Chapter Text
March 16th
"We said the winner picks what we do. I didn't just beat your ass today, Wille. I fucking won. You barely made top ten."
"Nine is less than ten," Wille argued, still unbuttoning Simon's jeans, frustrated that there were so many buttons, not a zipper, in his way.
Simon told him to take it out, and if this was losing to the man, Wille was not complaining. He wanted Simon. He wanted Simon, the race winner, finishing over twenty seconds ahead of him, to do whatever he wanted to him.
And he was so glad what he wanted was this.
Wille was practically desperate for the man to fuck him. He didn't want to say something so stupid as, 'my hole has been aching for you since we made this stupid pact,' but it was kind of true. He even made sure to practice a little before he got to Australia, since it had been a while since Wille last-
"No, winner picks. Winner picks everything. That's what we said. Winner gets to do whatever they want with the loser, and if they get on the podium, we fuck. If it's not a top three, then we just do side stuff."
"Right," Wille wasn't seeing where the confusion was here. "You beat my ass in the race, and now you're going to beat my ass in-"
"Uh, no? I'm fucking not? What the fuck?" Simon said, pushing Wille to the bed before straddling his lap as he sat, legs splayed, on the edge of the mattress.
"All weekend, as soon as we got here, after the first practice, you said, if you win you're going to-"
"Fuck you, yeah. Didn't say shit about topping."
"You're literally-"
"On top, okay, wise guy, yeah, and? I want to do it like this, fucking you. I thought I was clear?"
He wasn't.
"You've never had a guy fuck you from on top but not-"
"Not topping? No. And that's not what I thought you meant. You said you're-"
"Vers, yeah."
"And I said I like bottoming."
"Okay, yeah, you said you like it. Got it."
Simon threw his head back, groaning. Wille could not let the opportunity to kiss that neck pass him by, putting one hand behind it, which Simon soon yanked down so it was on his ass.
"Don't tell me you don't want to fuck this."
Do I really have to say it? Aloud?
Wille shrugged. "I don't top. I said I like bottoming because I like bottoming."
"Jesus," Simon swore, swinging one leg off of him to sit side by side on the bed. "Are you fucking kidding me with this? You don't top? Ever?"
"Never have," he replied, shaking his head. "No."
"You have a fucking girlfriend, Wille! You are not telling me she only pegs your ass, or some shit. You top her."
"No. That's none of your business, but no. We do other stuff. Not that though. I have never topped her. We don't have anal-"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No?" Why would he joke about this? "I mean, we have penetrative sex, sure, but not like that, no."
Simon slapped the bed with both hands, the side of his left hand quickly moving against Wille's thigh before it hit the mattress.
"Are you fucking telling me no? You're saying no to this?" He asked, running his hands down his own bare chest. "Seriously? We made a pact. Just because it didn't motivate you the way you were hoping it would, doesn't mean you can welch. I won. You lost. Don't act like if you'd won you wouldn't be telling me what to fuck right now."
"No. I would," Wille said, more than a little worried about the consequences of welching on their pact, which, if he was left no other alternative, he was absolutely going to do.
"You were too drunk to consent to a blowie in the bathroom at the test. Okay. Got it. But you weren't too drunk to know what you were agreeing to in the weeks we've been discussing this.
"Hell, Wille! It was your fucking idea! You said it was the new, unspoken, Papaya rule. All season, whoever wins gets to-"
"Do whatever they want to the other one. I know. But we did set terms, Simon."
"Yeah, we fucking did set terms. You've been talking about your terms non-fucking-stop. You never said no topping."
"I thought it was implied when I said I like bottoming!" Wille exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "I was so clear about that. We have talked about it at length, Simon."
"Yeah, we have fucking talked about it at length, Wille, which was the whole point of this fucking arrangement, getting to where we weren't so fucking tense and pissed at each other all the goddamn time we could actually communicate.
"Cuz you and me? We do not get along. This is why we don't get along. You never fucking say shit. You just get mad, and stew about the shit you wish you'd said. Or, when you do tell me shit, fuck! It's exactly like this! You just say what you think is enough, and leave out, like, the most important parts.
"God! You are so fucking spoiled, and you are such a fucking brat when you don't get your way, which, okay, it's kind of hot, and I thought I would enjoy not letting you ever get your way this season.
"But for fucks sake! You did not say you don't top. Why the fuck would I enter into a pact with you to do anything if, like, right off the bat I only get half of what you get? How the fuck is that fucking fair?"
