Chapter Text
From Monaco to Nice — that's less than an hour by car.
Roy doesn't mind, really. In fact, he insists, insists, insists until Edward caves and allows Roy to pick him up at the airport. So Roy gets his Honda out of the garage, engine rumbling as it comes to life again, he puts his hands on the steering wheel, and everything slots into place.
At 9 p.m., he's speeding through the road, going faster than necessary because that's how it's supposed to be. When he gets to the airport, he checks his watch, and he waits patiently for Edward to text him his location.
It doesn't take long.
Roy finds him with a backpack and a small duffel bag hanging on his shoulders, dressed comfortably in a pair of dark jeans and a red hoodie. His hair is untied, and Roy is consumed by the urge to card his fingers through it, to put a hand on his nape and pull him closer, to kiss him breathless right there, in front of an airport exit.
For good measure, he doesn't get out of the car.
Instead, he opens the door to let Edward in.
As soon as he's seated on the passenger seat, Edward's eyes sweep around the inside of the car, and he whistles.
"Honda NSX, huh?"
Roy preens. "Type S," he adds.
"Oh, I know." Edward rolls his eyes. "The private jet's not enough, you gotta brag about your limited run car too."
"Oh, don't talk like that when I know you're swooning over it," Roy smirks. He turns the engine on and puts his foot on the accelerator. "I don't drive her around for just anyone, you know."
"Bullshit," Edward says flatly. "And I prefer Aston Martin, by the way."
Roy's smile grows, "Well, we can go for a ride on my DB11 then. Or on the Vantage, you know, it's up to you."
"You're a dickhead," Edward scoffs.
It makes Roy laugh. He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can't stop smiling, and as they drive through the Basse Corniche, he gives in to the impulse of putting a hand on Edward's thigh — he gives it a pinch, and Edward jumps on his seat.
"I hope you don't mind," Roy begins, "but I'm a disgrace in the kitchen, but we're going to get some food delivered. I ordered it earlier today, scheduled it, and all. It's just fungi ravioli, but the sauce is delicious, I promise, and you get to eat something that isn't airplane food."
"The food wasn't that bad," Edward tells him. "But yeah, I'm still hungry, so. Yeah. And I like ravioli."
"Tomorrow we'll go to the steakhouse, though, the one I've told you about," Roy promises him. He risks a glance to the side and finds Edward staring out of the window, eyes fixed on the darkness outside. "I think it'll be fine for me too, if I eat there. I can have a leaner cut and some veggies, it'll be good. But in the afternoon, we can…"
Roy knows he is chattering. Filling the silence with plans Edward probably doesn't really care about. I want to kiss him, Roy thinks, but they're in the middle of the road and crossing the different cities along the coast, and maybe it's not the best time. Someone could see, even though it's late; they could see and snap a picture, and then later—
It's hell just to think about it. He is better off talking Edward's ear off. Which he does, until Edward decides it's his time to talk Roy's ear off, except it's not irritating at all — he tells Roy about Alphonse and growing up in Germany and Roy feels a little bad because he had never asked Edward where he was born, but he gets over it real quickly, after Edward starts talking about how stupid everyone was in high school.
For sure, if they had met in high school — which is impossible due to their age difference, but Roy is talking in hypotheticals — Edward would include him in the stupid people category. It's frankly a wonder Roy finished high school, too busy with karting and then Formula 3. Thankfully, he got into Formula 1 before he could even consider what he'd like to do for college — he doesn't think there's anything else he could have done.
"College sounds wonderful," he tells Edward. "But right after I finished high school, I got the Formula 1 seat, in Toro Rosso," he explains. "I think it's only ever been racing for me, there's not much else I can do."
"Well, you're good at it, nobody can deny that," Edward agrees. "But I'm sure there are other things you can do."
Roy shakes his head but doesn't argue.
***
In Roy's apartment, the instant they step in and the door closes behind them, Edward barely has time to put his bags down before Roy circles his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in.
