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The Big Bad Wolf

KINKTOBER - DAY 7 - Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Soft Dom, Top!Isack, Bottom!Liam

Isack Hadjar/Liam Lawson - Really Fluffy Smut Rating: Explicit Length: ~16.7k ao3 link

Sunday, April 6, 2025

Isack would’ve done pretty much anything to stop Liam getting stuck in his own head.

Suzuka had been shit. Proper shit.

Everywhere Liam went, it was the same look. People smiled tightly, tilting their heads sadly at him, eyes pitying and too careful. No one knew what the hell to do with him. Everyone looked at him like he might crack if they chose the wrong word.

What could you say to a bloke who got demoted after two races?

Two weekends. Two bloody weekends. Didn’t exactly rock up and set the world on fire, so boom, back down to Racing Bulls. Cheers.

It wasn’t like he’d binned it twice. He hadn’t qualified last by half a second. The RB21 was a dog of a car anyway—twitchy as hell, no rear when he needed it, and chewing through tyres like it was personal. Half the time he felt like he was wrestling the thing more than driving it.

What he really didn’t have was ten mil in his back pocket, and Honda had made it pretty clear who they’d prefer in his place. When the car’s a shitbox and the budget’s looking thin, suddenly performance isn’t the only metric, is it?

Red Bull needed every spare bit of cash they could scrape together at that point. Everyone knew it. No one said it out loud, obviously—but you’d have to be thick not to see how it lined up.

Even Max hadn’t agreed with it. And Max didn’t exactly go out of his way to defend people. If he thought something was fair, he’d say so. If he thought it was rubbish, he’d say that too. That should’ve made Liam feel better. It just made the whole thing feel political.

Being off the pace was one thing. At least if he was slow, it was his fault. And at this point he’d rather be slower on merit than shoved around like that.

He’d told himself he didn’t care, repeating it enough times it nearly sounded believable. But he did care. Of course he bloody cared. And he couldn’t handle everyone else caring too. That was worse.

Red Bull didn’t exactly cuddle their rookies, did they? They’d all seen how that went. Out of the four of them, only Max could sleep easy about next year. The rest of them? Yeah. Nah.

The team tried, he’d give them that. Stocked up his favourite snacks, kept media pretty tame. They didn’t throw him to the wolves. Everyone still acted like if they moved slowly enough around him he wouldn’t shatter.

And then there was Isack. Bro did not believe in personal space. He was just… there, constantly. Next to Liam in the garage, in the debrief, flopped on the couch in Liam’s driver’s room like he paid rent. Talking absolute rubbish about the car, about something he saw on TikTok, blasting whatever insane French rap he was into that week. Way too loud. Zero chill.

It didn’t matter that Liam could barely string a sentence together that first weekend. Didn’t matter that he was about one sideways comment away from telling everyone to get stuffed. Isack just bulldozed straight through it.

Liam would try to disappear after practice and Isack would barge in anyway, dump his Switch on the table and declare, “FIFA. Now.” Like it was non-negotiable. And then he’d absolutely rinse him, no mercy, laughing his arse off while he pummeled Liam, 4–0.

But Liam wasn’t stupid. He’d worked it out eventually. Isack wasn’t just being annoying for fun.

Well. Not just for fun.

He wouldn’t let Liam spiral. He wouldn’t let Liam sit there and feel sorry for himself. Because in Isack’s head, Liam was still a threat, still the guy he had to beat. And if Liam was a threat, then he wasn’t done. Simple as that.

Liam made Q2 in a car he’d barely had time to learn. Then he finished P17 anyway, which was about as helpful as kicking himself in the teeth.

Suzuka should have suited him.

It wasn’t a new track. It wasn’t somewhere he had to learn from scratch while the other rookies figured it out at the same time. He had raced there before, three bloody times in Super Formula. He should’ve felt comfortable the second he rolled out of the garage. He should’ve been ahead of the other rookies without even thinking about it.

Liam walked back into the motorhome and launched his helmet at the wall. He didn’t say a word, didn’t curse, didn’t scream. He just stood there, staring at the helmet rolling on the floor like it belonged to someone else.

Isack had scored his first points in Formula One.

Liam hadn’t scored a one, and he’d been the one in a Red Bull.

And then Isack just waltzed in like he owned the place.

“Mate. Don’t know what happened in here,” he said, eyeing the dent in the panel, “but maybe don’t punch the wall, yeah?”

Liam stared at him, sweat still cooling on his back. His brain wasn’t fully online. “What?”

“The walls.” Isack knocked on the panel with a resounding thunk. “Metal underneath. You will break your hand.”

Isack paused, considering. “It would be like Ricciardo all over again. Very embarrassing.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t gonna punch a wall, mate.”

Isack gave him a look. “You walk in like this?” He hunched his shoulders, did an exaggerated storm across the room. “I am thinking, ah. The wall is in danger.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Liam snapped, too wound up to decode whatever nonsense this was.

Isack ignored that completely. “You have the vibe,” he continued seriously. “Blonde hair. Blue eyes. ‘I am not here to make friends.’ Very…” He shadow-boxed at the air. “Aggressive-wall energy.”

Liam actually choked on a laugh before he could stop it. “Aggressive wall—mate, are you profiling me?”

“Yes.” Isack nodded seriously, fighting a grin. “If I ask anyone in the paddock, ‘which one punches walls?’ They say Liam. Immediately.”

“Oh, get stuffed.”

“It is science.”

“Since when have I ever punched anything?” Liam demanded. “And what’ve I got against walls, anyway? The wall didn’t even do anything to me.”

Isack’s gaze dropped meaningfully to the helmet on the floor. Liam followed it, grimacing at the pink crown. “Oh for—that’s different,” he muttered.

Isack raised one eyebrow. “The helmet didn’t do anything either,” he said mildly.

“It slipped.”

“Mate.”

“I did not—” Liam broke off, exhaling hard. “I put a bit of energy into it.”

Isack crouched, picking up the helmet delicately like it was evidence in a crime scene. He wiped the visor with his sleeve, inspecting it with exaggerated care.

“Helmet did nothing,” he said gravely.

“Yeah, well.” Liam scrubbed a hand over his face. “Neither did I, apparently.”

Isack straightened, holding the helmet out to him. “You drove fine,” he said, not joking now.

“Yeah, cheers. P17’s elite.”

“You fought the car.”

“Everyone fights the car.”

Isack didn’t argue that. “You are not allowed to punch walls,” he said firmly. “Or helmets. Or yourself.”

Liam barked a short laugh at that, even though his throat felt tight. “Bit dramatic, mate.”

“Maybe.” Isack stepped closer and pressed the helmet into Liam’s hands. “You should apologize.”

Liam squinted at him. “You’re so weird.”

“Do it.”

Liam huffed, glaring at the helmet. “Sorry, mate,” he muttered under his breath.

“Louder.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Isack grinned, triumphant, and handed it back. “See? Growth. Two friends now.”

“Two?” Liam shot back automatically.

“Me,” Isack said, tapping his own chest.

Liam snorted, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling now.

“Unless,” Isack added thoughtfully, “you plan to throw me at a wall too.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

But it felt better than standing there alone with the dent in the panel.

~~~~~

After that, they sort of fell into a thing.

No one announced it. The team would’ve shoved them together anyway into the same meetings, same sponsor nonsense, same interviews where they had to pretend they weren’t both exhausted. But even when Liam tried to ghost off on his own, Isack would clock it and just… appear like a bloody tracking device.

Sometimes they talked absolute rubbish. Sometimes they just walked in silence, boots scuffing along the paddock floor. Either way, Liam got used to the constant stream of French-accented commentary in his ear, half of it teasing, half of it completely unhelpful. He didn’t hate it, either, which was alarming.

According to Isack, Liam was a “certified wall-puncher,” the kind of guy who only knew Wonderwallon guitar, screamed like a little girl, and was “physically incapable of bench-pressing a Bull Bull.”

“That’s not even how bench pressing works,” Liam had protested.

Isack had just cackled, squeezing Liam’s bicep.

One time, mid-debrief, Isack had reached over and ruffled his hair like they were twelve. Liam had opened his mouth to complain, but the words tangled before they made out of his throat.

Stranger still, Isack was absolutely convinced Liam could do the worm. “You have the hips for it,” he’d said seriously.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is.”

It was completely ridiculous. Liam could do the worm. He just had no idea how the hell Isack knew that.

~~~~~

Sunday, April 20, 2025

In Jeddah, Liam finally out-qualified his teammate, which should’ve meant something.

It didn’t, though. Isack still turned a worse grid slot into points, clean and tidy, while Liam trundled home exactly where he’d started in P12, the racing equivalent of a shrug.

He actually caught himself feeling half-decent about the quali gap and had to shake his head.

This was where the bar was now, beating his teammate on Saturday and scoring nothing on Sunday? Unreal. Out of all the rookies, only he, Jack, and Gabi were still pointless. And he was the one who had the Red Bull seat.

Well. Racing Bulls now. Same system, same eyes on him.

He could feel the pressure, the quiet evaluation. Someone somewhere was updating a spreadsheet with his name on it. He didn’t even have to look across the paddock to picture Dr. Marko’s thin-lipped, unimpressed expression. P12 wasn’t buying him much time.

Meanwhile, Jeddah put Oscar at the top of the championship. People talked about it like it was inevitable. Part of him felt proud. He couldn’t help it.

They had come up at the same time. They were two kids from the other side of the world, flying halfway across it just to get a shot at racing in Europe. They had suffered long seasons, longer flights home for holidays, some years missing the holidays completely. They had spent the same nights wondering if any of it would actually lead somewhere.

Oscar had always been good, so calm, everyone loved to say. He was efficient in a way that made it look easy. Now he had a race-winning car under him and a championship lead to match.

People talked about Oscar like he had always been this finished product, like he had arrived in F1 already polished because he won his rookie seasons of F3 and F2. And although the Alpine mess was a proper shitshow, once Oscar got a proper seat, he was sorted, no questions asked. He didn’t have to swap in and out, waiting around for someone to get dropped.

Liam had spent Oscar’s rookie season splitting weekends, in, out, back again. He filled the gaps of a works team, proving himself in pieces.

And this year, they lumped him in with the rookies. They asked him the same questions in the same simpering tone, like he was just starting out. Didn’t they know he and Oscar were the same age? And it was Liam who had made it to F3 first, for Christ’s sake, not Oscar. Liam was who Red Bull recruited, not Oscar.

So much of motorsport was timing. That was the difference sometimes. One path lined up straight and even, and the other… didn’t.

He glanced back at the circuit screen, Oscar’s winning animation still playing on a loop.

Yeah. Good on him.

Liam shoved his hands into his pockets and pushed off the wall to head to the motorhome. It didn’t mean he was going to sit there and watch it happen.

Before debrief, he muttered, “Nice one, mate,” to Isack.

