Worth a Thousand Words (2/2)
Title: Worth a Thousand Words (2/2)
Pairing: Alfonso de Portago/Wolfgang von Trips
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6,037 (11,309 overall)
Disclaimer: Didn't happen, don't own
Summary: For Alfonso, 1956 proves a turning point in a way he would never have imagined. And it's all there for him to see at the mere turn of a page.
A/N: This has been practically finished for an entire month now, but I've been pretty ill and just couldn't quite bring myself to do the tweaks it needed. However, I finally kicked myself into action and here's the last part! Finally, haha.
He was chasing Taffy.
It didn’t matter that Phil and Maurice were leading.
It didn’t matter that Taffy was partnered with Peter.
It just didn’t matter.
In his mind, this was their race; just the two of them, no one else.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly and leaned forward. It was exhilarating, and he let out a roaring shout of excitement.
There were two more laps to go.
The gap between them had been slowly closing for the past hour; the seconds gradually falling away as Alfonso made up the time. But Taffy was pushing just as hard, and he was managing to hold his lead no matter what Alfonso tried. Showing his new nickname recently dreamt up by the British to be nothing but a cheap shot against an otherwise talented driver; Taffy wasn’t putting a foot, or wheel, wrong.
Alfonso checked his mirror. He couldn’t see the car behind him anymore.
Despite their cars and teams having been decided weeks ago, Taffy had been surprised with a practice run in Alfonso’s 860 Monza by Eraldo just before the race. Both he and Alfonso hoped they would go on to share the drive, with Taffy switching with Mike, but this was better. So much better.
He turned the last corner and was on the finishing straight. There was no way he could beat Taffy now, he was too far ahead, but he kept up his speed. The cheering of the crowd was faint against the roar of his engine; muted and pushed to the back of his mind as he zoomed past.
He could see Taffy already being mobbed by well-wishers ahead and as soon he brought the car to a halt, he too was swamped. Nine seconds behind, someone told him as they handed over a bottle of water. Third place. Not that he couldn’t have guessed.
He gulped down the cool liquid in haste to soothe his raw throat and vaulted over the side of the car. He carelessly dropped his helmet and goggles onto the ground, forgotten, and scrubbed at his soot covered face. Pats were still raining down on his back and his eyesight was blurred, but still he staggered towards the large group surrounding Taffy.
He felt like a warrior; satisfied after a particular arduous but thrilling battle.
It was a feeling he was forever trying to achieve. And today, Taffy helped him do so.
Mike pulled him into a one-armed embrace and messed up his hair into further disarray by roughly raking his fingers through it. “Well done, mate,” he boomed with vigour. “You brought us home just behind Pete and Taffy. It was pretty bloody close, though!”
Alfonso relished the closeness, suddenly craving contact after the intensity of his drive. He slouched against Mike’s chest with heavy limbs and a pounding in his ears.
Mike hefted him up without complaint and walked them over to where Phil, Maurice, Peter and Taffy were gathered.
There would be more celebrating tonight.
**
Alfonso softly shut the door to his son’s bedroom as quietly as he could manage; subconsciously waiting for that familiar click of the metal fixture slotting into its place before releasing the breath he was holding.
Unbeknownst to him, his wife was silently watching from the other end of the hallway. Though a loving father, she wasn’t used to him being so attentive and could sense something was different.
“You’re seeing someone,” she announced abruptly as he turned round.
It was a bold accusation, one he’d heard often.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He was not in the mood for this tonight. “Carroll, please,” he almost-begged.
“I don’t mean Dorian,” she cut in sharply. “That’s not exactly news anymore, now is it?”
He supposed it wasn’t.
“I’m not mad, Fon,” she sighed. “Tired, but not mad.” She pulled her nightgown tightly round her chest and padded back into the living room.
Alfonso wiped his hands on his trousers in agitation. He was craving a smoke.
“There isn’t anyone else,” he stated simply, following after her. No one serious, at least, he thought. There was an American actress he’d taken out on a date last week, but that didn’t count. Despite having already made plans to see her again.