It's been almost a week and, even though that's not a long time, Roy feels like it's been months. So he kisses Edward a bit like he is starved, a bit too uncaring of how Edward could take it, but Edward meets him halfway as if he's feeling the same. Clinging to Roy's hips, to his waist, slotting his body against Roy's until Roy can feel it all over him.
***
Edward gets settled while Roy heats his meal and picks up Edward's dinner. Roy shows him to the suite — Roy's suite — so he can shower, change his clothes, hide away by himself for a moment because Roy can't help noticing the way he seems rather tense. Fidgety and twitchy, eyes sweeping over everything. Avoiding Roy's face.
He must be tired, Roy thinks, promising to himself he won't push Edward today. They still have Saturday and Sunday.
By the time Edward emerges from the bedroom, Roy is setting down their plates and glasses on the dinner table. He picked a bottle of Pinot Noir from the wine fridge, because it pairs well with the truffled sauce of Edward's meal — Roy's eating one of the frozen things again, chicken with rice and vegetables, but he doesn't really care if his drink and his food match.
Edward's blond hair is loose and darker, still wet from the shower, and he looks—
Cozy. Comfortable. He is wearing a pair of black shorts and a plain gray T-shirt, padding towards the dinner table on bare feet. Somehow, it makes Roy self-conscious — he did take off his shoes by the door, but he is still wearing his button-down, and he didn't think of changing out of his jeans.
"Smells good," Edward says, taking his seat in front of his plate.
Roy smiles and pours wine into both of their glasses before sitting across from him. "It is good," Roy beams. "It's from a restaurant a few blocks away, I usually order food there during the break."
He takes in the stiffness of Edward's shoulders and sips his wine.
Mirroring him, Edward takes a large gulp of his glass and then moves to stab his fork into the ravioli with what seems to be an unnecessary amount of focus.
That ought to mean something.
However, it's Edward himself who breaks the silence. He asks Roy about his car collection — that's what he calls it, a collection, and Roy can't really disagree with him on that one — and Roy answers all of his questions. They discuss the Valkyrie, mostly, or better yet, Edward gushes about it, calling it an engineering wonder and that car is the fucking reason I got into motorsports. Roy contributes to their conversation with the production insights he got from talks with Marcoh, the man who developed Edward's supposed dream car.
Roy offers to let him drive it, but Edward shakes his head.
"Driving cars is not really my thing," he explains. "I have a motorbike in Milton Keynes. A Honda, but nothing too fancy and— well, I prefer bikes, I guess. I feel safer."
Roy laughs. "Isn't it common knowledge that bikes are more dangerous than cars? Higher fatality rates and all."
Edward shrugs. "I don't care much about those statistics," he continues. "They mean nothing when I just— I feel more in control of a bike. It moves with my body and all, it's easier. And it takes me to places way faster."
The image of Edward — leather clothes, helmet, leaning forward as he speeds through a traffic-heavy road — Roy's heart races.
"You must take me for a ride then, one day," Roy says, and it sounds overly flirtatious even to his own ears. "I don't know a lot about bikes, even though I rode some off-road trails in Australia with a friend a few times."
Edward smirks at him. "You just want an excuse to cling to me."
"Maybe," Roy winks. "The whole bike thing clashes with your nerd vibe, it's exciting."
Edward rolls his eyes.
Roy smirks.
When they finish their meals, Roy takes the dirty dishes to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher. Edward leans against the counter, sipping the remaining wine in his glass — his shoulders seem less tense now, Roy notices, and he keeps thoughtfully looking at Roy, who wants to ask him what he's thinking, but then he figures he already knows.
They finish the wine bottle right there, in Roy's kitchen, standing too close to each other, and suddenly, Roy caves to his instincts and pulls him even closer, pressed to his side, with an arm around his waist.
"Are you tired?" Roy asks.
It's not a genuine question — just a polite prelude.
Edward's gaze falls to his mouth for a moment. Then, quickly, it's back to his eyes.
"Not tired enough," he admits.
The glasses clink against the counter; a pair of hands find their way around Roy's neck.
"Still," Roy says, right against Edward's lips. "It's better if we take this to the bedroom, isn't it?"