Isack, meanwhile, was practically levitating, already talking about celebrating properly. Points were points, didn’t matter how. Liam couldn’t exactly say no, not without sounding like a sore loser.

Inside the meeting room, Isack was unbearable. His fingers tapped the table erratically. Liam’s eye twitched as Isack clicked his pen. Liam almost jumped out of his skin when Isack drummed against his arm like he was checking if Liam was still alive.

Liam shot him a look, his lisp silent as he mouthed sit still.

Isack’s grin only widened, dark eyes bright.

Liam raised a brow and flicked his gaze meaningfully at the drumming fingers.

Isack followed it, pausing. Then, quick as anything, he tapped Liam’s hand and whispered with a wicked little grin, « T’es le loup. » (You’re the wolf)

Liam blinked. “…The what?” he mouthed.

“Le loup. Wolf. Tag,” Isack whispered, absurdly pleased with himself.

Liam stared at him. Why the hell were wolves involved in tiggy?

“…Wolf? Why wolf?”

Isack shrugged, eyes sparkling. « C’est comme ça. » (That’s just how it is)

“That’s not an answer,” Liam muttered, glaring, but Isack’s bouncing foot said he was delighted with himself.

Liam folded his arms and forced his attention back to the meeting, determined not to engage. If he ignored it long enough, maybe it would die.

It did not die. The second they stepped outside the motorhome, Isack waggled his eyebrows at him.

“Didn’t think you would be so generous, Seigneur Loup.”

Liam frowned. “Generous?”

Isack gestured like it was painfully obvious. “Whoever is le loup when we leave buys dinner.”

Liam stopped walking. “That was not established.”

“I have the points. I make the rules.” Isack’s shrug was infuriatingly serene.

“You can’t just invent rules after the fact,” Liam shot back. “Mate, I had that whole meeting to tag you back.”

Isack’s grin sharpened. “Exactly. So generous.”

Liam gaped at him. “That’s not how tag works.”

“It is now.”

Liam scrubbed his hands over his face, exhaling hard. “You know what? Fine. You scored. I’ll get dinner.”

Isack beamed like he’d won a championship and clapped him on the shoulder. “Très gentil, Seigneur Loup.”

“Don’t push it.”

Isack just laughed and strode off like the whole thing had been inevitable. Liam watched him go.

P12, still pointless on the season, and paying for dinner. Fucking figured.

But somehow, he wasn’t wound tight as he’d been ten minutes ago.

~~~~~

Thursday, May 1, 2025

In Miami, it was game on.

Ground rules:

All tags must be skin-to-skin. Gloves, fireproofs, or balaclavas do not count.

The word wolf/loup must be said out loud at the moment of. No silent wolves.

Discretion required. If anyone else notices, game over, last wolf loses.

Game starts when they badge into the paddock on Thursday.

Whoever is le loup at the end of the final race-day debrief buys dinner.

Five minute cooldown. No immediate tag-backs.

~~~~~

Friday, May 2, 2025

Liam was halfway into his fireproofs, one arm in, one arm out, engineers firing setup changes at him like he had spare brain capacity.

“…front flap plus one—”

“—rear balance was still—”

He nodded along, pretending he was fully present, when Isack breezed past and tapped the back of his head with two fingers. « T’es le loup, » he sang, far too cheerful for that time of day.

Liam, balaclava halfway over his face, nearly tripped over his own feet. “The fuck?” he muttered, voice muffled. Not one engineer looked up.

“Careful,” Isack said, wagging a finger like he was issuing a warning to a toddler. “Wolves don’t trip over socks.”

Liam yanked the balaclava down properly and straightened, zipping up the rest of his suit with unnecessary aggression. “You’re actually unwell,” he informed him. “You could’ve killed me.”

Isack leaned in slightly, inspecting him. “You are fine,” he said thoughtfully. “But you do look a bit wolfish.”

Liam stared at him. “I swear to God, if you do that shit in front of media—”

Isack’s grin widened. “Seigneur Loup,” he acknowledged with a tip of his chin.

Liam pointed at him. “Get out.”

Isack just laughed and wandered off toward his side of the garage, entirely pleased with himself.

~~~~~

Saturday, May 3, 2025

They climbed out of the cars still buzzing, sweat plastering their fireproofs to their backs. They escaped to the motorhome for too short a reprieve.

In the media pen, there were cameras shoved in their faces, mics swinging around like weapons, someone shouting questions in three different languages at once.

Liam got to Isack first. He clapped him on the back like any good, supportive teammate would, smiling broadly, nodding for the cameras. All very wholesome.

His hand didn’t move straight away. Instead, it slid up, casual as anything, to the back of Isack’s neck. He squeezed, not enough to hurt. “Your turn, wolfy,” he muttered under his breath, smile never slipping.

Isack froze, his shoulders locking. His grin tightened slightly at the edges before he smoothed it back out for the cameras. He couldn’t react, not here, not with a dozen lenses pointed at them.

Liam gave his shoulder one last friendly pat and stepped away, expression perfectly neutral, the picture of innocence. If anyone asked, it was textbook sportsmanship. If anyone zoomed in close enough, they might’ve caught the faint smirk tugging at the corner of Liam’s mouth.

Fair’s fair under wolf rules.

~~~~~

Sunday, May 4, 2025

They gave the game a rest during the LEGO drivers’ parade.

Hard to keep track of “tag” when you were wedged between your teammate’s thighs in a plastic brick car that barely steered and moved at the speed of regret. They were in constant contact the whole lap anyway, elbows knocking knees, Isack’s strong thighs jammed against his back every time they hit a bump. No way to count it properly.

Fans were hanging over the barricades, American flags everywhere, homemade signs wobbling in the heat, cameras flashing nonstop. Someone nearly dropped their phone into the track trying to film them.

Liam and Isack spent most of the lap being idiots, waving at the wrong grandstands, saluting fans wearing the wrong merch. They giggled, intentionally nudging the car in front, commentating dramatically on the three-kilometre-an-hour “battle” happening ahead of them like it was a last-lap shootout.

“Wheel-to-wheel,” Liam deadpanned as two cars gently bumped.

“Very dangerous,” Isack agreed solemnly.

By the time they parked up, Liam’s face actually hurt from smiling. He was still laughing when Isack leaned in close. A hand closed warm around Liam’s arm, fingers wrapping just above his elbow like he was steadying himself. But Isaak didn’t need steadying.

« Monsieur Loup, » he murmured, right by Liam’s ear.

Liam went still. It was stupid, the way the back of his neck prickled, you know, from proximity, from the heat. It was just sweat and noise and too much adrenaline.

“You’re lucky I already wrecked the car, mate,” he muttered back, barely moving his teeth. “Or I’d run you over.”

Isack’s grip tightened, amused, then he let go. He turned back to the grandstands and waved twice as hard, grin splitting his face like he’d just been handed the greatest secret in the world.

Liam exhaled slowly. He lifted his hand and waved too, expression perfectly normal.

~~~

Isack was wrecked, his fireproofs half-peeled, sweat drying stiff against his skin, with empty water bottles rolling around on the motorhome table like evidence of poor life choices.

Liam had DNFed after contact with Jack, fucking again. He didn’t even have the energy to be properly angry about it anymore.

Isack, on the other hand, was furious enough for both of them.

“I am telling you,” he was pacing now, gesturing wildly with a bottle, “Australians. So stupid. And the stewards? Blind. Completely blind.”

Liam let his head fall back against the sofa. “It’s not a conspiracy, bro,” he muttered.

“Non, it is personal,” Isack insisted, slumping onto the sofa next to him. “This is the second time!”

Which was, annoyingly, true. Liam slouched deeper into the cushions, too bummed to finish stripping off his suit. His arms felt like lead. His brain felt worse. He stared at the ceiling for a long second. Then, without even sitting up, he reached out and lazily tapped Isack’s hand with one finger.

“At least I’m not the wolf,” he mumbled.

Isack went completely still. Then he groaned like he’d just been physically wounded, pressing a cold water bottle dramatically to the back of his neck.

“You are unbelievable,” he said. “Fine. Dinner is on me.”

Liam’s grin spread slowly. He lifted both fists about three inches off his chest and gave the weakest little victory pump imaginable.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Huge win.”

“DNF and you celebrate,” Isack muttered darkly, switching to rapid French under his breath. But he was smiling.

Liam let his eyes fall shut, faintly smirking to himself. He had zero points, a broken car, but at least he’d secured dinner.

He’d take it.

~~~~~

Thursday, May 15, 2025

In Imola, the competition escalated.

Thursday was chaos with cameras everywhere, journalists packed shoulder to shoulder along the walk to the pen. It was loud and hot and impossible to move without brushing someone.

Isack dropped into a crouch out of nowhere. Liam barely registered it, assuming he was fixing a shoelace or adjusting something, and stepped past him without thinking. Featherlight fingers brushed the back of his bare calf. It wasn’t even a grab, just the faintest drag of skin against skin.

Liam jolted. His shoulders tightened. His step hitched. He had to consciously smooth his expression before anyone clocked it. Cameras were everywhere. He did not look down. He did not react.

Heat bloomed anyway, chasing up his leg like it had somewhere to be. He hated how immediate it was. He hated more how it didn’t fade straight away. By the time he reached the media pen, his pulse still felt a touch off. He got through the interview on autopilot.

When he finished, Isack was smugly leaning against the barrier like nothing had happened, watching him, totally relaxed. Liam angled toward him on the walk back. Isack darted just out of reach.

“Mate,” Liam muttered under his breath, smirking, “if I’m the wolf, I’m eating you first.”

Isack’s grin only widened. “Lucky for you,” he said smoothly, stepping backwards through the paddock crowd, “I am delicious.”

