Chapter Two

Thursday – Sponsor Party

The red carpet that led up to the yacht had a line of flashbulbs along it and Heero awkwardly stood for a moment to allow them to take the relevant pictures. He'd not discussed his interview yet with the team but he knew Merquise wouldn't hold onto that quote for long. It would be the headline of the weekend. The big story had been his father's legacy and the twenty-five years since his first race win and the poignancy of his father's passing last year. Now it wouldn't be.

For a second, he wished that he still had a woman on his arm despite the complications that arose from his various sexual conquests. He thought briefly about Sylvia "the granddaughter of the CEO of Formula 1 Management" Noventa and how she always used to stand next to him on the red carpet in the correct way, her long shimmering dresses and her jewellery distracting the press from his own appearance. He was dressed in the slate grey suit that Prada provided him with but felt uncomfortable in it despite not wearing a tie in the stifling night-time heat of Monte Carlo. The flashbulbs done with him, Heero walked up the gangplank to the yacht to be confronted by half dressed women wearing clothing encrusted with faux diamonds. Or real diamonds. This was the Cartier party after all and he was led onto the deck of the yacht where the party was in full swing, celebrities and wannabe celebrities vying for attention as a rapper performed on a makeshift stage and champagne was handed out by the women wearing the diamonds.

Walking through the party made Heero regret having to attend these events and it was not helped when he looked over to see Duo Maxwell standing near the bar area, lazily leaning against it and talking to a young model wearing a dress with a deep v at the front who was listening to his every word as if he were god. It made Heero angry. He knew Duo would attend the Cartier party. That he was obligated just as Heero was. Cartier was not his personal sponsor, unlike Oakley's or Prada, they were a team sponsor and meant that both drivers had an obligation. And while Heero's example of Cartier jewellery was the platinum dog tags that hung round his neck on a thin chain, Duo had obviously picked the famous jewellers most expensive and obnoxious piece – a large cross encrusted with diamonds and some red jewels – rubies he guessed. It was pretty damn ugly and ostentatious and noticeable as Duo didn't wear a suit, only a black shirt and dress pants, the shirt with the sleeves rolled up and far too many buttons undone, showing more than a hint of pectoral muscles, tanned skin and a trace of black ink.

He was already pissed at him from earlier today. After Merquise's interview, Heero had visited the garage to see his car being worked on by multiple mechanics. He greeted Trowa Barton, his race engineer, as he arrived with a simple nod as he stood with a tablet in his hand and noise deadening headphones around his neck currently not required as the engine was not being tested. Trowa, just as Heero, wore his team shirt, the sponsors covering him, and was flicking through data as the mechanics worked.

A Formula 1 car was a thing of aerodynamic beauty – low to the ground, light weight and stream lined. Heero walked over and touched the body of his machine, running his fingers over the bodywork in admiration. The car was black, white and yellow – the colours of Winner Racing and the number on the front said 11. He'd had a number 1 on the front of the car last season – before the crash and his broken ankle that required intensive physio and took him out for the rest of the season. Thankfully, he had earned enough points to ensure that he didn't end up too far down the Driver's Championship table but it still irked him that a perfect season had been fucked over by his rivalry with Zechs Merquise. Though he supposed Zechs had more reason to hate him. After all, his injuries – the plates in his back – meant that he could never drive again. Heero may have needed time to heal, time to train in altitude in Switzerland and recover but he'd returned to the car in winter testing and had been having a decent season – up until Spain and Duo fucked him over.

Trowa was probably the best race engineer Heero could ask for. It was hell to have someone loud in the earpiece as he drove around the circuit. Trowa's role was to monitor all the data that came from Heero's car, that came from the track and the weather and he monitored every other driver and was the one who relayed team orders and monitored what strategy Duo's own race engineer was implementing with him. It was a complex job, it required an analytical and calm mind and Trowa was every one of those things. He sat on the pit wall, his voice the only link to the outside world as Heero focused on the circuit, each turn, the G-forces on his body and the extreme level of focus required not to crash a V8 engine going at over a hundred kilometres per hour.

"We're nearly finished set up," Trowa said simply not looking up from the tablet. "You want to check the cockpit?"

"Yeah."

Trowa did not need to tell the mechanics working on the car to leave the vehicle alone – they had seen enough of Heero to know the moments to move away and they decided this was one of them. They'd continued the tests once he was no longer in the garage.

In order to get into the cockpit, Heero removed the steering wheel and then climbed into it, sitting down into the seat before securing the wheel back in place and taking a deep breath. He wouldn't drive the car until tomorrow, until free practice, but as he sat in the car he suddenly felt a calm that he couldn't replicate in any other part of his life. There was no other sensation he preferred than being behind the wheel, the feel of control, the feel of being the only one capable of pushing a car that hard and the not knowing where he ended and the machine began… it was what he lived for.