The man had a good point. "I thought you liked topping."
"I do, but we fucking talked about me bottoming! At fucking length, Wille! Oh my fucking God."
Simon stood up, jeans still open, pointing to the door. "My fucking boyfriend came out for this race. I am here, with you, when my fucking boyfriend came out for this race. Your girl cool with coming out to a race and not fucking? Really? Cuz I see you conveniently left her at home this weekend."
"Actually, I usually abstain during race weeks, so, depending on the timing of the next race, we often do refrain from-"
"Oh my fucking God! I was so right about you," Simon said, wagging his finger at him. "Maybe not the being straight part, but I knew you were, like, repressed, or something. I'll give it to you, you talk a good game, okay, but no.
"No," Simon said again, holding out the word. "I'm not playing this little game with you. No. Pact is fucking off, loser. Enjoy staring at this ass you don't even want to fuck when I beat yours in every fucking-"
"What if we changed the terms of the pact?" Wille asked quickly, aware that Simon was bending over-
And God, his ass was sublime-
To pick up his shoes.
He let the one he'd grabbed thud against the hotel floor before turning around. "Yeah? How so? You only bottom, and I only top? Because, nah, bro. Not feeling it."
"No. What if we said, during the series, until Dubai, nobody bottoms or tops."
"Blowies and hand jobs? Please. Like I can't go get that from-"
"No, I didn't say that. We discussed anal play too. I like that."
"When it's you getting yours," Simon said, scoffing.
"No. I'm comfortable with it in either scenario.
"We have discussed that," he reminded him because they had. Simon had talked about just how much he liked getting fingered. More than once he'd sent Wille a text about how he was looking at 'his fat fucking fingers,' thinking about them being in his ass after the first race.
Because he assumed I would do that before we had sex. Fuck.
"You mean your gross, drunk rant the other day about-"
"I was drunk."
"Yeah," Simon said, raising his brows. "You're drunk a lot, Wille. Never met an Aussie with as low of an alcohol tolerance as you."
"You don't even drink!"
"Right. I don't even drink, and I could still drink you under the table." Simon rolled his eyes. "Let's say I agree. I'm winning. I'm taking the championship this year, and you know I mean that. I was second last year. This year I am winning.
"What happens when I do, and you still won't top, even though you top with women, which is, just, like, so fucking weird."
"That's different."
"Whatever. Answer the question," Simon insisted.
"Well, first of all, I'm winning, so moot point."
"No. Not doing this. Not going to cater to your weird fetishes for a million fucking months just to have you welch again when I win. No.
"God, you're such a fucking loser."
Wille raised his brows. "Today maybe," because their bet was already proving to not have it's intended effects on his performance.
"Look, we have the same goal-"
"Winning," Simon interjected. "And shutting Max off the podium."
"Right. And, if we work together a little bit, which clearly paid off for you today, yes? If we stop acting like enemies, and start acting like teammates-"
"You're my fucking competition first and foremost. I told you, I'm not going to help you win. Are you fucking-"
No, they weren't fucking... yet.
"That's not what I meant. This week, it was less contentious between us, yes?" Wille posited, staring at Simon as the man's jaw clenched. "And you did well today, obviously, so you can't say toning down the rivalry hasn't helped your performance."
"No, I can't say that because I have enjoyed you not pissing me off so fucking much. And I thought that was because you were trying not to be so much of an asshole to me because I thought you were cocky enough to think you were going to beat me, and I know how much you want my asshole. Don't fucking lie. Not buying it, by the way. I know you want me."
Wille rolled his eyes. Of course he fucking wanted him!
If he was being honest, he even kind of wanted Simon like that. But not today, not with zero notice.
And he hadn't when they made the pact either.
Definitely not when they made the pact.
Definitely not after Simon whipped his dick out in a restaurant bathroom. He was only thinking about one thing that night.
But Wille had definitely been thinking about what he thought they were going to do after the race though, and most of the nights during the past two odd weeks. They had been discussing it over text, laying out concrete terms for their pact, discussing what was on and off the table, and Simon had expounded too, at length, about things he would like to do.