Looking at Roy through his lashes, Edward smiles. "What, is the kitchen not on your list of spots to fuck around your place?"
"I think it's the fifth item," Roy offers.
Edward's smile grows into a grin. "What are the ones before?"
"Bedroom first, then in front of a mirror," Roy tells him. "Bathtub and couch."
Edward hums, agreeing. He tugs Roy closer by the nape. "Cool," he says, "let's start checking those off your list then."
Roy almost smiles into their kiss.
***
They make it to the bedroom before Edward gets on his knees — which is a testament to their self-control, Roy reckons, because he goes a little bit insane when he has to stop kissing Edward for too long, when he has to look where he is going because Edward keeps clinging to him in a way that screams neediness. Roy loves it — he loves feeling needed, he loves feeling desperation.
He has their entire night already planned in his mind.
Edward is the first one to lose his shirt, and Roy touches him in a way that is almost forceful, possessive. Running his hands down the planes of his back, then back up again to feel the skin under his fingertips — he maps the scars on Edward's shoulder, and Edward pushes him towards the bed.
There's something powerful in the way Edward looks at him. Something hungry and beautiful and strangely familiar. Then his eyes are closed again because they are too busy kissing, and Edward is fumbling with the buttons of Roy's shirt — they get it half-unbuttoned before Roy pulls it over his head. Roy's stomach does a little flip because he knows where this will lead, and maybe he should have talked to Edward first.
There's a pair of hands kneading his ass, teeth sinking into his neck, and Roy feels like melting.
"What do you want tonight?" Edward asks.
Another bite and Roy shivers. An apologetic lick.
You, Roy thinks of saying, but that's too corny even for him.
"I want you to fuck me," he says instead.
Edward doesn't answer — his hands find Roy's belt buckle, then the button of his pants, then the zipper, and Roy braces himself.
"What the fuck," Edward breathes out.
He pulls away from Roy and looks down.
"Sorry," Roy says, even though he doesn't feel an ounce of guilt. "Is it too much?"
When Edward looks up at him again, his pupils are blown so wide the gold is barely visible.
"Sit on the bed," he says.
Feeling in the mood to comply, Roy does as he is told. He shimmies out of his pants while at it, then he leans back on his hands, letting his legs fall open.
Looking up at Edward through his lashes, he feigns bashfulness. "Do you like it?"
Edward is blushing all the way up to his ears — his eyes don't leave Roy's crotch, where his hard cock is bulging against the black lace of the panties.
It's a tight fit, but Roy can't say he is not into it.
There's an instant of silence, just a beat, before Edward starts sinking to his knees between Roy's legs. "Yes," he chokes out. "Shit, this is—"
His hands find the pale skin of Roy's thighs, touching reverently. The warmth of his hands makes Roy shiver, and when he sinks his fingers into the muscles, Roy sighs.
"I figured you would," Roy says, "I—"
He cuts himself off — without prompting, Edward leans down. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, and he licks a long stripe up Roy's lace-covered cock, bringing one of his hands to cup Roy's balls, pressed tightly to his body by the panties.
"Shit," Roy groans.
Edward mouths at his cock through the panties. He licks and sucks softly at the fabric, and Roy squirms because it is not enough at all, but the feeling of the lace against his heated skin is maddening.
"Were you wearing them the whole night?" Edward asks.
"Yes," Roy gasps.
Edward's gaze finds him, and Roy wants Edward ruined.
"When you went to pick me up at the airport…?"
Roy nods.
Edward's eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if he is picturing it — Roy driving from Monaco to Nice and back in his sports car, sharing dinner with him and making small talk, all the while wearing black lace panties. Edward groans, one of his hands falling to his lap to palm his crotch.
"You are a freak," he says.
"I suppose we're the same," Roy smirks. Then, he feels strangely honest. "This is the very first time I'm doing this, you know? You should feel special."
Eyes flying open wide, Edward stares at him. "Shit," he curses. He moves his hand on his still clothed cock and moans.
"Don't come yet," Roy tsks. "You still have to fuck me."
