A/N: I'm finally posting this! Thanks for all the support on tumblr so far, it really warms my icy black heart. I'm hoping this won't take much longer to finish, so look forward to frequent updates.

This was inspired by the rumor/fact that Law's character design is based on Valentino Rossi, a nine time champion of the world grand prix, generally considered a MotoGP prodigy.

BTW, I know nothing about moto racing or the grand prix so half this shit is made up and the rest is cobbled together from wikipedia. Apologies in advance for any resulting suspension of disbelief.

Twenty-five top racing teams of eight nations participate in the premier class of the championship, traveling the world to compete in the FIM World Championship series.

The season consists of eighteen rounds, beginning in March and ending in November, taking place across fifteen different countries: Qatar, Spain, Portugal, China, France, Italy, Great Britain, the Netherlands, Germany, the US, Czech Republic, San Marino, Japan, Australia, and Malaysia.

Grand Prix motorcycles are purpose-built racing machines that are neither available for purchase by the general public, nor can be ridden legally on public roads.

...

Race 0

...

Kid fucking loves his job.

He practically built the world's best motorcycle from the ground up, a marvel of engineering whose every detail he's lovingly hand-tuned and tweaked since it was nothing more than a schematic on a sheet of blueprint. He adores that bike, he'd give up the rights to his first-born child before he'd ever leave the team and let some other piece of shit engineer touch it.

All day long he works with only the best equipment, the top technicians, the sharpest cutting edge research. He's at the absolute forefront of his field, and the sponsors throw disgusting amounts of money at him and his crew to keep them there, because they're fucking worth it. It's his dream job, and he's earned it.

There's only one problem: Trafalgar fucking Law, the asshole who wins titles on his perfect bike.

Trafalgar may be the one riding every race, and he's worth millions in sponsorship contracts in his own right, but he acts like he's the center of the goddamn universe. Who the fuck cares. It's Kid's bike that's carrying his worthless hide to the finish line, stick any dumb jock on it and it'll still break records.

Except Trafalgar is the star of the team, his name is the brand. Bike enthusiasts might like Kid, but racing fans only had eyes for Trafalgar. Since they were the ones that spent all their money on tickets and merchandise, the sponsors and his handlers do nothing to counteract his ego. They all worship the ground he walks on, and anyone who doesn't bow down along with them and kiss Trafalgar's ass will never hear the end of it.

Kid has worked on lots of racing teams before making it all the way to the international stage, and riders were all divas. He's used to dealing with them, and their vague nonsense about how a bike "feels" and "rides." Half of them didn't know how the goddamn gearbox worked. Fuck that, he could make his bikes perform better than any-fucking-thing else out there. If a rider had a complaint, it was always fucking user error.

Trafalgar is the worst diva of them all, though. Not only does he come with all the usual bullshit, but he knows all the right buzzwords to spit in Kid's face when there's something about the bike he doesn't like. He doesn't throw up his hands in a huff when Kid dumps a load of tech specs on him, oh no, he has to start a long fucking argument each and every goddamn time.

He's not too prissy to come down to the garage to bitch about his problems, either. Killer usually has to remind Kid to put down the socket wrench he's holding so he doesn't just brain Trafalgar during their daily shouting matches about the transmission, or the tire treads, or the fucking grips on the fucking handles, whatever stick Trafalgar has decided to shove up his ass that day.

It drives Kid absolutely nuts that he has to have a fucking debate to justify even the tiniest choices to the fucking rider, of all people. He'll talk shop with his crew all day about the pros and cons of ceramic composite brakes, in fact he's paid to do it, because he's the fucking team lead engineer and that's his fucking job.

What's NOT his job is wasting his goddamn time arguing with Trafalgar, time that should be spent running tests and diagnostics and researching the other teams' bikes. The rider should just worry about winning the shitty races, and let him worry about winning the tech war. He refuses to let anyone get ahead of him in his own game, so why the hell can't Trafalgar get the fuck off his back?

And the worst part is, nobody else will tell the shithead he needs to stay the fuck in his own lane. The rest of the world apparently considers it a good thing that Trafalgar takes such an intensely personal interest in Kid's job. The fans think Trafalgar's a fucking genius for knowing every last detail of the bike he rides, and the sponsors love boasting that there's such "frequent dialogue" between the rider's crew and the shop crew.

He is going to end up murdering the shit out of Trafalgar one day, and he won't even care that every jury in the country would convict him. The fucker deserves it.

…

On the night before the first round of prelim races, which was really the beginning of the whole Grand Prix since obviously his bike would make it through prelims, Kid has been up running tests and checks since the previous day. This is the last chance he'd get to spend time alone with his bike before getting caught up with the whirlwind of races and traveling and officials breathing down his neck every second, and he wants to make sure everything is perfect.

