the musky scent that hit him like a drug. His cock twitched hard against the zipper of his jeans.

He gave the head of Isack’s cock a tentative lick, just to test the waters.

“Mmh—good,” Isack moaned, voice strained, hands twisting in the sheets.

It felt like Isack was restraining himself, and that wasn’t good enough.

Liam reached up, took one of Isack’s hands, and guided it into his hair, anchoring it there.

Looking up, he caught the way Isack’s brows furrowed in question. He looked ruined already.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Liam said softly. “Need you to show me how.”

Isack’s fingers tightened in his hair, the touch gentle, grounding. He scratched lightly at Liam’s scalp, making a shiver ripple down his spine.

“Okay,” he breathed, voice dark and trembling. “You—” He swallowed, then continued. “You wanna taste me?”

“Please.”

The word came out embarrassingly desperate, but Liam didn’t care. It felt like craving a food you’d never tried, but knowing it would be so good. Like instinct, like longing for something you didn’t even understand.

“Just get it nice and wet, okay?”

Isack used his grip in Liam’s hair to guide him down again, not forceful, just certain. Liam gave the tip another kitten lick, then, hit with a sudden moment of courage, collected spit in his mouth and licked a long stripe along the shaft.
Isack arched with a moan, pulling slightly at Liam’s hair. God, that sound.

Encouraged, Liam wrapped his lips around the head, tongue swirling slowly, catching every drop of precome before it could slide down. He worked with what he knew, learning by touch, by taste, by the way Isack gasped his name and fisted the sheets with his free hand whenever Liam did something right.

He couldn’t believe how good it felt to do this, how badly he wanted to. Isack didn’t tell him what to do. He asked. Softly. Kindly. Like he wanted Liam to want it too.

And Liam did. His words kept catching on moans, every brush of skin short-circuiting his thoughts, though the alcohol haze had mostly cleared from his system. His head was spinning for a whole different reason now.

“Can you get some lube?”

Liam nodded around Isack’s cock as best he could, fumbling through the sheets with one hand. He struggled to get the bottle open blindly, his fingers slippery and uncoordinated. Isack let out a low laugh and tugged gently at Liam’s hair, pulling him off with a lewd pop.

“You like it that much?”

Liam laughed, throat rough. “Guess I do.”

With both hands free, it was easier to twist the cap open. He squeezed a good amount into his palm to warm it up, already aching to return to Isack's taste.

Isack let his eyes slip shut, his brows drawn like he was holding onto the last thread of composure. “Just coat your fingers, please?”

Liam obeyed immediately, maybe a little too enthusiastically, a slick trail ran down his wrist where he'd spilled some of the clear gel, nerves making him overdo it. Better too much than not enough, right?

Isack’s hand slid from his hair to his jaw, thumb stroking along Liam’s cheek before curling to cradle him there. Then he pulled, barely, just enough to guide him close. Liam didn’t budge much, all that neck training paying off in unexpected ways, but it wasn’t about force. It was an invitation. A gentle one, once again.

Something delicate fluttered in Liam’s chest.

He scrambled up and leaned down until their foreheads brushed, lips meeting in a kiss that was deep and slow and not nearly long enough. Liam already missed it before it ended, even though he knew, hoped, at least, there would be more.

Isack blinked up at him, voice breathless. “Need you inside—hah—just one finger, okay? Slowly.”

Liam could only nod, pretty sure that if he spoke, all he’d do was embarrass himself right now. He brought his slick hand down, running his finger gently along Isack’s taint before pressing in. The resistance gave way with careful pressure, and Isack gasped, trailing his mouth along Liam’s jaw, kissing, then biting softly as Liam began to move.

“You good?” Liam murmured, trying not to lose himself in the way Isack’s lips were ghosting along his throat.

A content sigh. “Mhm. Another?”

Liam added his middle finger, working them in tandem now, slowly scissoring, careful with every stroke. The tension eased faster than before, and Isack started to rock into it with quiet gasps that went straight to Liam’s dick.

God, he was hard. The denim felt unbearable now, every movement too tight, too rough. He started tugging at his belt, but Isack got there first, fingers quick and eager. The buckle clinked open and Liam shoved his jeans down, letting them and his boxers drop off the bed with a heavy thud.

Isack panted under him, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp. He asked, again, never demanded, and Liam adjusted the angle of his fingers, curling them, going deeper. The response was instant: Isack’s moans were more frequent now. His hands were also back on Liam, kneading at his shoulders, his waist, his ass. He always touched like he was claiming, like he was molding Liam into something that belonged to him.

And Liam was obsessed with it.

Loved imagining bruises forming under Isack’s hands. The old ones had almost faded, it was time for new ones. He wanted to see them tomorrow in the mirror, press into them and remember how they got there. They made him feel hot, a little slutty, which only made the heat coil tighter in his belly.

A whimper escaped before he could stop it. High and needy and embarrassing.

Isack didn’t sound much more composed. “Another? Wanna feel full.”

His voice was wrecked, raspy. And Liam, fuck, he’d give him pretty much everything. Wanted to at least.

Liam fucked him deep and slow, fingers pressing into Isack’s prostate with every stroke, drawing out moans that grew in frequency and volume. One of Isack’s hands had slid up from Liam’s waist to his chest, fingers toying with his nipples, kneading the muscle around them like he couldn’t get enough of him.

Desperation bloomed hot in Liam’s chest, coiling low in his belly until it almost hurt. But maybe that was the point. Maybe Liam was a slut, because the pain felt good, too good. So good his rhythm started to falter, thrusts going erratic, hips stuttering as he lost his grip on control.