There was absolutely no reason for his face to feel as hot as it did in response. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, pretending he wasn’t acutely aware of every inch of skin Isack had brushed.

~~~

The hotel gym smelled like metal and sweat and whatever industrial wipes they used on the mats. It was quiet except for the clink of plates and the low hum of treadmills. Isack was flat on his back under a bar, bench pressing, arms shaking as he fought the bar up.

Liam paused during his set of lat pull downs. He’d known Isack was fit, obviously; they all were. But this was different.

The stringer did absolutely nothing to hide Isack’s carved shoulders, his chest broad under the fabric, arms straining as the bar dipped just slightly off centre. His veins stood out along his forearms. Liam could see how controlled his movements were, how he braced his core, how stupidly defined his abs looked under the thin fabric of the singlet.

It was… a lot. For anyone, it would’ve been impressive. For some reason, it hit Liam like a punch.

He stepped in before he could overthink it, close enough that Isack’s knee knocked lightly against his own. Liam could see the tremor in Isack’s triceps as the bar stalled.

Liam reached up, wrapping his hands over Isack’s grip to steady the weight. His grin came easily. “The crown is yours, Your Wolfness.”

Isack blew out a sharp breath, chest rising hard under the strain. “Now is not the time, Liam!”

Liam kept his hands there anyway, guiding the bar with exaggerated care. He could feel the heat coming off him. He could feel the tension in his locked wrists. “Careful, lord of the wolves,” he said solemnly. “Heavy is the head that wears the fur.”

Isack let out a strained groan and shoved through the last inch, arms locking out before he racked the bar with a metallic clang that echoed around the room. He sagged back against the bench, gulping air.

Liam didn’t move straight away. Up close, it was worse. Sweat tracked down from Isack’s temples, down the line of his neck. The flush sat high on his cheekbones. His chest was still rising hard, fabric darkened and clinging in places Liam had no business cataloguing. It was absurd, really. They all trained like this. So why was this—

“You want me to die?!” Isack panted, dragging himself upright.

Liam snapped back into himself and took a quick step away, hands up in mock reverence. “Rise, King Wolf,” he declared. “Long may you reign.”

Isack grabbed a towel and scrubbed at his face, still breathing hard. Even that was distracting, the flex in his arms, the way his shoulders rolled as he sat up, his chest heaving.

“I cannot believe this,” Isack muttered. “I have created a monster.”

Liam backed toward the door, bowing dramatically with each step. “All hail the mighty wolf.”

~~~~~

Friday, May 16, 2025

Liam was bent over his kit, shoving earplugs in and dragging his balaclava down into place. The garage was already loud with air guns whining, someone shouting about tyre temps, the thick smell of fuel and hot rubber hanging in the air.

He didn’t hear Isack come up behind him, he just felt a fingertip dragging down the shell of his exposed ear.

« Bonjour, le loup, » Isack murmured, far too close, breath ghosting against his skin.

The reaction was instant. A shiver zipped down Liam’s spine uninvited before he could clamp it down. His shoulders jerked, heel catching awkwardly on his helmet. It went skidding across the concrete with a hollow clatter.

“Fuck—” he muttered, grabbing for the workbench to steady himself.

He straightened, ripping his balaclava the rest of the way down and turning a glare on his teammate. “You’re obsessed,” he snapped under his breath. “This is harassment.”

Isack just tilted his head, infuriatingly calm, eyes bright. “Non,” he said lightly. “This is Italy.”

Liam stared at him. Isack only smiled wider.

Liam let out a long, aggravated groan loud enough to slice through the garage noise that a few mechanics glanced over.

Liam immediately busied himself retrieving his helmet, pretending he hadn’t just nearly jumped out of his skin. He could still feel the phantom trace of that fingertip long after Isack had wandered off like nothing had happened.

~~~

Between sessions, the motorhome was chaos.

Hospitality was in full swing with trays clattering, the espresso machine hissing, drivers and engineers packed shoulder to shoulder in the buffet line like it was the last meal on earth.

Liam had a plate balanced in one hand, weaving through the crowd when he sidestepped past Isack, their shoulders brushing. He didn’t break stride.

He simply tapped Isack lightly on the back of the hand as he reached past him for the salad tongs. “Wolf,” he said flatly.

Isack blinked. “Excuse me?”

Liam scooped lettuce onto his plate like they were discussing tyre pressures. Scrutinizing Isack’s shocked expression, he added, “Actually… guess you’re more like a poodle, eh?”

He replaced the tongs and moved down the line. Behind him, there was a very French noise of outrage. Liam glanced back to see Isack with his jaw slightly open, a bread roll frozen mid-air between the tray and his plate like his brain had short-circuited.

Liam nodded to himself. He walked off with his tray, fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.

~~~~~

Saturday, May 17, 2025

The garage was pure noise.

Engines rumbled to life, air guns whining. Mechanics moved in tight in choreographed bursts around both cars while a couple of team photographers hovered just outside the ropes, lenses pointed in, waiting for the perfect moments to capture.

Liam had one glove off, tugging at the lining with his teeth, one foot already braced on the cockpit step. He was properly focused, and didn’t see Isack until he felt him.

A warm hand slid through the narrow gap between them, fingers brushing deliberately over Liam’s bare ones.

« Bonsoir, Seigneur Loup, » Isack murmured, low enough that it didn’t carry.

Liam went completely still, helmet already on, visor up. He could feel the cameras less than five metres away. He turned his head slowly.

“…Not in front of the cameras, you lunatic,” he hissed.

Through the visor, his glare probably looked ridiculous.

Isack’s grin only widened before he slipped past and dropped into his own cockpit like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just wrecked Liam’s concentration.

Liam yanked his glove back on harder than necessary and climbed into the car, heart still ticking a fraction too fast.

Unbelievable.

He strapped in, visor down, trying to breathe through it. He carried it with him all the way into Q1.

~~~

After he’d rolled back in after a Q1 elimination, Liam hung around the garage, head ducked with the engineers over lap data while his mind went into overdrive preparing for tomorrow.

Isack rolled in bloody P9, engine rumbling before someone drove it to parc fermé. He removed his helmet, sweaty and smiling, and Liam couldn’t summon more than mild envy of his teammate. He was proud of Isack’s consistency, his ability to perform.

Isack peeled his gloves off, grin widening when he saw Liam, heading over to chat with the engineers before they had media. Liam flexed his fingers once, stepping in first.

He offered up a firm handshake, clapping the Frenchman on the shoulder, normal teammate optics. His hand didn’t leave straight away. Instead, he let his fingers tighten around Isack’s, but not enough to hurt.

“Wolf,” he murmured, barely moving his mouth. “Don’t trip in your interview.”

He felt the micro-freeze, the way Isack’s shoulders locked before he forced them loose again. The grin never left, but Isack’s jaw tightened just enough that Liam knew his competitiveness was showing.

“I hate you,” Isack hissed through his teeth, smile never slipping.

Liam’s mouth twitched. He gave one last friendly pat to Isack’s shoulder, all sportsmanship, nothing to see here, and turned toward the back of the garage, heading out for the waiting microphones.

~~~

Liam had just collapsed onto the narrow bed in his driver’s room, one arm flung over his eyes, when a loud knock rattled the thin door. He groaned. For a second, he considered pretending to be dead.

The knock came again. With visible reluctance, he pushed himself upright, dragged a hand through his already wrecked hair, and yanked the door open.

Isack was standing there grinning like he’d been waiting for this exact reaction. Before Liam could even speak, Isack’s hand shot forward and tapped him lightly on the cheek.

“The wolf cannot escape his destiny,” he declared.

Liam stared at him, eyes gritty, voice rough with exhaustion. “The wolf,” he said flatly, “needs a fucking nap.”

Isack laughed outright, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just ambushed a sleep-deprived man.

“Fine,” he said easily. “Nap fast. Dinner’s waiting.”

Liam narrowed his eyes. “Mate, you’re ridiculous.”

“I am hungry,” Isack whined.

Liam shook his head and shut the door firmly in his face. But not before Isack caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

~~~~~

Sunday, May 18, 2025

The race-day sun was already brutal, baking the asphalt as they walked into the paddock.

Fans were stacked three-deep against the barriers, flags waving, voices overlapping in a constant shout for autographs and selfies. Cameras tracked them step for step, lenses swinging in tight arcs whenever either of them moved.

Liam signed a cap without really looking at it. He edged closer in the crush of bodies, just enough that his shoulder brushed Isack’s. They were close enough he could make it look accidental. His fingertips tapped lightly against Isack’s arm.

“Go chase your tail,” he said flatly, pitched just low enough that it didn’t carry past the microphones. “Or whatever it is wolves do.”

Isack barked out a laugh, head tipping back like Liam had just delivered the line of the day instead of something mildly insulting. He waved even harder at the grandstands after that, grin wide, soaking it up.

Liam kept walking, expression completely neutral as he handed back a pen. If anyone asked, it looked like easy banter. Only Isack knew it had been a clean hit.

Liam didn’t bother hiding the small, satisfied smile at the corner of his mouth.

~~~

During the drivers’ parade, the flatbed truck rattled slowly around the circuit, suspension creaking as it rolled over the kerbs. Drivers lined the rails, waving stiffly at the grandstands while cameras trailed alongside, catching every awkward angle.

Liam had one hand hooked over the metal barrier, scanning the crowd without really seeing it.

Isack shifted closer. Their shoulders brushed. Then, before Liam could register it properly, Isack’s fingers slid down and curled around his beneath the railing, hidden from view.

« T’es le loup, » Isack breathed.

Liam’s brain had trouble connecting.

Isack’s hand was warm and rough in the same familiar way his own was with calloused palms, the kind they only got from years of steering wheels and barbells. For one reckless second, Liam almost tightened his grip in return.

What the fuck. They were not holding hands.

He straightened abruptly, shifting his weight and gripping the rail instead, like that had been the plan all along.

Isack pulled back just as smoothly, a grin already spreading across his face. Then he lifted his hand high and waved like he had just been crowned king.

“The wolf must wave to his people,” he announced grandly.

Liam leaned in, jaw tight, raising his own hand to the crowd so it didn’t look suspiciously absent.

“I’m waving at you to shut the fuck up,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Isack only laughed louder, basking in the cheers like they were for him personally.

Liam kept waving, smiling, while his heart beat a little too fast.

~~~

Isack finished in the points again, but at least Liam finished at all.

The motorhome had gone quiet. Mechanics moved around them, packing equipment into cases, the slow rhythm of teardown after a long weekend. Liam dropped onto the sofa, sweat still sliding down his temples, a cold bottle of water in his hand.

Isack sat beside him with his head tipped back against the cushion, eyes closed. He looked pleased with himself.

Liam leaned across as if he were reaching for another bottle. On the way past, his hand brushed over Isack’s stomach, firm under the Nomex, before tapping the back of his teammate’s far hand.

“Enjoy paying for dinner, Wolf.”

Isack opened one eye and squinted at him, a grin spreading across his face.

Liam leaned back into the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. He felt wrung out, but pleased with himself all the same.

Isack huffed a quiet laugh beside him and scrubbed a hand over his face. He cracked one eye open, squinting it at him. “You are exhausting,” he said wearily.

“Still paying,” Liam replied.

Isack shook his head, but the grin stayed.

~~~

The post-race debrief dragged on. Engineers clicked through slides while both drivers slouched in their chairs with heavy limbs and heavier eyelids. Liam rubbed his temple and tried to pay attention. His mind kept drifting back to the promise of dinner.

At last, the final slide disappeared and chairs scraped across the floor. People began gathering laptops and notebooks before heading out for the team dinner to celebrate Isack’s points.

Beside him, Isack stretched in his seat and reached out. One finger traced slowly along Liam’s thigh, just above the knee.

“Still le loup,” he murmured.

Liam groaned and dropped his head back against the chair. “Fine. Dinner’s on me. Happy?”

Isack’s grin appeared at once. It looked boyish and far too pleased with itself. “Ecstatic.”