Regardless, she wasn’t convinced. That much was obvious.
On impulse, he reached out and gently cradled her head. Letting his fingers smooth over the soft skin behind her ears, he kissed her. The feel of her lips against his was comfortably familiar, but there was nothing there, no spark or passion; there hadn’t been in a very long while. She kept her arms hanging uselessly at her sides, barely reacting to the kiss, until Alfonso finally drew back.
“I’ll talk to my lawyer in the morning,” she said, stepping out of Alfonso’s loose hold. “See if we can speed along the divorce.” And with that, she glided out of the room.
Alfonso flopped down onto the sofa.
Another, albeit unintentional, step closer to marrying Dorian. After all, it was the least she deserved.
A car horn honked loudly from the street below. As usual, New York was bustling with life just outside the window.
He grabbed his wallet and headed out into the night.
**
It was the weekend of the Italian Grand Prix and the last race of the Formula One season. It was also Taffy’s debut in a works car. He was buzzing with excitement, spurred on by an obvious undercurrent of nervous energy, and absolutely desperate to prove himself.
He was happily talking to his mechanics when Alfonso draped an arm around his shoulders. Taffy immediately leant back against him, and Alfonso could feel his body heat seep through his shirt and warm his own skin.
“Mind if I kidnap you for a bit?” He asked close to his ear. Alfonso couldn’t help the delight he felt at seeing the slight upwards twitch of Taffy’s lips.
“I think they can spare me,” Taffy quipped and inclined his head slightly towards his mechanics, silently asking for unnecessary permission to go. They happily shooed to two of them away and reluctantly got back to work.
Holding onto Taffy’s forearms, Alfonso directed him next to his Ferrari. He positioned him accordingly so his hip was cocked against the side of the car and then made him fold his arms over his chest. Finally, he grabbed Taffy’s helmet which was resting on the seat and fixed it on his head.
“There,” Alfonso said, satisfied, and took a few steps back. In what now had become a familiar ritual for the two of them, he raised his camera up to eye-level and started to take photos.
With his head cocked and chin dipped down, Taffy looked sweetly self-effacing. Alfonso circled around him, like a wild animal toying with its prey; their possible audience completely forgotten.
“Now in the car,” Alfonso prompted.
Taffy obeyed, swinging his long legs over the side and lowering himself down into the cockpit. He wriggled around, trying to get comfortable, before eventually gripping the steering wheel and beaming into Alfonso’s lens.
Alfonso lowered the camera down.
“Taffy, you look-” Before he could finish, Alfonso was thankfully interrupted by a journalist brandishing a Dictaphone hoping for a pre-race interview with Taffy. Of course, he obliged, and Alfonso left them in peace; relieved he’d been saved from spilling out the dangerous admission that had been on the tip of his tongue.
“You’re never that happy when you take photos of me,” Harry teased, having watched the whole display with amusement and a touch of understanding.
“That’s because you’re ugly,” Alfonso drawled easily, earning him a punch on the arm from his tall friend.
It was unfortunately to be a short lived period of ease.
“Von Trips smashed the car up,” Eugenio said when Alfonso got back to the pits after a brief run in the car. He was pale and clearly shaken up, his usual refined nature having fallen by the wayside in distress. “Ferrari is going to be livid.”
Alfonso paused; dread hitting him with such intensity, that he momentarily forgot to breathe. “Is he okay?” He managed to force out.
“Well, he’s not dead,” Eugenio dismissed with a slight shrug.
Eugenio wasn’t being deliberately callous; there was scarcely a driver around who wouldn’t respond in the same way. Accidents, and the possible resulting deaths, were an accepted normality. But Alfonso couldn’t help the annoyance that bubbled up at the Italian’s seemingly blasé attitude.
Alfonso caught him roughly by the arm and squeezed tightly in warning.
“Is he okay?” Alfonso repeated through gritted teeth.
“What is your problem?” Eugenio demanded, eyes wide in alarm, and ripped his arm out of Alfonso’s grasp. “He’s fine. It’s Ferrari you should be worried about.”
