Chapter Four

Friday – The Sit Down

It was Friday night in Monte Carlo. There were sponsorship parties to attend, most of the celebrities and famous race fans having arrived for the Friday night parties and the harbour would be alight, a hundred yachts full of people. In fact, despite his intolerance and general attitude towards parties, Heero actually would've preferred to be at one of those rather than on the roof terrace of the Fairmont Hotel for a "sit down" with his team boss and his teammate. He would've only been required to stand in front of some paparazzi for a few moments before he'd be harassed into having more photographs taken with various movie stars and company owners but it would be more tolerable than the meeting he would have to sit through.

It felt like he was being punished – being sent to the principal's office for bad behaviour and he was a twenty four year old man – not a damn child.

He wasn't surprised when he arrived to see that the roof overlooked the famous Hairpin and that the whole area had only two people sat at a table – the pool and roof terrace closed to everyone but them. It was quite incredible what you could buy with a lot of money and closing a part of one of the most famous hotels in Monte Carlo, one that overlooked the circuit, on the Friday night before qualifying was one of those things that the Winner family could afford. As he walked to the table, he noticed the bodyguards around the area, the constant security that surrounded the billionaire playboy that was the Winner Racing boss and he nodded in the direction of the large bearded man in greeting. There had been times when he'd been with the young team boss and he'd seen those bodyguards leap into action. They were quite impressive.

Duo was already there – Heero was not late, far from it, he was ten minutes early in the hope of speaking to Quatre prior to the arrival of his teammate but it seemed perhaps his teammate had the same idea as he sat at the table, water in a crystal wine glass in his hand, a t-shirt with a deep v down the front and leaning back casually in the chair. Duo had seen his arrival first, Quatre with his back to the entry of the terrace, and he gave him a small salute as greeting – he'd seen him do it before and it always felt like he was being damn mocked. It was not something he appreciated.

Quatre turned at that point and got to his feet. The blonde business man was dressed in the casual attire of the Monte Carlo rich, the pressed chinos and striped shirt and he offered his hand in greeting. He looked young, always did, despite being Heero's own age and it sometimes made him seem like he was playing the role of a rich powerful man – his clothes perfect, his security staff visible and his appearance refined but still, he was not quite convincing.

"Ah, Heero, glad you could make it. Take a seat…"

He gestured towards a wrought iron chair but it was a pointless gesture. There were three seats and his chair was next to Duo's. It had obviously been set up to get them into close proximity to each other.

The table was set with some food, fruit and appetisers but Heero opted for the same option as Duo, pouring water into glass as the team owner drank wine. The diet of a Formula 1 driver was as controlled as any sportsman and the heavy carbohydrate and protein based meals were selected by team nutritionists and on a race weekend Heero ate regular meals containing the required level of calories to compensate for the intense situations his body went through and nothing else.

"I am concerned," Quatre began, his voice calm as he took a sip of wine and then returned the glass to the table so that he could sit back in his chair and look between his two drivers with very blue eyes. "The worst outcome for the team is for you to have this… this rivalry as you are teammates. If you knock each other out, where does that leave the team?"

Heero didn't answer as he thought it was rhetorical – without any points would've been the answer -but it seemed Duo didn't think it was.

"I know we gotta think of the team… but you saw the quote."

"It was taken out of context," Heero responded, glaring at Duo through his bangs.

"Oh, so you didn't say I'd get someone killed."

"Okay, okay," Quatre said realising the potential for the words to become heated. Heero could only admire that about him. Always so damn perceptive. "I understand that the Merquise interview may have been taken out of context due to the history between you but Heero – you need to apologise for the insinuation."

He felt his mouth drop open the smallest fraction. He did not feel the need to apologise to Duo again. He'd done that before and Duo hadn't been gracious enough to accept it then – yet he supposed he had not been entirely sincere. Or at all.

"I don't need to apologise."

It took a second for Heero to recognise who was the most pissed at him – the team boss or the braided man sitting next to him as both seemed to be ready to shout something at him. Obscenities from his teammate, probably. Quatre was too damn polite for that. He coolly took a sip of water.

"Heero. Apologise. Duo is your teammate. You both are replaceable if you can't get along."

The threat was not said with much intent but there was a coldness in blue eyes that Heero suddenly didn't doubt. Winner Racing had not become the top team in Formula 1 by not being ruthless. By not poaching drivers from other teams for large contracts and big sums of money. And after all, Merquise had left Winner Racing when it became apparent he was no longer working well with the management. He'd been forced out with various rumours of his reasons. One of them was not getting along with Quatre Winner.

The young Winner heir may look naïve but Heero knew he shouldn't piss him off. Not if he wanted to retain his contract, his place as number one driver and even his place on the team.

"I'm sorry for my comments," he said in the most neutral voice he could manage. Monotone even.

"I accept your apology," Duo answered.