No adrenaline rush, no sex whether with a man or a woman, no other thing in the world compared and he was sure nothing ever would. His mood, black from the Merquise interview, was considerably improved as he sat in the car and then the one thing that would darken his mood again happened. Duo Maxwell, walking into the garage as though he owned the damn place. He wore the same team sponsor shirt as Heero, the only difference being that he opted for the black version rather than the white to go with his camouflage shorts – he even wore the black Pirelli baseball cap that Heero tended to avoid wearing unless necessary.

He hoped that Duo'd ignore him and go to his own car situated at the other side of the garage as they had not seen each other since Spain. They'd both been to testing at Winner Racing Headquarters – both been for physicals – but Heero had asked his Personal Assistant to ensure his were arranged so that he didn't have to see Duo and potentially punch him in the face. Yeah, he'd apologised before they'd left Spain but he knew Duo hadn't accepted his apology and Heero had every intention of not repeating it.

"How's it hanging 'Ro? Ready to be out qualified on Saturday?"

Heero glared out of the cockpit of his car at the cocky comment and was tempted to get out and do what he'd intended to do at the garage in Spain before he'd been pulled off him by Trowa. He could see Trowa look up from the tablet but Duo just laughed and walked to his own side of the garage, giving him a little salute as he passed. Heero just gritted his teeth, removed his steering wheel and hopped out of the car.

"Heero," Trowa said, "he's just trying to get in your head."

Fuck, he knew that but somehow he'd succeeded. Succeeded every time since they'd become teammates – that smirk, that voice – the way he seemed to swagger into Formula 1 without any damn hardship. That it wasn't like Heero's own journey – not full of expectation and knockbacks and his father beside him pressuring him every step of the way. At least until he died.

"I know, damn it," he replied – his jaw clenched and he felt the brush of Trowa's hand on his shoulder and looked up at his race engineer.

In hindsight, it was a shame they were no longer casually fucking as Trowa had been someone that the whole experience was easy with. It wasn't complicated like when he'd dated Sylvia and wrapped up in events and looking the right way. But then, Trowa was his race engineer and if they'd been found out Heero was damn sure that Trowa would've lost his job. Heero might have been reprimanded and fined for the encounters but Trowa would've been fired under a storm cloud and he couldn't do that to someone he relied on so heavily.

"Don't let him," Trowa said quietly. "We've done the upgrades to the car – you got the upgrades to DRS this weekend. He's not getting them until next race."

The DRS – Drag Reduction System – had been a little problematic in both Winner Racing cars and the upgrade meant that Heero's car would be able to overtake more readily than Duo's. 'Least he was still the number one driver and got the first pick of the new technology.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem, Heero."

Heero hadn't been sure what he'd been thanking Trowa for – whether for the alterations on the car or his composure and ability to get him to calm the fuck down but now that he was at the party, those feelings had returned.

Seeing Duo on the yacht brought back that irritation – those snide comments, that smirk and that devil may care attitude. And when Duo turned, he pointed in his direction with his hand like a gun, cocking it and pulling it in an imitation of firing it with a wink and it irritated him even more. He could not drink at the party being that he was driving a Formula 1 car in the morning but he felt like claiming a glass of the passing champagne to relieve some of the tension.

"You look tense," a female voice said.

Heero turned to the woman who had sidled up beside him and looked her up and down critically. Her hair was long, far too long and platinum and he knew he'd seen her somewhere before. Her skin was pale, her eyes a strange colour and she had distinctive eyebrows that were vaguely memorable. She wore a dress that seemed to defy all logic – tight fitting, pushing breasts up and out, accentuating her curves and she gave him a small half smile cocking her head.

"You don't remember me?" she asked.

"Should I?"

He wasn't attempting to be rude but he was distracted looking over at Duo who had made some comment or joke that resulted in the model next to him to laughing hysterically and as their eyes flashed, meeting across the deck, Heero had the suspicious feeling that the joke may have been about him.

"Dorothy Catalonia…" she said, offering her hand in some weird tradition that seemed obsolete. He took it, feeling the softness of her skin before she returned it to holding her champagne flute with both hands. "We met backstage at the Victoria Secret Fashion show… I wasn't wearing very much at the time."

"I remember," he replied – suddenly able to locate the memory now that he'd turned his gaze over to her rather than looking at Duo.

"I know under usual circumstances you'd get drunk," she said, her mouth suddenly close to his ear so that she could speaker quieter. "But I could suggest another way of releasing that… tension…"

The tone of her voice was one Heero had heard plenty of times during his career – he was not one of the richest sportsmen in the world to go without being constantly propositioned by models, actresses and the latest pop sensation but he rarely indulged in the offers he received. Heero was sure as hell no virgin and certainly had a long list of conquests of both sexes but during a race weekend he was meant to be focused. However, he glanced over to see Duo again and only nodded in response to Dorothy.