Alfonso really couldn’t care less about Ferrari.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on the Taffy’s accident before having to jump back into his car for the rest of the practice session. He fruitlessly twisted around in his Ferrari, glancing down the pitlane, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bruised and battered, but mostly unharmed, Taffy.
He didn’t see him.
He tried to ignore the worry, instead channelling it into going as fast as he could, and soon was done for the day. The bent chassis of Taffy’s car was being looked over outside the Ferrari garage when he got back. It didn’t look as bad as he feared, but Eugenio was right, Ferrari would not be pleased.
After asking around the various teams, Alfonso eventually found Taffy in the Maserati pit with his goggles stubbornly still hanging round his neck as if he intended to get back into his mangled car. He was leaning against a work bench, his arm already in a sling. Umberto was keeping a close eye on him, clearly not as engrossed in his book as he was trying to appear to be.
“So much for my debut, huh?” Taffy laughed self-deprecatingly. Pain flickered across his face and he transferred his weight to his uninjured leg.
Alfonso slipped off his driving gloves and tugged on his leather jacket that had been draped over his arm. “I’ll take you back to your hotel,” he offered.
“Don’t you need to stay here?”
“I don’t care,” Alfonso countered firmly.
Taffy blinked owlishly but Alfonso stood his ground. There was no way Taffy was getting his way this time. Eventually, the tension visibly drained out of him and he nodded in compliance.
Alfonso slipped an arm round Taffy’s waist and, with a quick nod to Umberto in thanks, together they hobbled away from the garages in search of a car to borrow.
**
There weren’t many people around at the hotel; everyone was still at the track, so Alfonso took his time gingerly helping Taffy up the stairs. He could feel Taffy tense with every step and briefly flirted with the idea of sweeping him up into his arms and just carrying him the rest of the way to his room. But before he could make up his mind, they were already there, neither of them having uttered a word the entire way.
Once inside, he closed the curtains and switched on the bedside table light. Taffy slowly lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, hissing through his teeth as he did so. Alfonso politely averted his eyes until he was settled.
“Fon?” Taffy called, voice tight with pain and frustration. “Do you think…” he trailed off and gestured helplessly at himself. He looked miserable. Defeated, almost.
Alfonso wordlessly fell to his knees with a dull thump and began to undo the laces on Taffy’s shoes.
“What are you going to do in the morning?” Alfonso asked as he rested Taffy’s foot on his thigh. “You’ll probably be hurting just as much, if not more.”
“Well, if I can’t convince you to stay and be my personal dresser, I suspect just try to push through the pain.”
Alfonso looked up, not sure how to respond.
“Or just walk around naked,” Taffy chuckled nervously and gripped the bed sheet.
“I was talking about the race,” Alfonso mumbled.
“Oh.” Alfonso saw Taffy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “We’ll see.”
He sat down closely next to Taffy, his added weight on the bed making the other man tilt towards him. Alfonso tugged the bottom of Taffy’s shirt out of his trousers and gently lifted it over his head. There were bruises already blossoming across his ribs. Alfonso skimmed his fingers over them, barely touching the abused skin; unwilling to let himself give in entirely. He eyed the buttons on Taffy’s trousers, wondering if he should risk overstepping a possible boundary, but immediately thought better of it and quickly, too quickly, stood up.
Taffy seemed to curl in on himself even more.
With his back curved forward and injured arm held close to his chest, Taffy looked almost fragile. Shadows played across his back, darkening his skin, and Alfonso was suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap him up in his arms.
“Tomorrow, the race, I’ll win for you.”
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it. Taffy wasn’t some impressionable young girl he could flatter. Maybe things would be easier if he was; a line would be all he needed. Nevertheless, it earned him a small smile.
“That’s a pretty big promise.”
“Maybe,” Alfonso agreed. “But you should know by now that I don’t do things by halves.”
“As if you’d ever allow yourself to,” he said with such warmth, that Alfonso couldn’t help but inwardly preen.