Liam turned his head and squinted at him. “You’re like a kid who’s had too much sugar.”

Isack leaned back in his chair, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Good,” he said. “You buy dessert too.”

~~~~~

Thursday, May 22, 2025

Monaco was the crown jewel. It was the track that could make a driver’s career.

For Liam, it had only ever done the opposite. His first season in Formula 2 saw him cross the finish line ahead of Oscar only to be disqualified afterward. His second season would’ve seen him on pole if his lap time hadn’t been deleted.

Now he stood on the edge of his first Formula 1 weekend there, looking out at the tight streets and metal barriers. The memory of those earlier weekends sat in the back of his mind whether he wanted it there or not.

This time had to be different. He couldn’t afford another mistake around these walls.

The problem was that he still had Isack.

~~~~~

Friday, May 23, 2025

Friday morning, the tag game should’ve been the last thing on Liam’s mind.

The Fan Zone was packed. Stage lights burned hot against his face while the MC fired questions at them rapid-fire. A sea of Red Bull caps and flags waved below the stage.

Liam kept his smile steady and answered a question about confidence on street circuits. He had just started his next sentence when he felt a hand slip beneath the back of his jacket. Warm fingers brushed across the bare skin of his lower back.

He jolted. His breath caught against the microphone. The crowd cheered louder, taking it for nerves.

Beside him, Isack never faltered. He kept smiling and waving to the fans, playing the role perfectly. His lips barely moved when he leaned closer. “Wolf.”

Then the hand was gone. The spot it had touched still felt warm. Liam pushed through the rest of his answer while his heart beat harder than it should have. The crowd roared their approval, unaware of anything unusual.

Isack soaked up the noise beside him, smiling like he had just won something.

Liam tightened his grip on the microphone. The stage lights felt hotter than before, and he wished they weren’t pointed straight at his face.

~~~

Later that evening, after two solid practice sessions, the motorhome had grown quiet. Most of the team had already headed out for the night. The showers were running, steam drifting into the hallway.

Liam paused outside the changing area and glanced around once before shoving his hand through the narrow gap between the curtain and the wall and smacked damp bare skin.

The scream that followed was high-pitched, echoing off the tiled walls. « Merde ! »

Liam stumbled back at once, bent over with laughter, one hand braced against the wall. “You’re the wolf now,” he said between breaths. “Jesus—you’re the one who screams like a little girl!”

Water kept running behind the curtain. Liam heard movement, the rustle of someone shifting around in the stall.

Isack’s voice came through the curtain, low and furious. “You are dead, Liam.”

Liam wiped at his eyes, still laughing as he straightened up. His palm still tingled hot from the quick slap, the memory of bare skin lingering longer than he expected.

~~~~~

Saturday, May 24, 2025

The engineers packed them shoulder to shoulder in the small briefing room. Slides flicked past on the screen while someone talked through tyre strategy in a steady, tired voice.

Liam kept his eyes on the presentation. He held his pen tight and tried to focus. His mind still buzzed from qualifying. It had been the best session of his career so far. He had made Q3.

Then he felt the brush of Isack’s shoe against his ankle. He jerked and glanced down. Isack didn’t move.

A moment later the shoe nudged him again, firmer this time. Liam’s pulse kicked up. He shifted his chair and moved his leg away, trying to break the contact.

Isack’s ankle slid back under the table and settled against his again. Liam’s leg went warm where they touched.

“Stop it,” Liam muttered under his breath.

Isack kept his eyes on his notebook, scribbling with cheerful innocence. His eyes found Liam’s as he tilted his head slightly and shaped one silent word with his lips. Wolf.

Liam shoved his chair back so fast his water bottle wobbled and nearly tipped off the table.

~~~~~

Sunday, May 25, 2025

The chequered flag waved as Liam crossed the line, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

He kept the car straight and let it roll out of the corner, staring at the dash as the numbers settled. Then Ernesto came over the radio, voice crackling through the headset.

“That’s the chequered, that’s the chequered. P8, come on!”

Liam laughed into his helmet. The sound came out rough. His eyes stung as his engineer piled on the praise for his teamwork, for helping Isack finish P6. It felt like something had lifted off his shoulders as he guided the car back toward parc fermé.

And in Monaco, of all places.

He shut the engine down, unclipped the wheel, and hauled himself out of the cockpit. His arms trembled from the rush of it. Drivers crowded the lane, everyone talking at once.

Before he could even pull his helmet off, Isack pushed through the group and jogged over, grinning wide. He thumped Liam on the back hard enough to make him sway.

“Monaco points!” Isack shouted. “You see? You are not cursed!”

Liam tugged his helmet free. His hair was damp with sweat, and his cheeks already hurt from smiling. For once he ignored the cameras pointed towards them. He let Isack grab his shoulders and shake him.

Both cars in the points, their best finishes yet.

For the first time since he joined Formula 1, Liam felt like he belonged.

~~~

After showers and clean clothes, the adrenaline still running through them, they gathered in the debrief room.

Liam leaned back in his chair, hair damp, the collar of his team polo sticking to the back of his neck. The engineers worked through the usual slides and notes. This time he listened without the tight knot that usually sat in his chest. His first points of the season had come in Monaco. He’d finally added something to the tally.

Beside him, Isack could not sit still. His leg bounced under the table, the grin on his face refusing to fade. Each time the engineers mentioned Liam’s work in the race to create a pit-stop gap, Isack punched his arm, practically shoving him out of his plastic chair, grinning like a maniac.

Liam let the rookie show his forceful appreciation a few times, grinning back, eyes bashfully cast downward. Then he leaned sideways and brushed his hand across Isack’s wrist in a clear tap.

“Wolf,” he said quietly. “Your turn.”

Isack looked down at his own hands for a moment, as if Liam had handed him something valuable. “For this?” he asked. “I am honored. Drinks tonight, yes?”

Liam couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah. Drinks tonight.”

By the time the motorhome emptied into the streets of Monte Carlo, the sun had gone down and the harbour lights were bright across the water. The team gathered at a rooftop bar that overlooked the streets famously used for the circuit. Music and laughter carried through the warm night. Mechanics raised glasses with engineers. The PR staff traded jokes with the strategists. The raincloud of the sister team had lifted somewhat with the acknowledgment of Liam’s critical contribution to race strategy, and for once the whole group looked relaxed.

Isack stood in the middle of it all. His arm looped around one shoulder, then another, dragging people into a chant of “First points! First points!” until Liam wanted to hide behind the bar. When someone shoved a drink into his hand and called his name, he gave in and grinned back.

Isack found him later at the edge of the rooftop. Liam leaned against the railing with his glass in hand. Isack’s hair had fallen into a mess, his shirt hung untucked from his jeans, and his eyes were bright with pride. He bumped his shoulder against Liam’s.

« À ta santé, Monsieur Loup. » (To your health, Mister Wolf)

Liam groaned but clinked his glass begrudgingly against Isack’s. “I’m not the wolf anymore. You are.”

Isack’s grin grew wider. “Then I buy the first round. But you—” he said, tapping Liam’s chest with the rim of his glass, “you buy dessert.”

Liam laughed and tipped his head back toward the night sky, feeling entirely weightless.

~~~

Compared with the team’s relaxed celebration, the club was a riot of noise and light.

Bass rolled through the floor and up into his ribs. Neon lights flashed across the crowded dance floor, bright strips of color cutting through the dark. A smoke machine spewed somewhere near the bar, droplets catching the light before they vanished into the crowd. The air smelled of sweat, perfume, spilled liquor, and the faint bite of cigarette smoke drifting in from the terrace.

Lando stood on top of a table near the DJ booth, shirt stuck to his back, a champagne bottle raised above his head. The DJ had handed him the microphone, and he shouted into it like he owned the place. The crowd answered with a roar that shook the room.

On any other night Liam would have hated the noise, the press of bodies, the heat. Tonight it felt different. Something had loosened in his chest after the race. The tight pressure he had carried all season was gone. He could breathe.

Isack caught his wrist and pulled him straight into the crowd before Liam had time to think about it. The dance floor moved around them, people packed shoulder to shoulder. Music thumped through the speakers and through Liam’s bones. Heat rose from the mass of bodies.

Isack spun him once and then they ended up chest to chest, both laughing, both a little breathless.

Liam’s head buzzed from champagne and leftover adrenaline. His shirt clung to his back, and his throat already felt rough from shouting over the music. He kept smiling anyway.

Every time someone bumped into him or the crowd surged too hard, Isack steadied him, pressing a hand against his shoulder, closing warm fingers around his wrist. Once Isack caught him at the small of his back and held him upright while another wave of people pushed past.

Liam didn’t think much about it until that moment. All season long Isack had been there. Isack was constantly talking, joking, dragging him into things when he would have slipped away on his own. He never stopped acting like Liam belonged here even when Liam wasn’t so sure of it himself.

Isack leaned close, mouth near Liam’s ear so he could be heard over the music. “You see this?” he shouted. “They are cheering for you too.”

Liam tipped his head back and looked up into the spinning lights. The champagne helped, but that wasn’t the real reason his head felt light. He felt drunk on relief, on the noise, on the way Isack always looked at him like he was something Liam had been trying to prove all year.

Liam knew it, with every fibre of his being, that this was where he belonged. He never expected anyone else to, let alone his teammate. Something warm settled low in his belly at the thought.

~~~

They stumbled into the hotel still laughing. Their sneakers slapped against the marble floor of the lobby, the sound echoing up toward the high ceiling. Liam leaned against the wall near the lift so he could swipe his keycard. Both of them tried to shush the other and failed completely. The concierge watched them with the tight expression of someone hoping they would disappear as quickly as possible.

The lift ride felt slightly unsteady. Liam could still feel the music from the club in his chest. His ears rang faintly from the bass. His shirt smelled like sweat and champagne, and his skin still felt warm from the press of bodies on the dance floor.

Inside the room, the quiet wrapped around them. Isack dropped sideways across the bed, arms spread wide, hair damp against his forehead.

“We play FIFA,” he announced, voice muffled in the duvet. “Right now. You cannot deny me.”

Liam laughed while he tugged off his shoes. He nearly lost his balance in the process. “Mate, we’re too drunk. We’d forget which team we picked.”

Isack rolled onto his back and threw one arm across his eyes.

“Then dessert. You promised.”

Twenty minutes later they sat cross-legged on the bed with a room service tray between them. Their forks tapped against the plates while they ate. The chocolate cake was rich and heavy, leaving streaks of frosting on their lips while they kept breaking into laughter.

Isack pointed his fork at Liam. “Victory cake,” he said. “The wolf always collects his prize.”

Liam wiped chocolate from his lip with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure this is your prize. I’m just paying for it.”

Isack’s grin softened in the warm light of the bedside lamp.

“Then we both win.”

