Chapter Text
1987
Alain Prost thought he was ready for anything in his career.
Rolling a car ten times, losing his teeth inside a helmet. He had prepared himself for all of it.
Everything except working with an omega.
He was walking through the garage when he spotted Ron Dennis talking to a mechanic. Before Alain could change direction, Ron caught his eye, finished the conversation with a short nod, and headed straight toward him.
"Alain!" he greeted, extending his hand. "Finally found you. I really needed to talk to you."
Ron dismissed the mechanic with a quick gesture and turned fully to Prost, his tone shifting to something more formal.
"I suppose you've heard the good news, right?"
"What? That Senna's coming to McLaren?"
"Not coming, Alain. He's already here." Ron pulled an envelope from his folder and held it up right in front of Alain's face. "Hot off the press. He just signed it. A bit demanding… alright, very demanding. But nothing we can't handle."
Prost didn't know what to say. Being teammates with an omega was a first.
He frowned, even though the news wasn't exactly new. Stefan Johansson, now his former teammate, had mentioned it during a small post-podium celebration, how Dennis had been asking around about bringing an omega into the team. "The man's finally lost it," Stefan had said, already tipsy, raising another glass of champagne.
"So he really is part of McLaren?"
"Officially." Ron smiled, tucking the folder under his arm. "Teammates or rivals, that's up to you two. He's with the engineers right now. Just a bit more and you'll get to meet him properly."
Wait.
"He's here?"
Ron looked at him as if Alain had asked the dumbest question of the day.
"He and his manager wanted to see their new workplace right away. What was I supposed to do? Lock them in my office?"
Ron rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Anyway, we also have some new updates, strategy changes that'll save us precious seconds on track and—"
Alain wasn't listening anymore. His mind had drifted to one subject alone.
Ayrton Senna, an omega, here at McLaren.
Alain shivered. The only omegas he had ever seen there were girlfriends and the occasional fling a mechanic brought around to impress and later take to bed.
Who would have thought? An omega in McLaren as a driver.
When the first omega entered Formula 1 years ago, it was a scandal. Everyone thought it absurd. But the fuss died quickly. After all, it was with a team like Toleman. Nobody saw it as a threat to alphas. Just "Toleman's bold and desperate experiment," as the papers called it.
Alain remembered the first time he shared a podium with the Brazilian. Monaco, 1984. He had won the race, and Ayrton had taken one of the other spots. Alain couldn't remember which, but the omega was there, the first omega ever to stand on that podium.
Right in the middle of the ceremony, a strong scent invaded his space, a burst of orange freshness mixed with warm caramel sweetness. A strange combination, but enough to send his alpha instincts spiraling, searching for the source, wanting to claim.
"Must be the champagne," he had thought.
He hadn't noticed earlier, but it must have been one of those pheromone-infused bottles. The FIA had used them before to make winners feel even more triumphant. Not that they ever did much to Prost. But the scent kept growing stronger. The sweetness, the heat of caramel hitting him all at once.
Omega. It was omega scent. And Alain was losing it.
His senses pushed him to find it, to find them, to claim. His mind drifted away from the entire ceremony, overtaken by the scent. It was close.
He turned his head and then he saw him.
Senna had been left in a corner, barely noticed or congratulated, looking uncomfortable yet still smiling shyly, showing slightly crooked teeth in a face both gorgeous and embarrassed.
The scent was coming from him.
Alain's mind went blank. His feet moved toward Ayrton on their own, even as a Toleman engineer called for the Brazilian. Alain didn't care. His alpha roared for that presence. Needed it.
Then a hand tapped his back, the Prince of Monaco congratulating him again. The touch snapped Alain back.
He stepped away quickly, regaining his composure. He had never reacted like that to an omega. Never lost control over pheromones. He swallowed hard as the scent began to fade. He watched Ayrton leave the podium, looking drained, heading back toward Toleman. Alain bit his lip, fighting the urge to pull him back, to keep him close.
But he did nothing. He stood there, gathering every ounce of discipline not to let his alpha voice take over.
He never brought it up again, grateful no one else noticed the incident.
In the following seasons, even when he tried to avoid it, Alain always caught himself watching the Brazilian from afar. Shy at first, then more confident, energetic, even combative. He had lost count of how many times he had seen Senna sulking or arguing with someone around the paddock, though never as aggressively as the other drivers.
He admitted he expected to smell that scent again. Wanted to.
Alain never understood why, but something about Senna drew him in, made him want him in sight at all times. Made him more alert whenever the omega was nearby.
Maybe it was the strangeness of seeing something as fragile as an omega in a place as hostile as the FIA.
Now he imagined having to deal with him directly. Most of him felt calm. It was just another person. Be decent. Be professional. It wasn't some wild creature he had to tame.