Of course that has to be the time when Trafalgar decides to pay a visit to the garage.

Kid glares at him when he saunters in, but Trafalgar doesn't heed the warning, so he preemptively puts down the wrench he's holding. There's no way they could find a substitute rider ten hours before the first race anyway.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snaps, his usual greeting for riders daring to enter his domain.

"Just making sure you're not still trying to change anything about the carburetors."

"I already told you it needed an adjustment."

"And I told you that last time your adjustment fucked with the clutch."

"It doesn't- goddamnit Trafalgar I'm not explaining this again! The clutch is gonna be fine!"

"If you're so sure, let me take it out and I'll try it right now," Trafalgar says, idly inspecting his nails like he might've gotten them dirty just by talking to Kid.

"Are you fucking crazy?! Nobody's touching it until the practice run! Fuck off!"

God, does this asshole really expect Kid to let him take the bike out for a spin in the middle of the night? Trafalgar would absolutely find something new to throw a fit over. He was always even more of an uptight prick right before a race, and Kid would be the one left spending the rest of the time before prelims re-running all the checks he just did. Riders had no gratitude whatsoever for all the extra work the shop crew put into a bike for race day.

There was no fucking way he was letting Trafalgar anywhere near his bike tonight.

"Then you just expect me to let you mess up my bike and take no responsibility tomorrow?"

Fucking. Piece. Of SHIT. HIS BIKE?! FUCK NO.

Kid grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams his back into the wall, making a tray of bolts fall off their shelf and spill all over the floor.

"You fucker," he growls, baring his teeth right in Trafalgar's sneering face.

Trafalgar just rolls his eyes, not even attempting to get away. "Are you an idiot? You can't injure the rider the night before prelims."

"You think you're so special, huh? You wouldn't even fucking be here if it weren't for me and my bike," Kid says, pinning Trafalgar against the wall high enough that only the tips of his toes reach the ground. He doesn't want to hurt Trafalgar exactly, but he does want to scare the living shit out of him.

He shoves his knee between Trafalgar's legs, looming forward and using their size difference to his advantage. "You're such a little bitch all the time, learn to show some fucking respect."

"Oh, you want me to say thank you for messing up my bike? Why didn't you say so earlier, Eustass."

Trafalgar's tone is dripping with condescension, but when Kid scowls at him, ready to prove he's not gonna enjoy learning exactly what the fuck he means by respect—

Wait. Trafalgar isn't actually... oh fuck is he? Trafalgar is giving him fucking bedroom eyes. He's not scared at all! The little shit! If he thinks he can call Kid's bluff he's got another thing coming– Kid's being serious here, he's really gonna do something!

Kid kisses him, hard.

Trafalgar seems surprised for a moment, and then he's opening his mouth and wrapping his arms around Kid's neck.

Kid responds without a second thought, pressing flush up against him and licking into his mouth, all other intentions flying out the window immediately. He lets go of Trafalgar's shirt so he can reach down and heft him up with two hands under his ass.

Trafalgar makes a pleased sound when he's shoved into the wall again, getting his long legs over Kid's hips so Kid is left as his only support.

Kid grinds forward and Trafalgar only squeezes around him tighter, until there's no space left between them and he can't even take a breath because Trafalgar is still kissing him like that. Shit he feels good, all hot and lean... Kid suddenly wants to touch skin, and shoves a hand up Trafalgar's shirt.

Trafalgar rocks his hips so nicely when Kid thumbs over his nipple, rubbing his hard cock into Kid's, and Kid almost fucking drops him. They're actually gonna fuck, aren't they? Christ, who even gives a shit anymore.

He carries Trafalgar over to the closest work bench with their mouths still locked together and clears everything off it with a sweep of his arm, sending tools and paperwork alike to the greasy shop floor before dropping Trafalgar onto the relatively clean tabletop.

Trafalgar lies back straight away, pulling Kid down until he almost has to climb onto the bench with him just so they won't have to stop kissing. The heel of Trafalgar's boot digs sharply into one of his kidneys, and he reaches back and grabs it, determined to get those fucking weapons off Trafalgar's feet as soon as possible.

Taking Trafalgar's boots off naturally leads to getting everything else off his lower half. While Kid's doing that Trafalgar decides to finally make himself useful and take his shirt off too, leaving him laid out on Kid's work bench, buck naked and hard and fucking gorgeous.

Kid has to stop and stare for a second so he can drink it all in. Trafalgar has no right to look that delicious when he's always such an arrogant piece of shit, and Kid fully intends to let tonight be a good lesson for him about why he should show some fucking appreciation once in a while.