His tone was oddly formal and it felt stilted but it seemed to satisfy Quatre. Which was enough. He went through more reprimands, threatening both drivers with docked wages and fines if they continued to act in an "un-sportsman-like" manner and finally, once his glass of wine was finished, explained he had to attend a sponsorship event for Red Bull – one of the main sponsors of the team – and he would leave them to discuss their problems with each other.

He left with a warning, pointing at both of them. "Sort this shit out. Tomorrow you are going to act like perfect teammates. Understand?"

"Understood, boss," Duo replied with barely concealed sarcasm and Heero only grunted as Quatre departed, his security team following him.

With Quatre gone, Heero turned his cool gaze towards the streets of Monte Carlo below and the circuit that they would be qualifying on tomorrow, trying not to look at Duo.

"We could just fuck, ya know."

Heero felt his glare soften, his lips open slightly and for a second he wondered if he'd heard the words correctly. He turned to look at his teammate. It had been said very casually – Duo was leaning back on the chair, his head looking up at the night sky and his hand lazily draping over the back of his seat.

"But ya know, fucking ain't the best idea since we've both gotta race and I'm so not gonna blow ya like some Victoria Secret chick. So yeah, maybe we jerk each other off or somethin'. Unless ya wanna blow me but I figure you really ain't that kinda guy…"

The words made sense in terms of what they were but it took a second for Heero to figure exactly what was being offered and for those moments, he assumed it was a joke. A joke at his damn expense. He'd done that before. And sure as fuck he was not going to be mocked.

"You're joking."

Duo looked at him from the corner of his eye and then moved so he was leaning forward, his eyes bright against the night light and his mouth quirked in that confident smirk.

"I'm not pissing you around, Yuy. I know you were banging your engineer, I mean, fuck, everyone did as you ain't that clever… so I guess your interest swings both ways and I suck dick so let's admit there's this little hint of attraction in the rivalry thing and fuck it out of our systems and then we can get on with hating each other, huh?"

"I'm not interested in you," he said, trying to make his voice level and calm. "I don't even like you."

"Oh, Heero. You ain't one of those people. Fuck, I don't like you but you have a hot body and I saw your dick and yeah, your whole intense shit is a turn on and you totally keep checking me out."

"I don't."

Heero got to his feet quickly, the chair making a scraping noise as he did and every word Duo was saying was persuasive and something he wanted but fuck, it was a race weekend. It was Monaco. It was qualifying tomorrow and whatever he was suggesting was just as reckless as his driving style.

This wasn't the way they were supposed to "sort this shit out" as Quatre Winner had told them to. It didn't mean there wasn't some temptation there but Duo was his teammate, his rival, he hated Duo Maxwell, didn't he?

Duo stood up, his movement oddly graceful and laconic, lazy even and he stepped closer – the closest they'd been since Heero had pinned him up against the wall of the bathroom after his aborted blowjob. He had that look on his face still, the way his lips just curved upwards and Heero didn't want to kiss those lips – had no desire for an emotional connection – but he couldn't help his eyes drifting down his body, to the way that the t-shirt was tight and the v neck showed firm pectoral muscles, a hint of ink, and he was curious about Duo's body and how he felt, how his skin felt – and it was bringing with it a reaction in his groin. Fuck.

"Okay, if you really ain't interested, I get it but I guess another part of you is," Duo said, his voice lower and it was then his hand had breached Heero's personal space and his palm drifted over his crotch – a quick touch that seemed just like he'd imagined. "Specifically, your dick is interested so let's not pretend we don't want to fuck and do something about it instead."

Words had never been Heero's thing – that was why he was so disliked by journalists and the team. That he was characterised as sullen and uncommunicative so he didn't respond and he only raised his hand to Duo's chest in some kind of defensive motion to push him away. There was no force behind that motion, no attempt to actually push him away and all it had achieved was putting his hand in contact with hot skin and thin fabric. Fuck.

"You're hard for me just from talkin' about this… you're seriously gonna pretend you don't want me to jerk you off?"

"We're teammates."

"Yeah, and you were fucking your engineer." He chuckled and leaned forward and Heero felt warm breath near his ear. "Let's not talk about what's allowed and the rules… after all, we're just 'working shit out' and if that's with your dick in my hand, that ain't a problem to me."

Heero couldn't help the gasp leaving his lips as Duo's hand was on his cock through the material of his Prada pants and this time it wasn't teasing – it was a firm grip and it sent a spark of arousal up his spine.

"Come on, 'Ro, what do you want?" A tongue ran up the side of his face and then he moved back so Heero could see the teasing look in blue eyes and he answered by moving his hand down Duo's chest, over fabric until he found a bulge in tight designer jeans.

"You."

"Yeah and how do you want me?"

His answer came out breathy as another hand joined the first and he could feel the belt being undone, the zipper being pulled down and it was a far more erotic experience than the Victoria Secret model in the bathroom of the yacht. She'd needed to work to get him hard – Duo just needed to suggest fucking and he was as eager as a fifteen year old virgin who'd not been touched before. It was pathetic really. But he was close enough to smell and there was a hint of sweat, hint of some cologne – probably the one he'd been paid to advertise – and something undefinable but masculine. It was difficult to deny anything at that particular moment even though they were on the terrace of the Fairmont, it was the day before qualifying and they'd both just been reprimanded by their boss.