“Will you be alright?” Alfonso asked one last time, knowing he should probably get back to the track; regardless of if he wanted to or not. Taffy would never forgive him if he ended up losing his job because of him.
“I’ll be fine, Fon, thank you.”
Alfonso nodded and bid him goodnight; his thoughts already occupied by tomorrow’s race and just how he’d try to pull off a win.
**
Never had he been angrier at himself for crashing out.
**
November was an unusually free month for Alfonso; as it seemed it was for many of the other Ferrari drivers as well. Along with Peter, Phil, and Taffy, he had been invited out to Maranello by Enzo Ferrari for a few days in an attempt to build relations between the ever growing Italian team. No doubt another small group would fly out soon enough to in turn participate in the charade. Not for the first time, Alfonso cursed Juan’s seniority.
Dinner with Enzo was predictably awkward and cemented itself as something Alfonso knew he’d never enjoy. Taffy had taken it in his stride, doing what he did best - making people fall utterly in love with him. Between him and Peter, Alfonso, along with Phil, didn’t really have to concern themselves with the whole affair. Which Alfonso thought probably best for the nervous American, who seemed quite queasy at the thought of having to be the centre of attention at the large table.
Afterwards, Alfonso and Taffy managed to escape with relative fuss to explore the small town. They were walking side by side down a cobbled street, the sweet smell of food drifted along on the air and young children ran after each other around the legs of their exasperated parents.
“I’ll probably get a little place near the factory,” Taffy confessed as he kicked a stray stone down the path.
“Phil will be glad to have some company once he starts having to spend longer out here.”
“He’s a sweet guy,” Taffy said approvingly. “You think he’s going to get a full-time drive?”
“Eventually,” Alfonso easily admitted. “He has the talent. Ferrari won’t let him slip through his fingers.”
Taffy hummed in agreement. “God forbid.”
They shared a small smile.
“Why don’t you buy an apartment out here, too?” Taffy suggested. “Or ask Enzo for a room at the complex where Peter stays?”
“Ferrari already owns enough of my soul,” he stated simply. He was only here out of necessity and that’s the way he wanted it to stay. As much as he loved the team, he wouldn’t let the Old Man dictate his life outside of just racing for them.
“That’s a shame, your children would love the sun.”
Alfonso thought it endearingly naïve of Taffy to think Carroll would ever agree to them moving out here with him. The same went for Dorian. Alfonso was more than happy for them to stay with their mothers.
Taffy shielded his eyes and squinted up at the sky. “Maybe I’ll end up with a permanent tan,” he mused out loud. He pressed his bare arm against Alfonso’s and made an unhappy sound. “Oh, that’s just embarrassing.”
“It suits you,” Alfonso assured, glancing down at their arms. “You have fair features.”
Taffy huffed in petulant acceptance.
“And anyway, I’ve seen how you look after spending too much time in the sun,” he continued. “Burnt to a crisp comes to mind.”
“Hey!” Taffy exclaimed in put-upon offense and bumped against him. “At least I don’t turn as red as Mike.”
“No one but him is that hilariously unfortunate.”
They found a small, stone fountain in the middle of the town centre and settled down on the side of it. Taffy bought them an ice-cream each from a nearby vender; chocolate and strawberry. Alfonso immediately snatched up the chocolate one and started to lap at the generous mound atop the cone. He felt the cool cream dribble down his chin but continued to devour the treat.
“I swear, you’re the messiest person I know,” Taffy admonished.
Alfonso swiped his tongue across the corner of his mouth, deliberating missing the smear of chocolate with a cheeky grin. Taffy sighed and reached out towards him. He hesitated, his fingers twitching uncertainly in the air, before mopping up the sticky trail off Alfonso’s chin with one long sweep that went all the way up to his bottom lip.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.
“Not interrupting, am I?” Peter said with a smirk, making Taffy jump. The Brit looked between the two of them as he unapologetically blocked the sun his two teammates had been enjoying so much.
Taffy absentmindedly popped his index into his mouth and sucked away the chocolate. “Don’t be silly,” he mumbled around the digit. “Want to join us?” Taffy asked and patted the space next to him.