The noise from the club still lingered in Liam’s body, but here, in the warm spill of hotel light with Isack sprawled across the bed, it felt like the night had slowed just for them. Liam leaned back into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. His stomach hurt from sugar and laughter.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this much.

Isack stretched out beside him with his legs kicked toward the edge of the bed. A smear of chocolate marked the corner of his mouth. He looked ridiculous. Liam kept staring anyway.

Isack noticed with a grin, licking the chocolate away with a swipe of his tongue. “What?” he asked.

Liam shook his head, though his ears felt warm. “You’re a mess.”

Isack rolled onto his side and propped himself on an elbow. The grin returned, softer now. He reached over and brushed his thumb across Liam’s mouth.

“You are the messy one, mate.”

The touch sent a quick rush of heat through Liam’s chest. His breath snagged for a moment. Isack didn’t pull his hand away. He watched Liam with dark, bright eyes in the lamplight.

Then he leaned closer and kissed him.

The taste of chocolate and champagne lingered between them. Liam’s heart jolted like he’d clipped the inside wall at Portier, but he leaned into the kiss all the same. Isack’s hand rested against his jaw, tilting their heads until he could lick deeper into Liam’s mouth. Liam inhaled sharply, leaning into the heat pressing against him.

The room was quiet but for the wet hitch of their breaths between kisses.

Isack’s tongue teased, insistent without force. Their noses bumped until Liam leaned further in, angling for more. That was all the invitation Isack needed. He tugged at Liam’s hip, pulling him forward into his lap. Liam swung a leg easily, bracing his knees on either side of Isack’s hips, hands sliding up the solid breadth of his teammate’s chest.

Isack wrapped his arms around him, palms wide and warm against Liam’s back. Isack held him easily while their mouths met again, slow at first and then with more urgency. One of Isack’s hands moved in steady circles across his back, the touch calm and sure.

Liam’s head felt light. Champagne, sugar, and the rush of the night all blended together to make the room seem to tilt for a moment. He leaned closer without thinking, letting himself sink into the warmth of Isack’s mouth, the steady hold of his arms.

Liam pulled back for a breath. Their foreheads rested together while he looked into Isack’s dark eyes.

“Is this my prize then?” Liam asked. His voice came out rough.

Isack’s grin curved, a little wicked. “Yes. Points look good on you,” he murmured. “But you look good on me.”

Liam opened his mouth, ready with some protest or joke, but nothing came out. Isack leaned in again and kissed him before he could find the words.

The kiss grew deeper, and Isack drew him closer. Liam felt his hands at his hips, dragging him forward while Isack shifted back against the headboard for support. Liam followed the pull without thinking, letting Isack brace them with a firmer surface as the night pulled them under.

Liam groaned into his teammate’s mouth, Isack manhandling him until their hips slotted together. Liam might’ve been a little taller, but there was no doubt who was stronger.

He slid his fingers into Isack’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Isack moaned at the touch with a deep, raw sound that went straight into Liam’s bones. Hungry for more, Liam twisted his fingers tighter in the dark strands, desperate to draw that sound out again.

Isack’s hand slid lower on his hip, pulling Liam closer until there was no mistaking how much they both wanted this. They were little more than tongues and hair and heat, and just kissing like this had already left them hard against each other.

Liam rocked his hips forward experimentally, grinding into the firm ridge pressed to his jeans. Pleasure shot down his legs, and Isack all but growled.

Liam did it again, slower this time, dragging along the length of his teammate, and Isack bit down hard on his lower lip. Liam whimpered at the sharp sting, the taste of iron mingling with the sweetness still on their mouths.

Isack broke the kiss just long enough to push Liam’s hair off his forehead, eyes suddenly full of concern. “Too much?” he murmured.

Liam sucked on his sore lip, considering. He sat up straighter and slowly tipped his head back, baring his throat in offering. “…Again?” he asked softly.

Isack latched onto his neck before the word had even left his mouth. He sucked hard at a spot just above Liam’s collarbone, biting and soothing with hot strokes of his tongue. Liam gasped, hands clutching at his teammate’s shoulders.

Warm palms slid under his shirt, over the broad planes of his back. Liam wanted them everywhere, on his hips, his waist, pressed to his chest.

“Ah—you can—ah—” he tried, but Isack’s mouth working against his throat dissolved any words on his tongue.

Isack understood anyway. He peeled Liam’s shirt up, tugging it over his head quickly, lips breaking from his neck only long enough to resume on the other side.

Liam hissed as the hotel air-con blew cool against his bare skin, goosebumps rising. He didn’t care, not with Isack’s hot mouth painting his neck with hickeys, not with warm hands roaming his torso and hips grinding deeper.

He moaned at every scrape of teeth, every squeeze at his waist, every pulse of hard need against his own.

“Isack—your teeth—” he gasped.

Isack’s mouth trailed higher, along his jaw, pausing just beneath his ear. « C’est pour mieux te manger, » (The better to eat you with) he whispered, breath hot against his skin.

Liam shivered, the words crawling straight down his spine. “Stop talking like that if you want me to think straight.”

Isack smiled against his mouth at the line, then kissed him slow, once, twice, before easing him back and around by the hips until Liam’s shoulders met the pillows.

“Who said I wanted you to think straight?” he murmured, thumb still stroking along Liam’s jaw. He dipped in for one last, maddeningly gentle kiss, and then stopped. Just… stopped. The absence made Liam chase him, breath hitching.

“Not tonight,” Isack said, voice low but firm. “We are full of champagne and sugar. I want you to remember.”

Liam blinked, dazed. “You’re joking.”

Isack’s grin tilted wolfish. “Non. I am merciful.” He flopped onto the mattress beside him, then, with infuriating calm, tugged the duvet up over them both. “Also, I am sleeping here.”

“You can’t—”

“I can.” He snagged a bottle of water from the tray, pressed it into Liam’s hand, and took one for himself. “Hydrate, mon loup. Dessert is for sober nights.”

Liam gulped, throat working. “Can’t fucking believe you.”

“Mm.” Isack slid closer anyway, bracketing Liam with a warm arm at his waist, a knee hooking lazily over his thigh, close enough to burn, careful enough to be chaste. He nuzzled Liam’s temple like it was nothing. “Sleep. Victory nap.”

“That’s not a thing,” Liam muttered, utterly undone.

“It is now.” Isack’s breath brushed his hairline. “And in Barcelona, if you are very good, I will let you try to tag me again.”

Liam stared at the ceiling, pulse thundering, every inch of him alive and unsatisfied. Isack, the prick, was already settling, his hand splayed warm across Liam’s hip like a promise.

“Goodnight, Monsieur Loup,” Isack added, cheeky even in a whisper.

Liam swallowed, helpless. “’Night.”

Isack’s arm tightened, then went loose as he drifted off to sleep. The room fell quiet but for their breathing and the soft hum of the air-con, and Liam lay there flustered and wanting, pinned by a single warm hand and a future he could suddenly, finally picture. Liam’s eyes finally slipped shut, pulled under into sleep still buzzing with want.

~~~~~

Monday, May 26, 2025

Liam woke to sunlight bleeding through the hotel curtains and a headache that felt like it had taken up permanent residence behind his eyes. His mouth tasted like sugar and stale champagne. When he pushed himself upright too quickly, his stomach gave a warning lurch.

“Brilliant,” he muttered.

Beside him, Isack stretched out across the bed like a cat. His hair stuck up in every direction. His shirt sat twisted halfway up his torso. He blinked at the light once, then turned his head and grinned at Liam like this was all completely normal.

« Bonjour, mon loup, » he said cheerfully, voice still husky with sleep. “Did you dream of victory cake?”

Liam groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “Please shut up.”

But Isack was physically incapable, it seemed. He rolled out of bed, still talking, and went straight for Liam’s bag. Within seconds he had it unzipped and was digging through it like it belonged to him.

“This hotel coffee is a crime,” he said. “I think they hate us. Also, your hair—”

“Don’t,” Liam warned from under the pillow.

“—I am just saying you look like Gon!”

Liam groaned into the fabric.

“What?” Isack giggled. “It’s a compliment.”

Isack kept going. About the coffee, about the flight times, about how they needed to be downstairs in twenty minutes if Liam wanted to avoid missing the car. He moved around the room while he talked, pulling on clean clothes, tossing Liam’s shirt at him, carrying on like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, like last night had just slotted into everything else.

Liam dropped the pillow and squinted at him. “Why are you in my bag?”

“You are slow,” Isack replied. “I am helping.”

“Mate, you’re stealing my clothes.”

“They look better on me.”

“Will you get out?”

Isack just laughed.

By the time they left the room, it felt familiar again. Isack talked, filling every gap with noise. Liam walked beside him, rolling his eyes and pretending he was not listening. They were teammates, normal friends.

At the airport, Isack pulled him into a quick half-hug and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Text me when you land,” he said, like always.

“Yeah,” Liam replied.

Isack grinned, easy and open, like there was nothing to think about. Liam watched him disappear into the crowd, then turned toward his own gate. He slung his bag over his shoulder and boarded the flight back to London, jaw tight. He had three days of empty calendar ahead of him and too much noise in his head.

Isack was acting like nothing had changed. Liam wasn’t so sure that was the case.

~~~~~

Friday, May 30, 2025

Barcelona came in hot.

Liam sweated under the proper Mediterranean heat, the bright sun that flattened everything under it. There was absolutely nowhere to hide once he stepped out onto the asphalt.

Liam had spent his three days back home turning Monaco over in his head until it stopped making sense. None of it made any sense, not the kissing, not the way Isack had held him, and not the next morning, acting like it had been nothing, like it had just been part of the night along with the champagne and cake.

Now he walked back into the paddock with the crowd already loud behind the barriers and the track shimmering in the distance. Race weekends had a way of swallowing things whole. He found himself wondering if he had made half of it up.

Then he saw Isack. He stood by the garage, mid-story with a couple of engineers, hands moving as he talked. His easy grin looked the same as always, and Liam’s stomach dropped.

He adjusted the strap on his bag and kept walking. It was fine, really. They had a good weekend in Monaco. He scored points, best result of his season. So what if he kissed his teammate after too much champagne and sugar and then woke up to find him acting like it was just another part of the job?

People did stupid things after races all the time. It was fine.

Except every time Isack looked his way, Liam felt it. Every time they brushed past each other in the garage, Liam’s attention snapped to it before he could stop himself.

And Isack gave him nothing, no sly grins, no clever wolf jabs, not even a wink to suggest they were carrying around something between them. He kept up the same constant stream of talk about tyre deg and traffic and whatever French music he was into that week.