"Shut the fuck up," Edward snaps back. He looks at Roy with heat in his eyes. "Pretty girls don't act like smug bastards."
A shiver runs down Roy's spine.
"Ah," he says.
Perfect, Roy thinks, when Edward is gloriously naked and on top of him, pushing him further up the bed until Roy has his head on the pillows. Perfect, Roy thinks, when Edward kisses him again, deeply and desperately, until they are both gasping. Perfect, Roy thinks, when Edward touches him through the lace again, fingers slipping under the waistband's elastic, tugging it only to let it snap back onto Roy's skin. The noise seems to echo in the room.
"Turn around," Edward gasps against his mouth.
And Roy does.
And then there are nails scratching down his back. And fingers are sinking into his sides. Grabbing his ass, pulling the cheeks apart.
The fabric clings to his skin maddeningly. To his cock, trapped inside the panties, pressed to the mattress — it takes some effort not to just rut against it, especially when Edward touches him over the lace, right above his hole.
It's a scratchy feeling — Edward rubs it in soft circles, and Roy shudders and melts into the bed.
"Are we going to do it the way we talked about that day?" Edward asks, his voice breathless. "Pull it to the side and fuck you in them?"
Roy's hips twitch. "Yes."
"Okay," Edward says, and he sounds drunk with it, as if he is the one being touched. "Okay, that's— where's the lube?"
His thumb presses tightly into Roy's hole, as if he could fuck the lace into Roy, and Roy clings to the sheets. "Bedside table, first drawer," he breathes out.
It's a bit too intense. The whole thing. Yes. Roy is a very intense man; he's always known that, but things with Edward never fail to make that intensity skyrocket — Edward pulls the panties to the side and finger fucks him, and Roy suddenly forgets every other person that has touched him like that before. It feels singular, unique; the stretch is familiar, the sharp shocks of pleasure on his prostate, but the feeling is— everyone is different, Roy tells himself. But sometimes, it feels like Edward is more… different than the rest. He remembers the right word for it while Edward presses kisses to his spine.
Special.
You should feel special, he'd told Edward.
The realization gives him a jolt, a rush of panic and pleasure in equal parts. Edward is special, he concludes, and then Edward twists his fingers again, and Roy just needs to get closer.
"Come on, Ed," he whines. "That's enough, you can fuck me already, I'm— shit, stop, fuck me!"
Edward bites his shoulder before removing his fingers and reaching for the condom.
And it's— it's intense again. The emptiness, and then Edward's hands are back on him, and Roy is raising himself to his hands and knees because if he keeps humping the damn mattress, it will end too soon. I want to look at him, he considers for a second, but maybe it's best if he doesn't because he is not sure if he wants Edward to look at him. If he could just stare at Edward for hours without being stared back— and maybe they should try a blindfold this weekend, maybe Edward would let him—
Edward slides inside of him, and Roy whines.
Maybe it will end too soon anyway.
"Fuck," Edward moans. "Fuck, Roy, you should— shit, I want to take a picture of you like this, you look—"
"Yes," Roy nods. "Yes, yes, I want to see it!"
"…my phone is too far away."
"Ah." Disappointment fills him only for a second.
Because in the next, Edward is slowly pulling out. Sinking back in.
"I don't think I can stop long enough to get it now," Edward gasps.
Roy's eyes flutter shut. "Next time," he gasps back.
Next time, he thinks. Next time, next time, next time. Maybe he can get a picture of Edward hollowing his cheeks while sucking him off in exchange.
Then, the words dissolve into mush. Roy can't shut up, but he doesn't really know what he is saying — he only knows that Edward answers him. Edward calls him pretty, over and over again, and Roy clings to the word because he likes being pretty and that is such a hot yet scary feeling and Roy wonders how the hell Edward even figured out he would be into this. He doesn't know. One of Edward's hands leaves his hips, and Roy hears the loud smack of skin on skin and then feels the burn on his ass.
He moans loudly, too loudly, and Edward slaps him again, with less strength, but it feels even better. Roy grips the sheets and groans.