“As appealing as that sounds, the Old Man wants us back at the factory to tell us something about Fangio.” Peter shrugged. “I bet he’s decided to sign for Maserati next year. No big surprise there.”
“Good news for you, then,” Alfonso added. Peter was the obvious choice to lead the team next year if Juan was no longer around. Enzo was utterly besotted with him, especially since his gentlemanly gesture in Italy that had effectively given Juan the championship title.
Peter scrunched up his nose and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not too sure about that.”
Taffy shook his head in fondness. He plucked the forgotten ice-cream cone out of Alfonso’s hand and went to go find a rubbish bin to deposit it in, stopping to squeeze Peter’s arm in reassurance before doing so.
Now alone, Peter frowned and narrowed his eyes at Alfonso. Alfonso gave him a blank look in return, his attempt to school his features into nonchalance a well-practiced one. “Shit,” Peter whispered in realisation. “I actually was interrupting something, wasn’t I?”
Peter always had been annoyingly perceptive.
“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Alfonso said calmly, the or ever going unsaid. Peter nodded and, true to his word, changed the subject as soon as Taffy rejoined them; more stunned by Alfonso’s uncharacteristic seriousness than anything else.
The entire way back to the factory, Alfonso could feel Peter’s eyes on him; questioning, concerned and intrigued.
**
It was at the annual Ferrari team lunch in Modena a few days before Christmas that Peter finally brought it up again.
They were all seated at long tables inside the infamous Fini restaurant. Peter had made sure to get the seat next to Alfonso, even going as far as sweet-talking a factory mechanic into moving down a few spaces.
“You’re ridiculous,” Peter said as way of greeting and poured Alfonso a drink.
“I am well aware of that.”
“I take it this is more than just simple curiosity?” Peter inquired, already knowing the answer.
Alfonso made a distressed sound of acknowledgement, one so unmatched to his silky drawl, that Peter barked loudly with laughter. Heads whipped round at the noise, eager to see what was so funny. Peter bit down hard on his lip in an attempt to calm himself.
Alfonso rolled his eyes.
“It’s odd seeing you like this.” Peter leant back and rested an arm on the back of Alfonso’s chair. “Sweet, though,” he added with a snigger.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Alfonso smiled despite himself.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think that sort of thing interested you.” Peter coloured slightly in what Alfonso assumed was embarrassment. But it could easily have been the alcohol taking its effect.
Alfonso tapped his fingers against the table top in thought.
“Does it bother you?” he inquired simply. It was an accepted fact that men sort refuge and relief with one another, but it was something you never talked about in polite - or impolite - conversation; the possible repercussions of discussing it with the wrong person were astronomical. But Alfonso found it refreshing to do so, especially with someone he liked as much as Peter.
An offended look settled across Peter’s face and he flicked Alfonso on the forehead in annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot, Fon, it doesn’t suit you.”
Alfonso patted Peter on the knee in appreciation and they fell into comfortable conversation.
Alfonso spiked an olive with a tooth pick and dropped it into his mouth as he listened to Peter talk about Monaco. Apparently he’d bought a bigger boat and was eager for everyone to visit. There wasn’t much that could dissuade Alfonso from spending a few days in Monte Carlo’s harbour and he readily agreed.
Before he could gush some more, Peter paused. Something behind Alfonso had caught his attention.
“Isn’t that your camera?” Peter nodded over to where Taffy was taking close-up photos of Olivier. He was hopping round the Belgian, who seemed more than happy to indulge him by pulling various silly faces. Much to Taffy’s glee.
“Yes,” Alfonso answered curtly, knowing Peter was already brewing some sort of remark. “He forgot his own and asked to borrow it.”
Peter whistled. “Then it must be love,” he teased.
“Don’t be an idiot, Peter, it’s doesn’t suit you.”
**
“Well, hello there, teammate,” Taffy greeted when Alfonso opened the door of his hotel room.