But a small part of him whispered that everything was about to change, and the thought made him uneasy.
Because of course it would.
Senna was an omega. An omega with volatile hormones, who wouldn’t understand friendly alpha-to-alpha banter, an omega who once or twice a month would need isolation when heat hit, possibly during a championship.
An omega in heat...
"What’s the heat protocol for him?"
Prost spoke before he even processed the thought.
Ron blinked, confused. Heat had nothing to do with lap-time strategies. Alain realized he had cut him off and clarified:
"Ayrton," he said carefully. "He's an omega. Heats happen. Unless he's—"
Ron made a choking sound.
"Oh no, Prost. I can assure you nothing's wrong with Senna's reproductive system." He shook the contract folder. "We had to get a full medical exam before this was finalized."
Alain's brows drew tighter. That only worried him more, for the team, he told himself. Ron seemed to sense the shift and snapped him out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder.
"But why the sudden interest, Alain? The omega isn't even settled in yet and you're already thinking with your lo—"
"It's not that!" Alain cut him off, incredulous, stumbling for words. "Omega heats are unpredictable. You know that."
"Oh, I know very well." Ron paused, eyes unfocused for a second, a small smile suggesting memories involving his wife. "Ah, the infamous omega heat."
"And?"
"And what?"
Prost exhaled, patience thinning.
"He has heats, Ron." Alain noticed Ron tense up.
"You're concerned about that?" Ron raised his brows defensively.
Alain froze.
"Not concerned. But as a McLaren driver, I want to know the protocol in case something unexpected happens." He remembered heats he had witnessed, how overwhelming they could be for omegas, how dangerous, attracting alphas from anywhere trying to take advantage. A driver in heat in an alpha-dominated environment was a risk.
It was obvious the contract should include safety clauses. Surely Toleman and Lotus had procedures. McLaren should too.
But Ron's sharp look suggested otherwise.
"Ron, there are measures for that, right?"
Ron gave his shoulder a light tap.
"Not something you need to worry about now, Alain. Forget it."
That did nothing to ease Alain.
"And if he goes into heat during a cha—"
"He won't."
Ron cut him off. His hand tightened slightly, signaling the end of the conversation.
Footsteps echoed down the hall along with muffled voices. Alain glanced over and saw Senna walking with a man who was likely his manager.
Without realizing it, Alain's alpha scent slipped out, subtle woody waves. He contained it immediately, but too late. Ayrton stiffened mid-sentence, shoulders tightening, eyes darting toward the Frenchman.
"Glad you're back!" Ron said, breaking the tension. "Ayrton, come here."
He gestured as if calling a cat. Ayrton frowned but approached anyway.
"Here he is, the omega of McLaren."
"If I end up liking this place," Ayrton said without thinking, spontaneous and bold. The smirk vanished when his manager elbowed him.
Ron let out a forced laugh.
"Not enjoying your new workplace?"
Ayrton glanced around theatrically, pretending to assess the garage. Then his curious brown eyes lifted back to Alain's, direct and unwavering.
"It has potential," he said. Casual, almost playful. But the seriousness beneath it sent a shiver down Alain's spine.
Ron raised a satisfied brow.
"That I can guarantee."
Then he noticed the Brazilian hadn't stopped staring at Prost. Just what they needed.
"Ayrton, I believe you've met Alain Prost."
A small smile tugged at Senna's lips.
"I think I've heard the name," he murmured, shrugging, his voice dripping disinterest, as if Alain were just another face in the paddock.
Prost fought the urge to laugh. His alpha perked up at the audacity. He might have been offended if Senna hadn't been staring him down since the moment they walked in.
"Really? What an honor. You've just made one of my dreams come true," Alain replied, matching Ayrton's tone with no real defensiveness or hostility.
And for a moment, he could swear he saw amusement flicker in the Brazilian's eyes.
Alain extended his hand, friendly.
Ayrton's smile grew. He took the hand firmly, warm skin against the alpha's cold, rough palm.
On impulse, Alain squeezed harder than intended. He felt the omega's body jolt.
Ayrton raised a brow and withdrew quickly, eyes still locked on him, studying his true intention. Prost almost apologized for the strength.
Almost.
In that moment, Alain noticed something different in him, something fragile and fleeting, like a version of Senna few ever saw.
The Brazilian broke eye contact, turning back to Ron and his manager, pretending to focus on their conversation.
Alain stayed frozen, trying to understand what had just happened. He searched Ayrton's face for any sign or acknowledgment, but Senna ignored him completely, as if he were nothing more than background noise.
Feeling his head might explode if he stayed any longer, Alain forced himself to leave. Before turning the corner, he looked back one last time.
Something pulled him toward Ayrton, urged him not to lose sight of him. He felt hooked.
Caught.
"It's going to be a long season."