'It's not about punishing the loser. You're thinking about this wrong, if you think that's what I'm saying. It's a win-win situation, from where I stand. Either way, we keep it cool off the track, stop fucking fucking with each other when we're not literally fucking each other, and then, when we do fuck with each other, like, it'll be fun for everybody. Like, I don't want to do something you really don't want to do, that's why we're making a no list. That doesn't mean I DON'T want to do the things you DO like to do, and vice versa. Maybe I'll be nice and ALWAYS do the things you LIKE to do because I am ALWAYS going to beat you.
'This could be really fun, Wille. I hate having you as a teammate, and even I think this could be really fun.'
"Right. I am just dying to fuck a guy who goes on and on about how much he hates me."
"Hey, when have I ever said I hate you?" Simon asked. "Everybody thinks we're pals, Wille."
"You tell me you hate me everyday."
"No, I don't. I've said I hate training with you, I hate losing to you, and I hate winning above you because you're such a fucking sore loser." Simon said, laughing. "Whatever. You hate all that too. You think this is supposed to be your year. Two years ago, you were supposed to be the fresh young buck on the team, get a couple seasons under your belt, and this is supposed to be your year.
"Not happening, by the way. Couldn't give a shit less what you think you supposedly deserve. I've worked for this."
"And I didn't? I train just as hard as you, if not harder. I'm in better shape, physically."
"What the fuck are you on? You on something? Do more than just throw back a few? Poppers?"
Simon got on Wille's lap again, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His own was already off.
"You really think this," he said, running his hands down Wille's chest, "compares to this?" He asked, licking his finger before running it down the center of his own body.
"You have very pretty muscles."
"I know."
"I have strong, endurance muscles."
"Oh, come on!" Simon said, swinging his leg off again as he fell back onto the bed. "What muscles? Who the fuck fed you that lie? Not your girlfriend. I know that much."
"No. And don't talk about Felice."
"Why not? I'm not saying anything bad about her. I like Felice. Shit, I am friends with your girlfriend, bro. If she finds out about this, like, you know, one, the two of you are done, and two, she's going to tell everybody that we-"
"If I go back on the pact, which I won't do, and it won't even matter anyways because I'm going to win, you can tell Felice."
"Why would I want to do that?" Simon said, shaking his head. "You really don't get it. I'm not trying to punish you. I'm just trying to reward myself."
No, Wille did get that, sort of.
"But you want to humiliate me. You want to win. Getting to come back and fuck me however you like, after you win, is twisting the knife."
Simon shook his head once. "If that's how you want to look at it, yeah. I guess. Thought it might motivate you.
"Look," he said, pulling one leg onto the bed as he sat up again. "I will say this one time and one time only. You're my biggest competition. You push me. If I have to lose? I want to lose to you, and not because you're my fucking teammate, because I wish to GOD you were anywhere else. But, if I have to lose, I want to lose to you because you're the next best, after me. If I lose to you, I want to think it's because you worked for it more and got better than me. You're not better than me now, so, yeah. It's my motivation to push myself.
"Fucking you after is just the reward. Thought you knew that."
No. Wille didn't know that.
"Why would I then want to blow up your relationship? If I win, that's it. I win. You lose. I do not need to twist the fucking knife. What the fuck?
"Also? 'I had a sex pact with my teammate?' You think I want that getting out? I have a fucking boyfriend."
"Who you're not fucking right now. You're here. With me."
"Because I won, and I want to collect my prize."
And this point was yet to be addressed. Other than the working assumption that if they tabled their passive aggressive behavior towards one another during training they might get more out of it, and other than having an outlet for their sexual tension, which was not in question now, Wille had no idea why Simon would want to have sex with him in the first place.
Simon hated him.
And, if this wasn't a punishment, then-
"Then go fuck him," Wille spat.
"Would. Will, if you're not going to. I have eyelids. They close. I know he wants my ass tonight. I can pretend it's someone else drilling me instead of him."
"Me? You can pretend he's me? Why?" Because Wille had met Simon's boyfriend. He wasn't bad looking. He seemed like a decent guy. He certainly was helpful, so helpful Wille thought he was the man's personal assistant, not his partner, for nearly a year.
"Because I want to, and you can't stop me."
"And he says I'm cocky," Wille scoffed. "Why do you want to?"
Simon shrugged. "Why do you want to?"
That was easy enough to answer. "Because I'm attracted to you."
"So? You could fuck whatever guy you want to fuck, Wille.
"Okay, maybe not whatever guy, but you could find a guy to fuck. You could find a guy to date even, if that's what you're into. Why fuck me, somebody who is so not interested in you like that?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Okay," Simon said. "Why does it matter why I want to then? We all know I could get with anybody I wanted, thanks to my very pretty muscles.