But first he needs to put his mouth on those tattoos because they're just begging to be licked... and the fucking noises Trafalgar makes when his nipples are bitten and sucked are absolutely obscene. Kid has never heard the guy even say please before, so hearing him beg to be fucked like he's gonna die if Kid doesn't get his dick in him right the fuck now is nothing short of witnessing a miracle.

Kid almost comes in his jeans from listening to all that before he can find something non-toxic to use for lube, and then it's a struggle to keep it together long enough to finger Trafalgar's ass until he's wet and loose because Trafalgar will not stop making those goddamn sounds in that goddamn voice.

Finally he's sinking into that sweet hole, with Trafalgar's legs up over his shoulders and his hands spreading Trafalgar's ass open to take his cock as deep as he can get it, and Trafalgar is moaning so loud they can probably hear him in the hotel a mile away.

It feels so good Kid doesn't even think to wait once he's inside, he's already gone. All he wants to do is fuck this noisy little bitch he's got under him until he can't come anymore.

And that's pretty much exactly what he does.

He finds Trafalgar likes it pretty rough, which is great, because that's how he likes it too.

Trafalgar gets unbelievably riled up from being pinned against the tabletop and made to stay put and take whatever Kid feels like giving him. He comes just from getting fucked, practically crying with relief, and looks absolutely beautiful when he does it.

Kid could watch that a million times and never get bored.

An hour and three orgasms later though, he's completely spent, Trafalgar is finally all fucked out, and there's way too much goddamn cum on his work bench. Kid wants to sleep for about a week, as soon as he cleans up so nobody ever finds out he fucked Trafalgar in here.

Trafalgar has his arm thrown over his eyes, one heel propped up on the edge of the bench and the other leg dangling over it. Somehow he still manages to look smug as hell, even though he's literally dripping with cum.

"Get your ass up," Kid says while he looks around for a rag clean enough that it won't just make a bigger mess.

"Mmhm," Trafalgar hums, though he doesn't move an inch until Kid knocks his foot off the table's edge. Then he sits up and stretches, his face pulling into a grimace. "Did you really have to be so rough? I'm going to be sitting on a bike all day tomorrow, you know."

Kid smirks at him. "Didn't hear you complaining. Don't blame it on me when you get a shit time."

"I will blame it on you if you don't fix the carb the way it was yesterday."

"Like hell I'm gonna do that now, asshole. It's fine, just go get your precious beauty sleep."

Trafalgar opens his mouth to disagree of course, but then to Kid's amazement he seems to think better of it and hops off the bench to start picking up his clothes instead.

"We'll see," is all Trafalgar says as he gets dressed. "Good night, Eustass." He tosses a lazy wave back at Kid on his way out of the garage, and then he's gone.

What the hell, Trafalgar not sticking around to argue? Now that is a fucking miracle.

…

The next day Trafalgar takes the prelims by storm, leaving all but the most seasoned riders in the dust.

Trafalgar acts like this is simply the expected outcome (Kid happens to agree only because it was his bike doing all the work), but his manager and assistant are ecstatic and insist on throwing a party for him that same night.

The whole team is invited, so Kid goes, if only because he hasn't had a chance to talk to Trafalgar since last night. Every other second they'd been around each other that day had been taken up by racing business.

"Seems like the clutch was just fine," Kid says, once Trafalgar stops being mobbed by sponsor reps and VIPs long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

Trafalgar takes a sip of the champagne he's holding, hardly sparing Kid a glance. "It was a little shaky."

Kid snorts, he can't even be mad that Trafalgar insists on disagreeing despite placing first in every line up. Not when he can remember having the bitch squirming desperately on his cock yesterday. "Yeah ok, if you say so. I'm still not changing anything."

At that moment Trafalgar's annoying shit of a manager pops out of nowhere

Penguin sets into him without even a 'hello,' and Kid almost suspects he was just waiting to overhear something he could yell at him about. "What the fuck do you mean you're not changing anything! Law, what do you want changed? He'll change it!"

And here's the fucking cavalry. As if Trafalgar wasn't enough of a pain in Kid's neck alone, the instant he didn't get his way his manager and assistant were always ready to sic Kid like a pair of white knights defending the honor of their princess.

"Piss off, shorty," Kid growls. "You don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about."

"I don't need to know the specifics," Penguin snaps back. "It's Law's decision, your job is to follow his feedback."

Kid rolls his eyes. There's nothing that can make him stop listening faster than somebody trying to tell him what his job is. "I would, if he ever gave any feedback worth a shit."

"You— don't ignore the rider! It's his neck on the line every day, you know!"

"Yeah, and what a pretty neck he's got. I'd hate for anything to happen to it." Kid gives the guy his most wolfish smirk.

Implying anything than the utmost concern for Trafalgar's safety never failed to get his handlers all riled up. It's not Kid's best idea to poke at them, they always end up causing shit for him later on, but he can't really help it. It's too funny to watch them freak out over nothing, as if he'd ever do anything that'd put his bike in danger.