Liam shoved his hands into his pockets and stared out toward the pit lane. He hated how much it got under his skin.

~~~~~

Saturday, May 31, 2025

The weekend blurred the way they always did. Liam suffered through briefings and sponsor slots, power walking between obligations that felt the same at every circuit. He kept his head down and got through it. He told himself Monaco had been a one-off. It was just a good result, a late night, a bit of champagne and questionable decisions, nothing to read into.

He told himself he wasn’t concerned about his teammate. He wasn’t tracking where he stood in the garage, or noticing who he was talking to. He definitely wasn’t clocking every time they passed close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. By Saturday, he had stopped believing himself.

They stood crammed behind the hospitality unit before a sponsor appearance, waiting to be called out. Staff moved around them, headsets on, waving people into place. Media hovered too close. Fans shouted from behind the barriers just beyond.

Liam folded his arms and stared straight ahead. He tried to focus on the noise, the heat. Anything that was not the solid presence of Isack pressed up beside him.

Then Isack leaned in. « T’es le loup, » he said, low enough that it didn’t carry.

Liam barely had time to process it before he felt a brief press at the side of his neck. His breath caught. He turned his head quickly, but Isack was already facing forward, expression neutral, eyes on the stage entrance like nothing had happened.

The call came to move. People pressed in around them as they walked, guiding them forward. The crowd noise swelled, cameras lifting, flashing across their path. Nobody had seen, nobody knew, but Liam’s skin still felt warm where his teammate’s lips had ghosted over his throat.

In the shuffle, Isack’s hand brushed his wrist. Liam’s pulse picked up, but not out of confusion or frustration. He felt relief washing over him at the realisation that Isack hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t brushed it off or left it behind in Monaco.

Liam stepped out onto the stage as the lights hit and the crowd reacted. He kept his face steady for the cameras. Inside, he was grinning like an idiot, happy the game was still on.

~~~

The hotel was quiet when Liam got back. The city still buzzed somewhere outside, but it came through the windows as a dull hum. Inside, everything felt too still.

Liam should’ve been looking over data, or asleep. Instead he kept thinking about how Isack’s mouth felt on his neck. Every time he adjusted his collar, he felt it again.

He stood in his room for a minute, staring at nothing. Then he turned and walked straight back out. By the time he reached Isack’s door, he was already knocking. He didn’t give himself time to think about it.

“It’s open!” his teammate called from further in the room.

Isack’s door was propped open. Liam pushed it wider and found him sprawled across the carpet, legs tangled in a controller cable, completely focused on FIFA.

Liam stayed in the doorway for a second. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said.

Isack didn’t even look up. “And miss my chance to crush Marseille? Impossible.”

His thumbs kept moving.

Liam stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He folded his arms and tried to find a way into the conversation. “About earlier,” he said. “At the stage.”

That got Isack’s attention. He paused the game and glanced up, that same easy grin already in place. “What about it, mon loup?”

Liam’s throat felt tight. “You kissed me.”

Isack tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking it over. “Did I?” he said. “Maybe I was just… enthusiastic with my tags.”

Liam frowned. “It wasn’t just a tag.”

Isack pushed himself up from the floor and stepped close enough that Liam had to lift his chin to keep eye contact.

“And if it wasn’t?” Isack asked.

Liam’s heart kicked harder. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Isack watched him for a second, then his grin softened. It still looked a bit sharp at the edges. He stepped past Liam and grabbed his phone from the bed.

“Then you should be ready tomorrow, Seigneur Loup,” he said as he moved toward the door. “If I score again, maybe I’ll kiss you twice.”

Liam turned after him. “Mate—”

But Isack was already pushing him out into the hallway, closing the door shut behind him.

Liam stood there for a moment, staring at it. Then he let out a breath and dragged a hand over his face. He went back to his own room and dropped into the desk chair, elbows on his knees.

He should’ve been annoyed. He should’ve been more than annoyed. Instead he sat there, thinking about what Isack had said. He shook his head and let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered.

That was going to be a problem.

~~~~~

Sunday, June 1, 2025

The sun had dropped by the time Liam made it back to the motorhome.

The heat still sat in his muscles, that good kind of tired that came after a decent race. He had finished P11. He was closer than he would have expected a couple of weeks ago. The mechanics had given him a few solid pats on the back. The engineers looked pleased. For once, he didn’t feel like he was just taking up space. He would take it. Isack, of course, had scored again.

Liam sat beside him in the debrief, pen in hand, trying to follow the notes on the screen. Every so often he caught Isack looking at him with some kind of mischief brewing. Liam tapped his pen against the page and ignored it.

As soon as they were dismissed, they filed out into the corridor. Isack fell into step beside him.

“Good race, Seigneur Loup,” he said quietly.

Liam’s shoulders tightened. “What are you about to do?”

Isack’s smile widened. He paused, checking to make sure everyone had cleared the corridor, and leaned in slightly, close enough that Liam could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck. Then, quick as anything, Isack pressed his lips under Liam’s jaw, gone before he could even register what had happened.

“One,” Isack said softly.

Liam stopped breathing, and before he could react, Isack moved to his other side and did it again, just below his ear. “Two.”

Liam stood there for a moment, heat rising fast through his chest.

Isack stepped back, expression calm again, hands slipping into his pockets like nothing had happened.

Liam dragged a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said, trying for annoyed and not quite landing it. “But I’m only paying for room service tonight. Don’t expect anything fancy.”

Isack’s grin came back at once. “Room service is perfect,” he said. “Dessert is better in bed.”

Liam felt his ears heat up straight away. “Mate—”

But Isack had already turned and headed toward the exit, leaving Liam standing in the corridor with his thoughts catching up all at once. Liam let out a breath and shook his head. For the first time all weekend, he felt something lighter under the nerves, like he finally knew where he stood, or at least what game they were playing.

~~~

Room service had left them a feast of burgers, fries, a salad neither truly wanted, and two cups of gelato already melting at the edges.

Liam sat cross-legged on the bed in his joggers, balancing a plate on his knee while Isack sprawled beside him, already double-fisting chips and talking with his mouth full.

“Mate, you’re disgusting,” Liam muttered, reaching for the ketchup.

Isack grinned, cheeks puffed. “Efficient,” he corrected. He swiped at the tray, nicking a chip off Liam’s plate just because he could.

“Oi!” Liam protested, trying to shield his food. “You’ve got your own.”

“It tastes better when shared,” Isack said simply, smirk curling.

Liam rolled his eyes but felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth anyway. He jabbed his fork toward the untouched salad. “You’re not getting points unless you eat that.”

Isack groaned, dramatic as ever, then plucked a tomato off the top and popped it in his mouth. “There. A champion’s diet.”

They laughed, leaning shoulder to shoulder as they worked through the food. By the time they made it to dessert, they were both wrecked with giggles over some mangled attempt at doing each other’s accents. Isack’s Kiwi accent was truly awful, Liam’s French somehow worse.

The gelato cups sat between them on the tray, spoons clinking as they both dug in, cold sweetness cutting through the salt of the chips. Isack challenged Liam with his spoon. “Pistachio. The superior choice.”

“Mate, chocolate is a classic,” Liam said, spoon already halfway to his mouth.

Isack dipped his spoon and held it out, right up to Liam’s lips. “Try. Then admit defeat.”

Liam hesitated, heat creeping up the back of his neck at the closeness. Finally, he leaned forward and took the bite straight off Isack’s spoon. Cool, nutty sweetness melted on his tongue. He swallowed, refusing to meet the grin hovering inches away.

“Well?” Isack prompted, smug.

Liam cleared his throat, stabbing back into his own cup. “Not bad. Still not chocolate.”

Isack tilted his head, grin sharp and daring. “Then maybe you need another taste.”

Before Liam could answer, Isack dipped his spoon again and leaned in and slipped the cold bite into his own mouth. He chewed slowly, eyes fixed on Liam’s, then leaned forward, close enough that Liam could feel the gelato-cool breath against his lips.

“Want to compare properly?” he murmured.

Liam froze, every muscle tense, but when Isack kissed him this time, it was easy and playful, a sweet blend of pistachio and sugar and heat. The gelato was gone in an instant, melted into laughter caught between their mouths.

Isack pulled back just enough to press his forehead against Liam’s, spoon still dangling in his hand. “Mm. You’re right,” he said softly, mischief curling every word. “Chocolate wins.”

Liam’s pulse hammered. He tried to smirk, tried to roll his eyes, but his lips betrayed him. He was chasing another kiss before he could stop himself.

Liam dropped his spoon with a clatter against the tray and fisted his hands in Isack’s t-shirt, pulling him closer. Isack laughed against his mouth, low and breathless, before deepening the kiss. He licked teasingly into Liam’s mouth, tasting chocolate now, claiming it like a prize.

The bed dipped as Isack shifted, pressing Liam back into the pillows. The cups of gelato teetered dangerously on the tray before one toppled onto the carpet, but neither of them cared.

Liam gasped when Isack’s weight settled against him, between his legs, strong hands sliding up under his shirt, warm palms dragging over his ribs. “Isack—” he tried, but the word broke into a moan when teeth caught his lower lip.

“You taste better than gelato,” Isack murmured, breath hot against his cheek. His hand curved over Liam’s hip, thumb stroking lazily, possessively.

Liam arched into him, dizzy with sugar and heat, letting himself be kissed breathless. His world shrank to the slick slide of tongues, the scrape of stubble against his chin, the intoxicating way Isack controlled every inch of the kiss.

When Isack finally tore his mouth away, they were both panting, foreheads pressed together, Liam’s shirt rucked up to his chest.

Isack sat back just far enough to tug his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His grin was wicked, sweat shining faintly at his collarbone.

“Want me to do yours too?” he asked, voice low and teasing, like he already knew the answer.

Liam swallowed hard, staring, pulse thundering. The air-con felt sharp against his flushed skin. “You’re—” his voice cracked, and he tried again. “You’re so annoying.”

Isack only laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in for another kiss, his bare chest pressed hot against Liam’s ribs. Before Liam could snap back, Isack hooked his fingers into the hem of Liam’s shirt and peeled it upward, ignoring Liam’s breathless protest. The shirt hit the floor a second later, forgotten.

Isack’s eyes swept over him, dark and hungry, then he leaned in close, lips brushing Liam’s ear. “I want to tear you apart,” he murmured, voice husky, every word a promise. His hand slid down Liam’s side, fingers pressing hard into his ribs.

« Veux te voir te défaire sous moi. » (Want to see you come undone beneath me) he murmured, voice husky, every syllable a promise. His fingers pressed into Liam’s ribs, tugging him closer.

Liam shuddered, heat sparking everywhere at once. He barely managed a ragged laugh. “You—you think too highly of yourself.”

Isack’s grin widened against his throat. “Non. Just enough.” Then his mouth was back on Liam’s neck, biting and soothing in equal measure.

Liam gasped when a warm hand slipped beneath his waistband, not inside, just resting heavy at the dip of his hip. The pressure alone made his breath stutter. Isack’s thumb traced slow circles over bare skin, teasing without giving in.