"And my face is prettier than yours too, white boy. You don't even have the accent. Like, if you had an Aussie accent, maybe I'd get your white boy charm. Aussies are cool. You're just, like, the son of an Aussie. Weak."
"Stronger than you."
"In what fucking universe?"
Simon grabbed at Wille's admittedly less impressive bicep before saying, "think of something better. Up the stakes. Look at my tits while you think. I'm trying to motivate you."
"Something better for-"
"For if you welch. I need to get something out of this, knowing you're going to welch when I win."
Wille shook his head and closed his eyes. Simon's tits were not good motivation to help him think when all the blood was currently rushing from his brain.
"I'll quit the team. If you win, and I welch, I'll quit the team."
Simon clicked his tongue. "Nah. No you won't."
"I will. I am a man of my word, Simon."
"Course you are. Nah. There's no consequences to you saying that. You can say it till you're blue in the face, but I know you're just full of it. This is just more of your cocky, 'I deserve to win,' bullshit.
"I can imagine a scenario in which I don't win. Just told it to you. You're so cocky, you think you can't lose, which, newsflash, you just got your ass handed to you by yours truly."
"Fine. What do you want? If you win, and I'm not comfortable with topping by then-"
"Oh, please. Don't act like you're going to get comfortable with it. If you're not picturing your cock in my ass right this very second then, like, bullshit. Get comfortable with it?" Simon muttered. "Wow, that really sounds enticing. Can't wait for you to get comfortable with it."
"I've never topped before, okay? I'm not comfortable doing that tonight. I know what I like, and I'm comfortable with a lot of things, Simon, which you know-"
"Which you told me, which may be more lies as far as I know."
Wille rolled his eyes. "Fine. Name your terms."
"Okay. If I win, and I'm not saying one of us has to take the championship, just whoever has the most points between you and me. But, when I win, and you welch on our pact, and don't let me pick whatever I want to do when I win, which includes you topping, then you have to quit the team, yeah."
"That's what I just-"
"Quit for real. Even if it means you have to sit out next season, because of your contract. Quit the team even if it mean's you quit next season altogether, not announce your intent to change teams next year. Quit. You don't need this. You're fucking loaded."
"Like you didn't make more money than I did last year? And, for, like, at least two years before that?"
But Simon was right. Maybe he made more money than him last year, Wille wasn't sure about that either, but he was supporting a family. The Erikssons didn't come from money. Simon was the feel good story of every racing season, someone who came up through the ranks through talent and hard work.
'I've been working part-time since I was thirteen. Being on the McLaren team, like, this is the first time in my life I've been able to solely devote myself to the sport without worrying about making ends meet.'
"You are fucking loaded too, Simon. You never have to work another day in your life either. Neither does your family."
"Yeah? And? You're not adding a rider to my side of the bet. I'm not leaving McLaren, like, ever. I'm a lifer. No. You know I top. And, if you don't believe me, you can ask-"
"I'm not questioning your credibility. I'm saying it's not fair of you to ask me to quit the entire fucking sport because you think I'm not going to win this year. That is an insane bet no one would take."
"I'll take it, big boy. Fair is fair. I'll take it because I am not going to welch, so it means nothing to me. You win, and I don't agree to whatever you want after, I'll quit the team. That is how dedicated I am to not spending another fucking season with a teammate I hate being around. But, it doesn't matter because I'm not welching."
Wille inhaled slowly, eyes closed. He did not doubt Simon meant that.
He also did not doubt Simon would do whatever he asked if Wille won.
This was not raising the stakes for Simon, whatsoever.
"Want to put it in writing?"
"It wouldn't be legally binding. That's not an enforceable-"
"Okay, want to shake on it then?" Simon said, not extending his hand. Instead he laid back on the bed, moving his legs behind Wille's back as he stretched out and shimmied out of his jeans.
"Same as before, whoever wins each race gets to do whatever they want with the other, but no penetrative sex, and all the other conditions. Whoever takes it all gets to take it all, after the championship is decided, however the winner chooses. And, if they don't, they quit the team.
"And, if you do welch," Simon added, "I probably will leak a story about the pact. I won't confirm it, obviously, but I'll make sure everybody knows about it, and I will fucking make your life a living hell as long as you're in my orbit. Deal? Shake on it?"