Edward curses. Roy wishes he could see his face.
"Pretty," Edward whispers again, and it sounds mindless and reverent like a prayer. "Your skin gets— it gets so red so easy, you're— you're my fucking pretty girl, yeah."
Yes, Roy thinks, and he is not really sure whether he says it out loud, but Edward moans and curses and yesyesyes.
He has to touch himself. He fists his cock furiously, a hand inside the stupid black lace panties, and his palm is dry, but it doesn't really matter because there's so much precome. And it's good, yes, because Edward keeps fucking him, he keeps hitting that spot inside of him and it sends shocks of heat all over his body, and the sounds— Roy can't see Edward's face, but he can hear him, and somehow that's even better.
"I want to come," Roy half-says, half-moans. "I'm just—"
It's too fast, Roy thinks. And it's embarrassing, but it isn't because Edward whimpers.
"Please," Edward begs. "Please, Roy, I want you to come, I want to feel it—"
And it doesn't take too long. Roy is just a few strokes and a few thrusts away from it, and then Edward's cock is being shoved against his prostate again and Roy dissolves into a string of curses and he spills inside the panties, all over his hand.
"Fuck," Edward moans. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Roy still has it in him to spur him on. "Come on," he groans. "Come inside me, I want it."
And again, it doesn't take long. In fact, it's as if it's on cue. Edward grunts, grips Roy's hips tightly, and then he folds, forehead resting against Roy's back as he gasps for air.
There's a condom between them, but Roy imagines he can feel it — spilling warmth inside of him, and when Edward pulls out, Roy pictures himself, fucked out, hole dripping come over the sheets.
As Edward lies beside him on the bed, Roy smiles.
***
Unfortunately, Roy showers alone. It's only after he takes the used condom Edward is about to tie in a knot, and he brings it to his lips and drinks everything he can from it while Edward stares at him like he is absolutely insane — you're such a fucking freak, but Roy knows Edward is probably more into it than Roy himself. Then, Roy gets them new bedsheets, and Edward shoves him towards the bathroom because he knows how to change sheets by himself, and please Roy take those panties off they are dirty now.
Roy is probably going to give them to him as a parting gift — unwashed, dirty with his dried cum. He is quite sure Edward would go through five different stages of embarrassment and then jerk off like crazy the moment he finds himself alone.
But yes, he showers alone, and it's even sadder when it's Edward's turn to shower, and Roy has to lie on the bed and wait for him patiently, stuck with his own thoughts.
Running water is not the best soundtrack for post-coital self-reflection, he reckons.
Perhaps, self-reflection is never fun, whether it's post-coital or not.
Thus, Roy decides he will not reflect at all. Because everything is going well, and Edward will be joining him in a bit, and tomorrow they'll fuck, and then they'll go to the steakhouse. They are going to drive around Monaco in one of the Aston Martins. Then, they'll come back home and fuck again. Maybe in the bathtub.
When Edward is finally under the covers as well, Roy kisses him. Once, twice, three times, and then he loses count. They lie together, on their sides, and Edward throws a leg over Roy and clings to him. And Roy clings back. And that's it.
Nothing to think about, Roy reckons.
***
On Saturday morning, Roy fucks Edward in the kitchen — he bends Edward over the counter before breakfast and fucks him hard, relishing the string of ah ah ahs being punched out of Edward with each movement. He slaps Edward's ass to get revenge and then twists those beautiful, tanned arms so he can hold onto them while pulling Edward to meet every thrust. Edward's hair is loose, and Roy tugs at it too, and Edward comes with a moan so loud Roy worries the neighbors might hear.
Afterward, Edward turns around, and they kiss and kiss and kiss, and Edward gives him a hand job while at it, and Roy's toes curl when he comes.
After breakfast, they laze around on the couch. Roy lies on top of Edward while Edward scrolls through TikTok and plays with his hair; he doesn't finish a single one of the short videos until Roy tells him that he really wants to hear that one, no Ed the one before that was talking about a serial killer—
"Why the fuck do you want to hear about a serial killer?" Edward says, but he does scroll back to the video.