“Shit—” Liam’s head fell back, fingers twisting into Isack’s hair. Every scrape of teeth at his collarbone sent him arching up, grinding helplessly against the hard line pressed to his thigh.

Isack groaned, low and rough, as though the sound itself came from somewhere deeper than his chest. « Bon garçon, » (Good boy) he muttered against Liam’s skin, hand tightening on his hip. “So easy to break.”

Liam choked on another moan, his whole body alive and burning, desperate for more. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to beg or bite, but Isack wasn’t giving him the chance. His mouth was everywhere, hands holding him steady as he unraveled Liam piece by piece.

Isack pushed his thigh between Liam’s legs, directly against his pulsing length.

« Donne-moi tout… je te tiens, » (Give me everything... I've got you) he groaned into Liam’s chest, reassuring.

Liam moved without thinking, rutting helplessly against his teammate’s thigh, each drag sending lightning through his nerves. Isack met every roll of his hips, guiding him, holding him steady, murmuring filth-soft encouragements in French that Liam didn’t need translated.

The friction built too fast, too sharp, his jeans rough in just the right way, sweat sticking to his skin, Isack’s mouth hot on his throat. He wanted to last, to savour, but the pressure broke him open. With a strangled moan muffled against Isack’s shoulder, Liam came hard, grinding through it, every muscle trembling.

Isack held him, stroking slow circles into his back as the tremors eased. He pressed a final kiss to Liam’s jaw, smug and tender all at once. « Doucement, je suis là. » (Slowly, I’m here)

Liam sagged against him, breathless. He didn’t know what Isack was saying, but the beautiful words swirled in his head anyway. “You’re too French,” he sighed.

Isack chuckled, patting his cheek before tugging him closer again. “And you’re mine.”

Liam was still trembling, his breath ragged against Isack’s shoulder, when he felt the shift. Isack was still hard against his hip, rutting shallowly against his abdomen. Every drag sent sparks through Liam’s overstimulated body, his nerves raw and twitching.

He flinched at the pressure, a strangled sound escaping before he could stop it.

Isack froze, forehead pressed against Liam’s temple, chest heaving. « Ça va? » he whispered, urgent, checking. “Is it too much?”

Liam shook his head fast, fingers clutching tighter at his teammate’s shoulders. “No—don’t stop. I can take it.” His voice cracked with the plea. “Please.”

Isack groaned like that word had undone him, grinding harder now, desperate. « S’te plaît, » (Please) he muttered back against Liam’s neck, breathless. “Encore—move with me—” (Again—)

Liam obeyed, even though every shift of his hips made him jolt, moaning with oversensitivity. He felt raw and ruined, but Isack’s low groans spurred him on. Each time Liam gasped, Isack shuddered harder, biting down on his shoulder, digging into his back.

« Bon… mon dieu, oui— » (Good… my god, yes) Isack choked, hips stuttering in sharp rhythm. “Like that—” The tension broke out of him in a rough groan muffled against Liam’s throat, his whole body shuddering as he came.

Liam felt the heat, the weight, the way Isack’s muscles locked and then went slack against him. He clung tighter through it, still twitching with overstimulation, letting Isack grind out every last wave until he sagged boneless in Liam’s arms.

For a long moment they just panted together, sticky and wrecked, clinging. Liam’s skin prickled with every brush of movement, but he didn’t care, not when Isack pressed close, murmuring soft French against his ear, words Liam couldn’t catch but felt deep in his chest.

Eventually Isack lifted his head, hair mussed and lips kiss-bruised. His grin came back, tired but wicked. “You are twitchy,” he murmured, dragging his hand lightly down Liam’s side just to prove the point.

Liam flinched, a helpless sound escaping, and shoved weakly at his chest. “And you’re an arsehole.”

Isack only laughed, soft and smug, before tugging him sideways until they were both slumped against the pillows. He reached down, pulling the duvet up over them clumsily. “Shhh. Pas maintenant… trop fatigué.” (Not now… too tired)

Liam groaned, trying to scowl, but the weight of Isack’s arm across his chest felt too good to move. His eyelids were already heavy, pulse finally slowing.

Isack pressed one last kiss to his temple and Liam felt himself drifting, body wrecked, mind still humming, but heart impossibly light.

~~~~~

Monday, June 2, 2025

Liam woke sticky, sore, and thoroughly unwilling to move. The duvet clung damp against his skin, and the faint smell of sweat still lingered in the air. He cracked one eye open, groaning. “Mate, this is disgusting. I’m glued to the sheets.”

Isack raised up on an elbow, mouth curving. “That is because you are,” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair off Liam’s forehead.

“Shower. Both of us,” he announced, decisive.

Liam groaned louder, burying his face in the pillow. “‘s too early.”

Isack tugged the duvet away in one smooth sweep, leaving Liam cold and exposed. “Non. My mess, my responsibility. Get up.” His grin was predatory. “I will drag you.”

Liam let himself be herded to the bathroom, muttering curses the whole way, but the moment the hot spray hit his back he nearly sagged in relief. And with Isack crowding into the narrow stall, broad shoulders slick with water, muscles carved sharp in the steam, relief turned quickly into something else.

Liam hummed, letting his eyes roam greedily over his teammate’s chest, his abs, the curve of his hip under running water. He swallowed hard, heat curling low.

Isack tilted his head, catching the look. His grin spread slowly. “Like what you see?” he teased, running soapy hands down his own chest with exaggerated slowness.

Liam stepped closer, pressing damp skin to damp skin, fingers twitching against Isack’s waist. He leaned in, lips brushing at his jaw. “Maybe I want a round two.”

But Isack caught his wrist, holding him at bay. His voice was playful, but firm in a way that brooked no argument. “Non. Not now. Montréal.”

Liam gaped at him. “Mate, that’s two weeks from now.”

Isack kissed the corner of his mouth briefly, maddening. “Patience, mon cheri.”

“Why do we have to wait?” Liam muttered, voice still rough with sleep and something a bit more restless.

Isack didn’t answer straight away. His hand moved slowly, smoothing up Liam’s spine under the water. “Mm.”

Liam huffed, pressing against the hard line of him, touching as much as they could. “I’m serious,” he said. “Why?”

Isack let out a breath through his nose. His fingers paused where they rested between Liam’s shoulder blades. “Because,” he said simply. “I like you like this.”

Liam frowned against his shoulder. “What does that even mean?” he asked.

Isack’s thumb moved again in slow, absent-minded circles against his back. “You are… here,” he said, like he was picking the words as he went. “Not in your head. Not worrying. Not… breaking everything.”

Liam’s brow pulled together. “I’m not—”

“Yes,” Isack cut in, calm. “You do.”

He brushed his thumb once across Liam’s back. “When you are like this,” he went on, quieter, “you think about me. You follow me. It is easy.”

Liam stared at him. “That sounds a bit—”

“Selfish?” Isack offered. “Yeah.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe.” He didn’t look bothered by it. “But I like it,” he said simply. “You are better like this.”

Liam let out a short breath. “That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

Isack’s mouth curved faintly. “It is,” he said. “You stop fighting yourself.”

Liam looked away for a second, jaw tight. “So your solution is to just… mess with me until I forget everything else?”

Isack thought about it for a few seconds. “Yes.”

Liam huffed a laugh despite himself. “You’re a nightmare.”

Isack only laughed, water streaming down both their backs, and resumed scrubbing Liam’s hair with exaggerated care. “Maybe. But at least I am clean.”

Liam let the warmth of the water and Isack’s strong hands overwhelm him, all frustration folding into a dizzy hum. He told himself he’d survive the wait. Maybe.

~~~~~

Sunday, June 8, 2025

Back home in London, the quiet was unbearable. The house was too big, too still, the walls echoing nothing but his own restless thoughts.

For a week straight, Liam lay awake, replaying Barcelona in merciless detail. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the warmth of Isack’s body against his, the way his voice had dropped low near Liam’s ear, the scrape of his teeth against his throat, the way his hands had taken him apart. He could still smell the steam of the shower, still hear that soft, cruel demand for patience in his ear, to wait for Montréal.

Now, staring at the ceiling in the dark, he gave up pretending sleep would come. He reached for his phone.

Messages Sunday, June 8, 2025 23:47

Liam ur ruining my life. cant sleep.

The reply came faster than it should have, as though Isack had been waiting.

i-zack 😇 moi ? innocent. thinking of me, mon cœur ?

Liam groaned, throwing an arm over his face, but his thumbs betrayed him.

Liam more like haunted. u don’t play fair

Three dots blinked before Isack’s reply came through.

i-zack i like playing with u we will play more in montréal

Liam’s stomach dropped, heat curling through him all over again. He stared at the words until the screen dimmed, pulse hammering, knowing there was no chance in hell he’d be sleeping now. He bit his lip, then typed before he could second-guess.

Liam ur fucked. im hard now. cant exactly sleep like this

There was a longer pause this time, but when the reply came, it made Liam’s pulse jump.

i-zack u really are thinking of me but tell me, mon renard… dont u want to be good? 😏

Liam stared at the screen. His stomach dipped and that familiar heat spread through him again, quick and unwelcome. The phone dimmed in his hand while he kept looking at the words. Sleeping now was definitely out of the question.

Liam define good.

Three dots blinked, vanished, blinked again.

i-zack dont come. wait for me and i promise ill make it extra good for u

Liam groaned into his pillow, ready to throw his phone across the room. But his hand stayed clenched around it, thumb hovering, already imagining Isack’s voice instead of the glowing text.

He bit the inside of his lip, typing one more message, jaw tight.

Liam ur cruel. if I don’t sleep, its on u

Isack’s reply came fast, smug even through the screen.

i-zack dream of me then 😘😘

Liam dropped the phone onto the nightstand with a huff, tugging the duvet over his head. It didn’t help. His pulse still thundered, every nerve alight, Isack’s words echoing as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but when it did, it was with Isack’s grin still burning behind his eyes.

~~~~~

Thursday, June 12, 2025

By the time the plane touched down in Montréal, Liam felt half feral.

Two weeks had passed since Barcelona, since Isack had dragged him over the edge with nothing but the maddening grind of his thigh. It had been two weeks of Liam lying awake in his own bed, replaying it all in his head, fists clenched at his side instead of between his legs, refusing to give in to the temptation to sort himself out properly.

He hadn’t come once, and it showed. He felt restless all the time, sharp around the edges. Every thought seemed to drift back to Isack. The sound of his laugh reminded him of his teammate’s mouth on his throat, sending heat low in his stomach.

Liam dreamed about it more than once. He woke up aching and frustrated and spent most of the following days moving through the world like something pacing inside a cage.

Now the paddock waited just beyond the circuit boundaries. Fans gathered outside the fences. The weekend was about to begin. Liam felt strung so tight he might snap. And of course Isack was already there.

He stood near the team entrance, bouncing lightly on his toes while he talked with one of the engineers. He looked bright and relaxed, like the last two weeks had been perfectly normal.

He certainly didn’t look like he had driven Liam halfway out of his mind before disappearing across the ocean.

Isack glanced up as Liam approached. Their eyes met. Isack’s grin spread slowly across his face.

Liam’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch his teammate or drag him somewhere quiet and kiss him senseless.

Both, he thought. Both would be good.