"I'd want you on your on your knees."

"You'd want me to suck you off? Have your big cock in my mouth?"

"Fuck yeah," he said, it coming out through gritted teeth at the touch of hand on his dick uninhibited by anything.

His own reciprocated, finding a matching hardness in tight jeans and Duo's head went to his shoulder. He felt a sweaty forehead, hot breath and a hitch in his breath as he ran his fingers along the hard cock in his hand.

"Ahh… fuck…" he heard the muffled words against the collar of his shirt at his first exploratory touches, light and teasing but he knew his own level of articulation was not going to be that good as Duo's hand created a fist around his cock, the roughness and callousness of the touch, the hard tugs being more of a turn on than Heero would have anticipated. A hand job really wasn't meant to be this damn erotic.

"You want to fuck my mouth?"

"I want to fuck you."

He heard the husky chuckle and then it turned into a low pant. "Yeah I bet you fucking do… you'd wanna have me all submissive and shit… begging you to fuck me…" Duo said, his words interrupted by hitches in breath as Heero jerked him off. "Fuck… keep doing that."

His hand was now wrapped firmly around Duo's hard dick, his thumb had slid over the slit, collecting some moisture there before building up a steady rhythm that replicated his own masturbation technique and he heard the small moans and he tried not to make the same noises – not wanting to show just how good it felt.

It was hard not too as Duo panted against his shirt, the moisture of his breath through fabric and he felt himself unconsciously thrusting into the fist, replicating what he wanted to do Duo, his body, knowing that he wanted to pound into him, fuck him, use him, and then forget about the encounter. The hand wasn't an adequate substitution for sex but it sure as hell was working, his own hand faltering as he felt orgasm approach.

"You wanna come? You wanna come inside me?"

Fuck he did. He wanted Duo on his hands and knees in front of him, using that braid as some kind of leash as he moved against him – or damn, he'd take him on his back, biting down on his neck as he fucked him or even the image of him riding his dick, moving above him roughly was enough of a fantasy. Better than the idea of the blowjob, better than the hand job and he didn't need to answer the fact he wanted to come as he felt a hand reach to fondle his balls, a final few thrusts against Duo's palm and fingers providing enough stimulation to bring him to completion against both sets of clothes, a grunt his only vocal indication.

His head fell forward as he came, his grip loosened but then he remembered that this was meant to be mutual and regained enough composure to continue his own ministrations even as the last moments of orgasm shuddered through him.

"Fuck…" he heard Duo whisper, his breath hitching again, and he felt stickiness against his fingers, his clothing, the warm cum seeping through his own pants and joining his that had already begun to dry in the night air.

They stood together, Duo's head on his shoulder, Heero's head leaning against it, until they both had enough mental acuity to remember that they hated each other and Heero stepped away, turning his body, shielding himself as he looked and saw the inevitable stains on expensive Prada clothing as he tucked himself back into his pants, far too damn sticky, and attempted to wipe his hands against the fabric. He heard Duo laugh.

"I just jerked you off and you're hiding you're dick now? Ya gotta be kidding me…"

"Fuck you," he replied.

"Huh. Kinda thought we established you wanted to do that earlier."

He turned fully back to the other man, the similar stains on his jeans but Duo didn't seem annoyed at that. Or the situation in general. It now felt like a fucking mistake as he'd let him in – shouldn't have said his desire to fuck him and this certainly was not the way he wanted to "sort shit out." Maybe Duo could brush it off – he was casual, he was the one who made jokes and this could be just something he'd tell his race engineer and the pit crew.

"This never happened."

Duo just smirked and reached for a leather jacket that hung on the back of chair and slung it over his shoulder.

"Yeah, it never happened," he said and then winked before walking away. Heero watched for a moment as he did, how Duo did that slight swagger thing now. He wondered if he did it consciously or whether he did it purely for the damn tease but whatever, Heero grunted and turned to the edge of the terrace, leaned against it and looked down to the track.

There was a slight breeze on the night air and he felt it ruffle through his bangs gently and tried to close down, breathe deeply and focus but the techniques he'd learnt slipped through his fingers. That he was meant to be the "Bad Boy," the "Ice Man," he was not meant to even like Duo Maxwell but then… there was something about the way he felt against his skin, the way his hot breath had felt through fabric… how those words, crude as they were, had made him feel more alive than he'd been with any other sexual partner. Not even Trowa had elicited any of those responses and they'd been very compatible sexually.

"Fuck," he swore to no one.

And fuck it was as the whole encounter had not done what Duo had promised – it didn't fuck the tension out of his system, even the high of orgasm had quickly faded as he realised that the encounter had not satiated his desire for his teammate. It only made Heero want him more.