“Sorry, I’m—” Liam gently pulled his fingers out and exhaled shakily. “I need a moment. Fuck.”

Isack still looked beautifully wrecked, but now concern softened the lust in his eyes.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice low and sure. “It’s your first time doing this. It can be a bit much.”

He wrapped his arms around Liam and pulled him close, pressing their bare skin together. The contact helped. The growing helplessness Liam had started to feel ebbed as he focused on the steady rise and fall of Isack’s chest. He tried to match his breathing to it, slowly grounding himself in the rhythm.

“Just breathe for me, yeah? You’re okay.” Isack held him tightly, voice soft, like a velvet ribbon wrapping around Liam’s frayed nerves. And god, Isack was so nice to him. Too nice, when Liam had only wanted to please him.

Now that he’d taken a moment to think, his head still felt cloudy, full of static and heat, thoughts moving sluggishly like they were wading through syrup. It made him ache to make up for it somehow.

“I can’t think,” Liam murmured, slurring a little. “I don’t know why.”

Isack giggled softly. “I see.” He pressed a kiss to Liam’s temple. “Don’t fight it. Trust me. You still wanna make me feel good, yeah?”
Liam nodded before words could catch up to him. “Yeah. I want to.”

He pushed himself up, kneeling between Isack’s spread legs. Isack looked up at him, dark eyes glittering, teeth caught on his knuckle. No, he wasn’t just looking. He was watching, studying Liam like he was trying to memorize every detail. The weight of that attention sent a pulse of heat through Liam’s body, and the desperation crept back in, wrapping around his heart like a fever.

Trying to relieve some of it, he slid a hand down and palmed his cock, hissing at the touch. His hips bucked into his hand reflexively, and a shaky sigh broke from deep within his chest, releasing air that had been trapped there far too long.

“Merde.” Isack’s thighs twitched, closing around Liam like a trap. As if he’d even consider running. With fumbling hands, Isack reached for the lube and tossed it at Liam. “Do it right.”

The words were teasing, but the tone was more than that. There was something gentle beneath the command. A question. A way out, if Liam wanted one. I’d like you to, but you don’t have to.

The fact that Liam still wanted to obey made his face burn. That he wanted it more because he was given the choice? Fuck. Embarrassing. Deliciously so.

He fished the lube from the rumpled sheets between their bodies and squeezed a generous amount straight onto his cock. The cold gel made him flinch, but he didn’t bother warming it this time, it wouldn’t stay cold for long anyways. He spread it over his length, wrist twisting at the top of every other stroke, jaw clenching as pleasure sparked through him.

watched his every movement, lips parted, breathy moans slipping past two of his own fingers. Liam hadn’t even noticed the shift from chewing on his knuckles to sucking. Isack’s fingers spit-slick and pink from his teeth. Fuck. That image alone nearly undid him. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to stay in control.

“Liam, please—ah—please fuck me.”

His voice cracked on the words, thick with desperation, accent heavy enough to make Liam’s mushy brain trip over the words.
Luckily, it only took a second for Liam to process the meaning though, and then he was moving. He hooked Isack’s legs over his own, tilting his hips forward so Isack’s knees bent naturally with the angle. Girls used to love it when he did that. Why not try it now?

Isack made a startled noise, then another, more broken sound as Liam slowly guided himself in. It took everything not to just slam in deep, but Liam wanted Isack to feel good so desperately, so he held back, inching in until he was fully seated.

He paused, panting, and looked down to find Isack watching him with a lopsided smile, eyes soft, warm in a way that was dangerously close to something Liam didn’t know how to describe. Something complicated.

“You are so pretty,” Isack whispered, brushing Liam’s fringe back from his forehead.

Oh god.

Liam ducked into the crook of Isack’s neck with a helpless whimper. He wasn’t sure what else to do.

Isack laughed, quiet and bright, and tugged at the short hairs at the back of Liam’s head until he looked up again. Liam didn’t want to, but he couldn’t say no to him. He never could.

“Can you move? Please?”

Isack had started grinding down against him and Liam thrust in response, just once, to try it out, but it was deep, and it made Isack moan, full-bodied and trembling. Different from how he’d sounded with just Liam’s fingers inside him.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was better than anything Liam had ever felt. He bit his lip, trying not to make any more humiliating noises, but Isack caught him, pulling his lip free with two slick fingers and hooking them behind Liam’s bottom teeth, forcing his mouth to be slightly open. Fine. If he couldn’t keep himself quiet by biting his lip, he’d just have to use Isack's fingers.

They were still resting just barely in Liam’s mouth and he didn’t even hesitate. He sucked on the digits, still wet with the ghost of Isack’s own spit, hollowing his cheeks, trying to take them deeper. It felt like sucking him off all over again. Isack started moving his fingers in and out of his mouth in sync with Liam’s thrusts, and—holy fuck—he was fucking his mouth.

Liam whimpered, rhythm faltering as the tight coil in his stomach threatened to snap.

He pulled off Isack’s fingers with a wet gasp, a string of spit trailing from his tongue.
“Gonna—mh—gonna come.”

“Yeah? Gonna make me come untouched?” Isack’s voice was almost reverent, until a particularly deep thrust made him arch with a desperate keen. “Can you—oh—inside? Fill me, please?”

It only took two more thrusts. Liam came with a wrecked moan, staying buried deep inside Isack, hips jerking through the aftershocks as pleasure crashed over him in waves.

Isack came a heartbeat later, pulsing around him, gasping thank yous and messy, breathless French that Liam couldn’t understand.
But he didn’t need to.

He felt it.

No matter how many pictures the paparazzi took, they would never be able to capture this feeling. It was meant for Liam and Liam only.