~~~~~

Friday, June 13, 2025

The paddock buzzed the way it always did on race weekend. Fans leaned over the barriers with phones raised. Mechanics pushed equipment carts through the narrow lanes between motorhomes. Engineers moved quickly from one garage to the next with tablets in hand.

Liam tried to slip through it all without drawing attention. His sunglasses stayed on. His shoulders stayed tight. His nerves already felt stretched thin before the day had properly begun.

Isack didn’t make it any easier. He never did.

One moment, Liam was walking toward the garage with his bag over his shoulder. The next, he felt a hand settle briefly at the small of his back. Fingers slipped just under the edge of his polo and brushed the bare skin there. The warm touch lasted only a second, but it was enough to send a jolt through him.

« Salut, mon renard, » (Hello, my fox) Isack said softly as he passed. His voice carried a bright edge of amusement.

Liam stopped short. His pulse jumped and he nearly caught his foot on the pavement. By the time he looked up, Isack had already moved ahead through the crowd, waving easily to fans along the barrier like nothing had happened.

Liam tightened his grip on the strap of his bag. The warmth of that touch still lingered at his back. He was too sensitive for this shit. One stolen touch in a crowd had him ready to lose it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

He forced himself to keep walking toward the garage. If Isack thought he was getting through the weekend without retaliation, he was very wrong.

~~~~~

Saturday, June 14, 2025

Qualifying had wrung Liam dry. His lap had been solid, but it wasn’t enough to shut up the voice in his head. The one that reminded him he hadn’t scored points since Monaco, that he was still clawing just to prove he belonged.

And all the while, Isack buzzed at his side with his fast smiles, his easy chatter, his slaps on the back like they were just teammates, nothing more.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Liam snapped.

He shoved his teammate against the inside of the door the second it closed, fisting the front of his hoodie and crowding into his space. “You think this is funny?” he hissed, low and sharp. His whole body shook, weeks of restraint coming apart at the seams.

Isack’s grin wavered just long enough for Liam to feel vindicated. Then it sharpened, slow and wicked, his breath warm against Liam’s face. « Alors… » (So) His hands slid down to Liam’s hips. “Enough waiting, hm?”

Before Liam could answer, Isack twisted them, slamming him back into the wall. Liam gasped at the sudden shift, arms pinned as Isack leaned in close, eyes gleaming.

“Yes,” Isack murmured, voice low and certain. “It has been long enough.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

Liam’s stomach flipped, his pulse ricocheting as Isack looked up at him from the floor, dark eyes glinting. He hooked his thumbs into Liam’s waistband, undoing the button and tugging until denim gave way.

“Fuck—Isack—” Liam’s head fell back against the wall, palms braced to keep himself upright. Heat rushed through him as Isack mouthed over the fabric first, teasing, making him squirm. Every scrape of teeth, every hot breath against him sent shockwaves up his spine.

When Isack finally worked him free, Liam nearly sagged to the floor. The first hot, wet slide of his mouth over him was almost too much, two weeks of hunger detonating at once.

He groaned helplessly, hips jerking. “Christ—oh, fuck—”

Isack held him steady with strong hands braced on his thighs, taking him deep, slow, relentless. His lashes fluttered, throat working as he pulled back only to sink down again. Every sound Liam made only spurred him further, groans vibrating against sensitive skin.

Liam bit his fist to keep from moaning embarrassingly loudly, sweat prickling at his temples, legs trembling. Two weeks of denial caught up with him in seconds. He felt himself unraveling, heart hammering, voice wrecked.

“Isack, I’m—ah—fuck, I’m—”

Isack hummed low in his throat, fingers digging harder into Liam’s hips, and that did it. Liam came with a strangled cry, spilling into the heat of his mouth, every nerve set alight. His knees buckled; only Isack’s grip kept him upright.

When it was over, Liam sagged against the wall, chest heaving, vision spotted. Isack rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing with triumph.

He leaned in, kissing Liam deep and filthy, letting him taste himself. Then he pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, smug and warm.

« Maintenant… c’est mon tour. » (Now… it’s my turn) Isack’s grin was a little wicked.

Liam blinked, dizzy, still struggling for breath. “What—”

But Isack had already hooked an arm under him, guiding him away from the wall and toward the bed. His strength made the move effortless, steering Liam backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Liam fell backwards, pliant, still reeling from what had just happened.

Isack followed, crawling up over him with slow, deliberate intent, eyes never leaving his. “You took yours,” he murmured, voice husky with want. “Now you watch me take mine.”

Liam sprawled back, pulse still wrecked from the wall, but his focus snapped clear again as their hips slotted together. Isack peeled his own hoodie and shirt off in one fluid motion, dropping them to the floor, baring the sharp cut of muscle Liam had only stolen glances at until now. Liam swallowed hard, heat rushing all over again.

Isack smirked at the look on his face, then leaned down, dragging Liam’s shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.

« Mieux, » (Better) he murmured.

Liam squirmed under him, fumbling his jeans down with his heels until they slid off, leaving him bare and flushed against the hotel sheets.

Isack rose for a second, crossing to his bag in the corner, rifling through like this had always been inevitable. He came back with a condom and a small bottle in hand, shaking it once with a grin. “You think I would not be prepared?”

Before Liam could answer, Isack was kissing him again, rough and hungry, slick fingers pressing lower, teasing at him. Liam gasped into his mouth, hips twitching.

“Relax,” Isack whispered, nipping at his mouth as he eased one finger inside, slow and careful.

“Doucement… let me open you.” (Gently)

The stretch was strange, sharp at first, but Isack soothed every jolt with a kiss, thumb stroking Liam’s hip. Another finger soon joined, scissoring gently, spreading warmth and ache in equal measure. Liam clung to him, breath hitching, oversensitivity making every motion feel like a live wire.

Then Isack slid lower, sucking a bruise into his thigh while working him open.

“Shit,” Liam breathed, threading his fingers through his teammate’s dark curls. “God—you feel so—”

Isack’s approving groan into his thigh vibrated through his groin, lighting him up from the inside. Liam felt raw and exposed, like Isack was stroking the very core of him.

Isack savoured the way Liam writhed before pulling back, lips shiny and smug.

« Toujours si sensible, » (Always so sensitive) he teased.

By the time he pressed a third finger in, Liam was keening, caught between too much and desperate for more. Isack kissed the jut of his hip, steadying him. “Shh… I’ve got you.”

When Isack finally lined himself up, slick and careful with a condom, Liam’s heart drummed in his throat. The first push had him gasping, back arching, but Isack held him still, murmuring against his temple. “Breathe… parfait… let me in.”

Isack rocked into him slow at first, steady and deep, savoring every sound Liam made. Each thrust dragged groans from Liam’s throat, his hands clawing helplessly at Isack’s back. The oversensitivity made it feel impossible. Every stroke felt like too much, but it also had him clinging tighter, begging without words.

« Regarde-moi, » (Look at me) Isack groaned, panting, dark eyes locked on his. He drove in harder, hips snapping, the bed frame creaking with the rhythm. Liam’s vision blurred with tears, sweat running into his hairline as he struggled to keep his eyes on his teammate.

“Fuck—Isack, I can’t—too much—”

Isack’s grip tightened on his hips, dragging him up into each thrust. His voice was ragged, nearly broken, but still commanding. « Encore. Tu viens encore, pour moi. » (Again. Come again, for me)

Liam shook his head frantically, whining, “No, no, I can’t—can’t—” but his body betrayed him. Isack’s hand slid down, wrapping firmly around him, stroking in rhythm to his thrusts. The overstimulation had Liam twitching, eyes rolling back.

“Please—fuck, I can’t—”

« Si. Tu peux, » (Yes. You can) Isack growled, kissing him harshly, swallowing his broken sounds.

It hit Liam suddenly, unbearably, his body locking tight around Isack as he came again, a wrecked, shuddering cry tearing from his throat. His whole body seized with it, hot and wet between them, his nails digging deep into Isack’s shoulders.

Isack moaned with how Liam clenched around him, and that was it. His rhythm faltered, stuttering before he thrust deep one final time and came with a guttural sound against Liam’s neck. His teeth scraped skin as he shuddered, spilling into him, holding on like he’d never let go.

They collapsed together, chest to chest, breath ragged and uneven. Liam trembled with aftershocks, still gasping, every nerve fried. Isack kissed his damp temple, voice low and wrecked but smug.

« Parfait, » he murmured.

They lay tangled for a long moment, both slick with sweat, the room humming with the sound of their uneven breaths. Liam’s chest still heaved, his limbs twitching with aftershocks, nerves fried beyond sense.

Isack pressed a kiss to his temple, then another to the corner of his mouth, softer now. “Shh… calme-toi. You are safe.” His hand rubbed circles into Liam’s back until the trembling slowed.

When Liam finally blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, Isack smiled, warm and wolfish all at once.

« Reste là, » (Stay there) he said firmly, kissing Liam’s forehead.

He disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a towel to clean them both gently, careful of every twitch and hiss. Then he tugged the sheets back and guided Liam under them, tucking him in like they did this every night.

Liam groaned into the pillow, voice rough. “You’re ridiculous.”

Isack only chuckled, brushing damp hair back from Liam’s forehead. “Hungry?”

Liam gave a weak laugh. “Always.”

That earned him a grin, and Isack reached for his phone, tapping quickly before tossing it on the nightstand. “Food is coming.”

Liam tried to prop himself up on one elbow, but Isack pushed him back down. “No. Rest. I’ll fetch it.”

Twenty minutes later, Isack padded back in carrying a tray from room service still shirtless, hair damp with sweat, grinning smugly. He set it on the bed with plates of chicken, pasta, even a bowl of fruit.

Liam blinked, eyes bleary with tears. “You ordered half the menu.”

Isack plopped down beside him, handing him a fork. “You need strength,” he said seriously. “Tomorrow we race.” He started tearing into some chicken like he hadn’t eaten all day.

Between bites, his eyes danced. “And also, you scream a lot,” he teased.

Liam groaned, burying his red face in the pillow. Eventually, he dragged himself up to stab a piece of chicken off of his teammate’s plate. The food was bliss, pulling him back into his body.

Isack leaned back on one hand, watching him eat with clear satisfaction. He reached over and plucked a grape, popping it into his own mouth.

« Parfait, » he murmured again, softer now.

When Liam was full and drowsy, Isack put the tray aside and slid down beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He kissed the back of Liam’s neck, lips warm and gentle.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in weeks, Liam drifted off without a fight.

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