She raised one of her distinctive eyebrows and then put her own glass of champagne on a passing tray held by one of the many waitresses that passed. She began to walk away, the sway of her hips exaggerated by the large black heels, the red soles defining them as a designer brand that Heero had seen before on women but did not know which they were. Seeing that he hadn't moved, she turned around and mouthed the word "coming" and he looked one more time to Duo before following her.

Dorothy knew more about the yacht than Heero did as she led him to a bathroom that was panelled in shining wood, a large mirror above a sink, and she pressed him up against the counter, rubbing against him in a manner that was meant to be sensual and arousing. It wasn't working, he still felt the tension and the angry feeling in his gut at Duo… at his blue eyes, at the way he smirked, at the way he had to wear a shirt that revealed a lot of damn skin.

She moved to kiss him and Heero moved his face to the side to avoid the move.

"No kissing," he said, simply.

"Wow… we really are the bad boy, aren't we?" she said teasingly. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can use other methods…"

A hand was at his crotch, caressing through the material of the Prada pants, the pressure there feeling better and he closed his eyes, leaned his head back a little as she continued the rubbing with her palm. Her mouth didn't try to get near his lips, instead, they were on his throat, licking and suckling at a patch of flesh. At least he wore a race suit. There would not be any sign of a hickey. He'd wear the polo shirt for press – keep the collar up in case the small mark on his throat would cause some sensational stories about his sex life.

"There," she said, satisfaction in her tone as he was now nearly fully hard under her determined touch.

Heero opened his eyes to watch the next part. She began to undo his belt, reach for the button and carefully pull down the zipper – if he was a cruder guy he might've commented about her knowledge and her care at her task but he didn't.

Instead, he watched as her hand touched him through the thin material of boxer briefs, the Calvin Klein's he'd been provided with after being persuaded to do the only underwear modelling shoot he'd ever do. The shots weren't bad, the shoot had been largely painless, a lot of looking off into the distance and holding particular poses that showed off the body he had attained by years of work and maintained by hours of work in the gym and altitude running and resistance swimming.

"My, my… someone is very tense."

Heero growled. The talk was not helping and he really wanted to tell her to get on with the damn blowjob but then it probably was not the best thing to get angry at the chick that was about to suck his dick. She gave him what he guessed was meant to be a sensual smile and a wink before she rubbed herself down his body and settled down on her knees in front of him, sweeping that ridiculous long hair to the side in order to better see the task she was about to accomplish.

Her fingers teased over the fabric and then went to the waistband of the briefs, her mouth close enough to his erection that he could feel the moist heat but not quite…

He closed his eyes as she delved further into his underwear, one hand pushing the cotton down and the other reaching for his cock, bringing it straight out in front of her mouth. He felt the stands of her hair as she moved forward and it made him think of Duo and why the fuck he had long hair. It didn't make sense to have that braid as a Formula 1 driver, it had to be damn difficult to get under the helmet and the balaclava they wore to protect their vision and absorb some of the excessive sweat and he realised it was a pretty damn awkward moment to be thinking about his teammate. Here he was, a Victoria Secret model about to give him head and he was thinking about his hated rival.

It was truly fucked.

But then there was a part of him that couldn't damn help it as he felt the first contact of lips, of tongue. He knew he was more attracted to men than women – that he slept with women, he'd had girlfriends and tended to make sure he was seen with women in order to maintain his public profile and his vast sponsorship revenues – but there was something about fucking men he preferred. Even being blown by a guy was a more exhilarating experience – all about power and submission. And he could admit, at the very least, that Duo was very attractive man. He'd seen those billboards for some cologne brand – Waterfall by some fucking designer – where he'd clearly been naked or intended to be, his back to the camera, his body half submerged in water but enough hint of the small of his back leading to what he guessed would be a firm ass, the braid snaking down his back and into the water.

And it was a bad thought – but one he couldn't help – that maybe if Duo was blowing him then he'd at least stop with the smack talk and the sarcastic comments and at that idea, he unconsciously moved his hips forward, encouraging the woman on her knees.

He felt Dorothy lean further forward, her mouth opening and then stopped with the sound of the door being thrown wide, clattering against the wall, the noise loud in the small confines of the wood panelled bathroom.

Heero opened his eyes and realised their damn mistake as in his haste to get sucked off, he'd not contemplated locking the door and now he could only glare at the person who'd interrupted this moment.

"Well, well, well… I thought you were all too intense for a blowjob on a race weekend but damn… I was fucking wrong. You are human after all, Yuy."