Taffy was still on a high after their last visit to Maranello before Christmas. The beginnings of the tan he was hoping would become a lasting feature was still evident across his cheeks and nose, and Alfonso was happy to note he was even looking a little leaner. Clearly he’d been looking after himself over their break.
Alfonso stepped aside to let Taffy in. “Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”
“Probably not,” Taffy warned with a wink. “I’ve got you a present,” he added and pushed a weighty package into Alfonso’s hands. “For your bronze medal.”
Between seeing each other, Alfonso had again competed in the bobsleigh, this time managing a third place in the two-man event at the FIBT World Championships. It wasn’t quite the Olympics, but a fantastic achievement nonetheless.
Alfonso huffed in amusement. “We’ve come full circle,” he muttered to himself.
“Hmm?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
As Taffy wandered further in, he spied a large book open on Alfonso’s bed; the remnants of newspaper clippings scattered around it.
“What are you doing?” He asked curiously, eyes darting over the scissors and tape Alfonso had hastily piled onto the bedside table.
“Just finishing off last year’s scrapbook.” He’d been so caught up over the winter that a backlog of photos and other little mementos from the past few months had accumulated. The perfectionist in him was determined to sort them all out before starting the new book he’d already bought.
“Can I see?” Taffy bounced on his toes.
Alfonso hesitated. “Of course,” he eventually allowed and distractedly set the package down on his dresser.
Alfonso watched as Taffy turned each page, smiling at the photos and the memories they brought back from the year before. Of course, he was keenly aware of how many photos of Taffy there were; from races as well as their rare moments of relaxation in between. And not just photos - magazine and newspaper articles, too. He went to stand by the window, hoping to put some distance between them. Nerves were rarely something Alfonso experienced, but he couldn’t do much to quell them at that moment.
He listened as Taffy punctured each turn with an embarrassed I can’t believe you put this in or a nostalgic that was a great day, wasn’t it? But as Taffy neared the end, Alfonso could see the dawning realisation on his face as clear as day; the smile slowly dropped and a crease between his eyebrows formed as they were pulled together in a frown. Without saying anything, he delicately plucked something out of the book. It was the postcard Taffy brought back for him from last year’s Mille Miglia.
Alfonso braced himself. He wasn’t about to start making excuses. Nor was he necessarily ready, or willing, for their friendship to be strained, but he’d deal with it. He at least knew Taffy wouldn’t take a swing at him or start screaming bloody murder; he just wasn’t that sort of person. Strangely enough, that didn’t bring him much relief.
“After I crashed in Monza,” Taffy began slowly, as if testing the waters, “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to stay.” He closed the book with a dull thump and moved it out of his lap, but stayed where he was; perched on the side of Alfonso’s bed.
Alfonso eyed Taffy’s hands clenching and unclenching on his knees with interest. “If I remember correctly, you never got as far as actually asking,” he responded.
Taffy looked up and broke into a wide, genuine smile. “So pedantic.”
Well, what do you know?
Alfonso chuckled lightly and felt the rush that always crackled just beneath the surface whenever he was around Taffy surge dramatically in want. The relief was unmatched, incomparable even to the feeling of making it through a race in one piece.
“Christ, I didn’t think you felt the same,” Taffy admitted. He ran his hands through his hair and laughed with pent up nervousness. “I mean, I thought maybe, but couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to assume, so-”
“You have no idea,” Alfonso interrupted. He bent down and cupped his hand round Taffy’s jaw, drawing him into a light kiss. It was simple, uncomplicated and so innocently perfect that somehow it made him all the more enamoured. All the more desperate.
Taffy whimpered. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” he murmured against Alfonso’s lips. “I think that’s the last thing either of us wants right now.”
Pleasantly surprised, Alfonso gripped the back of Taffy’s head, his fingers clenching his soft hair, and crushed their mouths together. Taffy made a pleased sound at the back of his throat and pushed forward to meet him, smiling into the kiss.