And that's it again. For some time.
Roy is considering which Aston Martin is going to be the one for today when his phone rings on the coffee table.
"Ugh," he complains, detangling himself from Edward, who looks like he's about to take a nap.
The screen of his phone shines with Maes 🍆💦🍑❤️.
Roy curses.
Edward sits up and looks at him, sleepy and puzzled. A strange warmth fills Roy's chest, and he smiles.
"I'll be back in a second," Roy tells him, and he makes his way to the balcony.
"What's up, Roy-Boy?" Maes greets him. "What are you bringing us today?"
Roy closes the balcony door behind him, taking a few steps to lean against the railing.
"Hello, Maes," he greets. "What are you even talking about?"
"Our barbecue, man," he explains. "Today at my place, remember? We agreed on it at that dinner in Miami."
Oh, shit, Roy thinks.
"Yes! Yes, of course, I remember it!" Roy lies. "There's just— well."
"Well…?"
Roy doesn't know how to get out of this one.
"I have someone here. With me."
"Oh," Maes says, but he doesn't really sound surprised. "Did you go out last night?"
"Not really, just— well, he's staying the weekend, so…"
"He? Who's he?"
Gripping the railing with all his strength, Roy braces himself. "Edward."
There's a moment of absolute silence before Maes sighs.
"Roy, so, last year, when I told you to try to get along with your new race engineer," Maes says, paused and collected. "I did not mean drunk fuck him and then develop a risky situationship with him where you—"
"It's not a situationship," Roy cuts him off. "It's not— why would you even say that? I'm too old for situationships, that's—"
"Oh, so it's a real relationship? Are you in love with your controversially young race engineer?"
Roy looks inside the apartment. He can see the couch from where he is standing; he can see Edward sitting there, curled up on the corner with his knees pulled to his chest.
He turns his back to the scene and looks straight forward.
"No," Roy says, definitely. "It's not like that. We're friends. We have sex, but we're friends, and it's not—"
"Riza told me you were getting weird about him," Maes cuts him off. "Roy, this is dangerous, way too dangerous, are you losing your mind? He's spending the weekend with you there? What's next, you're taking him to a nice restaurant on a date, and then you're going to drive him around in one of your fancy sports cars, and then what?"
Oh.
"I can't believe you!" Maes barks at him. "Your life is already difficult enough, being bi in a sports category, and now you're getting all tangled up in a relationship with a man almost ten years younger than you who works on the same team as you— Do you have any idea—"
"I do!" Roy snaps back. "Of course I know there are risks, I'm not stupid!"
"Yes, you are, because you put yourself in this situation!" Maes sounds desperate, almost like he wants to grab Roy and knock some sense into him through the phone. "You can't possibly— Roy, I know there's something wrong this year, I don't know what it is because you won't talk to me, but if this is you trying to get an adrenaline fill because the car is shit, then I don't know—"
"It's not!" Roy protests. "Why would you even consider that? Do you think so little of me? I'm not using him to, what, vent my frustrations, it's not like that at all!"
"Then what is it?!"
Like this, he can't see Edward. The door is closed, and Edward cannot hear him.
"I think I—I like him," he whispers, because he is not brave enough to use any other word. "I don't think it could ever lead to a relationship or whatever you want to call it, but it's good. It's nice. What we have. And it's safe because he won't tell anybody about me. About us."
"Roy—"
"It's good, and it's enough," Roy lies. "I want this, Maes."
Silence.
A long sigh.
"Jesus Christ," Maes breathes out. "Roy, this is— Fuck, you know what? I don't care. Keep it on the down low, and I don't care. Let's pretend everything is fine, the way you always do."
Roy stays quiet.
"You can bring him to the barbecue, we'll just— He is a fun guy. I was going to say he's good, but if he's with you like this, then I guess there's something wrong with him. Just like there's something wrong with you."
"Okay," Roy says simply. He doesn't argue.
"Don't fuck this up," Maes warns him. "Bring a few beers, if you have the time."
They hang up.
Roy stares straight ahead.