Just as Penguin is puffing up, looking like he's ready to dump a shitload of hell right on Kid's head and really get this party started, Trafalgar decides to cut in.

"I didn't say anything needed to be changed."

Kid raises a brow. He can't remember the last time Trafalgar didn't enjoy watching somebody tear strips out of his hide, especially in public, but he rolls with it anyway. "Yeah, don't have a heart attack."

Penguin glares at him. "If he tells you to change something, then fucking change it next time. Being an asshole about it doesn't help anybody, Eustass."

"Yeah, yeah. Did you actually need something, or you just wanna flap your mouth at me?"

"I don't need anything from you," Penguin says, and turns to Trafalgar. "Law, the Ducati rep wanted to know if you had an answer for them."

Before Trafalgar has a chance to reply, Kid blurts out, "Ducati? Why the fuck are you talking to Ducati?"

Ducati isn't one of their sponsors, and Kid's been dying to get in touch with them for months ever since he heard they were developing a new line of ultralight carbon fiber frames. Supposedly they had already sunk millions into research for it, and were keeping it all top secret for now.

Trafalgar and his manager both ignore him.

"I'll do it, but I want January," Trafalgar says.

Penguin nods knowingly. "Right, I'll get you January, no problem." Then he sniffs in Kid's general direction, with a face like he thinks someone stepped in dogshit but he's too polite to say anything, and walks off.

Prick. He'd probably pass out on the spot if he knew this particular dog was fucking his precious Trafalgar over a bench in the garage last night.

It's really amazing how that simple fact makes everything related to Trafalgar so much easier to tolerate.

"What's Ducati want?" Kid demands as soon as Penguin is out of range.

"It's for advertising, not parts," Trafalgar says, sounding entirely bored already as his gaze wanders around the room, not stopping on anyone. "You'll just have to live with the frame we have now."

What the hell did he know, fucker.

"Whatever." Kid leans in and drops his voice a notch. "So I've been wondering, how's your ass doing? Didn't seem to slow you down any today."

Trafalgar doesn't react at all to him bringing up their activities last night, only taking another sip of champagne.

Kid already knows a blush is too much to ask for, but he was kinda hoping for something, maybe a good sneer, or at least a frown. He didn't expect Trafalgar to get upset or anything, the guy always maintained a cool face in front of a crowd. He saved all his tantrums for when his fans weren't around.

"My ass is fine, despite your best efforts. Thanks for asking."

Kid grins. "Who said that was my best effort?"

Trafalgar finally puts his full attention on Kid. He looks lazy and disinterested, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction. Kid is surprised to learn that sends a little thrill through him. Man, had he really never had a civil conversation with Trafalgar long enough to notice that before?

"My mistake."

Kid can't think of something smart to say back, he's too busy trying to figure out the best way to get Trafalgar alone later without anyone realizing. It's not like he'd really mind people knowing, he can just bet it would stir up a lot of shit if it got out that they were fucking, and he'd rather avoid that during the most important races of the year.

And okay, they'd only fucked once, but he's pretty sure it'll happen again. So what if they still hated each other? Last night had been pretty fucking spectacular, Trafalgar would have to be even more petty and stubborn than Kid thought (and he already thought Trafalgar was really goddamn petty and stubborn) if he'd turn him down next time.

Before he comes up with anything to say at all though, Trafalgar is tipping back the last of his champagne and setting the empty glass down.

"See you tomorrow," he says, then waltzes away and starts mingling with some suits.

What the fuck. Did he just get snubbed? He thinks he just got snubbed. Well, fuck him too!

Kid snatches a pair of highballs off a passing server's tray, and goes to find his crew.

The only one he ends up finding is Killer. Heat and Wire fucked off half an hour ago while he was hanging around in the main room trying to get a minute with Trafalgar, and he can't really blame them. These parties served as an excuse to convince people that Trafalgar was god's gift to racing, anyone who didn't agree and wasn't there to make more money probably had somewhere better to be.

"So," Killer says once Kid joins him out on the balcony, overlooking the dark race track. "You fucked Trafalgar."

Kid swallows the drink he had just taken very carefully so he doesn't spit it out. "What are you talking about?"

Killer doesn't say anything else. He doesn't really have to, since Kid knows what he means. It's that 'who the fuck do you think you're talking to' kind of thing Killer is so good at doing.

"Alright, so what?"

Killer shrugs. "Just wondering if you'd admit it."

"Don't be an asshole," Kid says, grimacing at some undetermined point on the horizon.

"I hope it was worth it."

"It was fucking amazing. He did this thing—"

"I don't really want to know."

"Yeah but it was like—"

"Really. Don't want to know."

"God, fine."