"When you say shake on it, you mean-" Wille asked, watching Simon fucking wag his hard dick in the air.
"Get on top. You do me, I do you. Like dry humping, but holding each other's dicks.
"That's not topping," Simon added. "And if you're going to act like it is-"
Wille was already undoing his jeans. "Deal, but condoms?"
"I fucking told you to bring condoms! Jesus! Do I have to do-"
Wille put both hands up as he stood and dug two out of his pocket.
"Calm down. I have them. Just reiterating that we're not fluid sharing."
Simon lobbed his head to the side, touching his own sack. "And I told you, break up with your girlfriend, and then we can discuss it."
"Do you hate your boyfriend too, or something? Is that how it is? You hate everyone? I know you said you don't-"
"Love him? Don't. I'd break up with him."
Wille tried not to ask, or even hear himself not ask Simon, 'for me?
When you hate me too?'
Simon held out his hand for a condom. "Get over here. Kiss me." He smirked. "I won."
Did he? This does not feel like losing, Wille thought as the man pulled his face to his, smiling, no, giggling.
"That's why you wouldn't try the barbecue tacos, huh? You douched for this, didn't you?"
Wille shrugged. "If you won, I thought I was getting fucked. If I won, I thought I was getting fucked."
Simon sniffed a laugh before kissing him again. "That's it? That's all you were going to ask for? No specifics? Just wanted my dick in your ass that bad?
"I was going to be specific," Simon whispered, nipping at his ear. "I'd be more specific now too, but I want you too bad."
Wille reached to hold the man's cock, and yes, he was quite sure he did want Simon too, even though this was the stupidest thing he'd ever agreed to in his life.
But why?
And the question was not why did he want Simon. That was glaringly obvious. The man dripped sex. He was gorgeous, but he was also charismatic. Everybody liked Simon. He remembered some of his advice when he first joined the team, that 'people would come around' to him, he just had to give them time. But, with one exception, that hadn't been the case. Wille was used to being an outsider though, not that he liked it, but Simon wasn't an outsider with hardly anyone. Everyone liked him, and it was obvious as to why. He was a very good driver and he was a very fun person. Wille admired Simon, professionally and personally.
But why did the man want to do this?? Why did Simon, who Wille had no doubt could get anyone he wanted, decide he was the object of his desire? Even if they were only entering into this pact for fun, a sure fire celebration every race weekend, why do it with him?
"Like dry humping, yeah? But we'll rub one out together. You do me, and I'll do you," Simon directed. "And no lip about that. It's not topping. I ain't letting you get away with everything, dumbass. You can do this much."
"No... I mean yes, that's fine, but-"
"Hand jobs are sex. Side stuff. You know what that is, right? Since neither of us is going to bottom for the other until the end, we'll just do everything but-"
"I understand," Wille said, even though, shit, now that the opportunity to do so was right fucking there, he didn't understand at all.
"I was half convinced you were just messing with me worse than ever. You really want to do this?"
"No, dumbass. I'm hard as fuck because I don't want to. You just want to hear me say I want you again?" Simon asked, moving on top of him. "I fucking want you. This is fun. Always wanted to fuck a rival, you know? Guess it's, like, a power thing? I don't know. Hot though.
"And don't act like it's not fair. It's fair as fuck because, for all I know, next week it'll be you telling me what you want to do together. I'm not going to be a little bitch about it either.
"You know I like to fuck. Let me show you why, yeah?"
"Think it's fairly obvious why you enjoy sex. Most people do."
"Do they?" Simon said with a smile. "Do you? Because I do, and I do because I'm fucking good at it.
"I'll always show you a good time, Wille. Consider it your consolation prize."
"To the victor go the spoils," Wille quipped, grabbing Simon's back as he reversed their positions again. The other man was just as hard as he was, and he was-
Fuck-
Such a good kisser, and so fucking hot, and Wille could admit the past few weeks had felt marginally better as far as their team dynamic went.
Probably is a power thing, like he said, he thought, kissing Simon's neck. But we've discussed this to death, so we clearly both consent, and it is nice when he smiles at me now, and teases me, and calls me dumbass... at least there's an ass in it...
And he wants to let me have his?
I'd think he was joking but-
"Rub my hole a little. Play with me."
He's not joking. He wants me to play with him.
And, though it was too cheesy for him to say aloud, Wille thought to himself, two can play this game.