"Get the fuck out, Maxwell."

Duo only smirked in response, his eyes drifting down to where Dorothy was now swiping the back of her hand over her lips as demurely as possible. Heero wasn't embarrassed as he could figure out where Duo's eyes were looking – he only he glared at the doorway.

"Naw, I don't think so… hot shot. Tell your Victoria Secret chick to get the fuck out. I need to talk to you buddy boy and well, if this is what I interrupted then it just kinda makes my day."

If Heero wasn't embarrassed about the scene, tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and suit pants, then Dorothy apparently was a little more perturbed, getting to her feet and giving him a small coy smile before walking past Duo who was leaning against the doorframe casually, a glint in his eyes that suggested his amusement at the whole situation.

Once she was gone, he closed the door and stepped closer, obvious anger replacing the humour.

"You said I'd getsomeone fucking killed, asshole."

Heero sighed and rolled his eyes dismissively. So it had already gotten out. "You drive too recklessly."

"Like fuck I do! Oh… and you're so perfect Mr-My-Daddy-was-Five-Times-World-Champion. Like you didn't fuck Merquise over last season…"

"That was an accident. I wasn't driving recklessly."

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ… I've seen the tapes. You should've given way. And you gave me shit for Spain… you're just so damn hypocritical."

His voice trailed away at the end and Heero just folded his arms across his chest in defiance, glaring at him from below his bangs.

"Well, fuck you, Yuy. This weekend I'm gonna beat your ass on the fucking track and do whatever it damn well takes."

"You haven't got the DRS upgrade."

Duo laughed at him and then raised one eyebrow. "Really? You're race engineer tell you that? Damn, maybe you need to ask the boss because as far as I'm concerned – we both got the upgrade. Seems Winner wants us both on the podium."

"You're lying," he answered, coolly.

"Hey, one thing you gotta know about me… I don't lie. So suck it, Yuy."

Maybe it was the snide way he said his name or the anger at the team potentially fucking him over – despite all the conversations he'd had Quatre Winner confirming that in no uncertain terms, he was still the lead driver – that made him go over the edge but then he did have his hands around Duo's throat and pushed him against the wooden panelling of the wall. He felt how hot Duo's skin was, his pulse underneath his fingers and the fact that their faces were very close together and he realised this was the first time they'd actually touched beyond a few handshakes and that moment he'd pushed him against the wall of the garage in Spain, not feeling anything through his race suit.

And those errant thoughts from earlier filled his mind – this close he imagined how hot his mouth was, imagined for some reason that kissing him would taste like cinnamon or something and the erection that had died down in the heat of the argument threatened to make a reappearance until Duo pushed him back, using both palms against his chest with enough force to dislodge him.

"Jesus fuck – you are crazy," Duo said, rubbing at his throat for a moment before looking up at him, his eyes pure rage. "As much as I'd like to kick your ass right now… I'll do it on the motherfucking circuit."

"You have no chance," he said.

Duo made his move to leave the wood panelled bathroom, flipping him the bird as he did. "Adios, asshole. See you on the track."

Heero left the party only moments later, splashing water on his face in the bathroom before slipping out without seeing Dorothy again. He really didn't feel like resuming their earlier activities – at least not with her. Once he arrived back at his hotel suite, he looked out for a second at the lights of Monte Carlo and then glanced down to the circuit feeling the frustration and anger of the day. Trowa was right, he reasoned, Duo was just trying to get into his head but it didn't really help matters as he was in his head whatever he did.

He'd stripped out of the suit and then contemplated showering but decided instead to just slide into the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets and go to sleep. He tried his usual techniques, all those things he'd learnt from sports psychologists but he couldn't drift off as his mind wandered to Duo Maxwell and the way his skin had felt under his fingers and how he'd looked as they argued. It had been passionate and pissed and fiery and everything that Heero was. In a weird way, it had been looking at a distorted circus mirror.

His mind wandered, his hand following as he remembered the lips on his dick and this time entirely not thinking of the Victoria Secret model who had been going to suck him off and instead, he let himself purely think of it being Duo. He'd wrap his hand around that stupid long braid and use it to let him know what he wanted, his mind conjuring up the image of him on his knees and smirking up at him in that smug way he'd seen too many damn times. And Heero wrapped his hand around his cock firmly, already hard, imagining thrusting his hips into that mouth that taunted him, laughed at him, argued with him and having Duo submit. He knew it was a fucked erotic fantasy as he knew his teammate was stubborn and unwilling – not even sure if he had any inclination towards men as he tended to be surrounded by female models – but it didn't matter as his hand fisted his cock and he came against the expensive sheets, feeling the immediate satisfaction of sexual release only to be followed by the moment of guilt at jacking off over his teammate and rival.