The height difference was proving awkward, so Taffy confidently pulled Alfonso onto the bed, making the other man crawl on top of him. Alfonso took the opportunity to greedily run his hands under Taffy’s shirt and up his sides, finally able to touch in the way he wanted to all those months ago.
“Fon,” Taffy groaned, his lips shining red; debauched.
Alfonso couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so far gone from just kissing someone. Surely he’d have to revisit his youth to catch a glimpse of such undisguised passion; to a time when every lick or touch or inch of slowly revealed skin was a new experience.
He ground his hips down into Taffy’s and earned a wonderful gasp for his troubles.
Alfonso grinned, Taffy was already hard.
“I’ve never…” Taffy fumbled with his words. “Not with a man.”
Alfonso had sort of guessed as much. The slight tremble to his hands was telling, regardless of how eager he was.
“Well, there was this boy I went to school with, but we never exactly got very far,” Taffy trailed on.
He was babbling, but his eyes were still dark with arousal. Alfonso brushed his knuckles against Taffy’s cheek, hoping to calm him down.
“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”
Taffy laughed; the small burst of warm ghosting over Alfonso’s lips. “Deal,” he agreed, the easy banter that always came so naturally between them a welcome distraction.
“It’s alright,” Alfonso soothed. “I’ll show you.”
Taffy flushed in embarrassment. The dark pink blossomed all the way down his neck in such a deliciously tantalising way, that Alfonso had to touch. He lightly peppered his skin with butterfly kisses until reaching the collar of his shirt. There was so much Alfonso wanted to do to him, with him, but he could wait. Tonight, he’d improvise.
Meeting no resistance, Alfonso slowly began to undress him; savouring the soft sounds Taffy made as he peeled away each piece of clothing. The erotic clink of belts being unbuckled echoed throughout the room as they silently shifted around on the bed in a dance the two of them were more than familiar with.
Taffy, beginning to feel a little bolder, started to reciprocate; his fingers easily slotting the buttons through their holes on Alfonso’s shirt without so much as a fumble.
The sudden forwardness of it went straight to Alfonso’s cock, and he forced Taffy back down onto the bed with an appreciative growl. He kissed down his chest, drifting over to gently take a nipple into his mouth. He rolled the nub between his teeth, feeling it harden against his tongue.
“Seems as if I’ve been missing out,” Taffy panted, running his hands over Alfonso’s shoulders.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
Alfonso missed the softening of Taffy’s eyes as he went lower and lower, tasting every inch of the German he could reach with his mouth. He circled his belly button with his tongue and lapped at the hollow of his hip bone. Taffy quivered under his touch and Alfonso found himself whispering reassurances against his skin, soft little shhh’s he wouldn’t waste on just anyone.
He mouthed at the tented bulge in his underwear, blowing hot air through the cotton and making it damp.
“Please, Fon,” Taffy whined.
Alfonso hooked his fingers over the waistband and tugged them down.
“Fucking hell, Taffy,” Alfonso cursed as took the opportunity to finally drink in the sight of him. All of him. Taffy’s skin was far from unblemished, small silvery scars and fading bruises - war wounds from one too many crashes - were scattered all over. But Alfonso never did like perfection. Perfection was boring.
Taffy shuddered as Alfonso’s stubble grazed along the inside of his thigh, making goosebumps break out all across his body. He skimmed his lips up the length of Taffy’s erection, enclosing them over the tip, and sucked. Taffy gasped sharply above him and Alfonso slid his mouth down further, taking as much of Taffy as he could.
“Oh, God.” Taffy’s voice was strained and he pulled at Alfonso’s hair. Alfonso enjoyed the sting and flattened his tongue against the underside of Taffy’s cock, applying just the right amount of pressure.
He bobbed his head a few times, savouring the taste, before letting him slip from his mouth and making a show of licking his lips.
“You’re obscene,” Taffy groaned. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly added.
Alfonso grinned widely. “Good,” he said. “Otherwise you’re in for a shock.”
He quickly slipped off his own underwear and settled down on the top of Taffy’s thighs so their cocks lined up flush against each other. Taffy made a soft sound of surprised pleasure at the contact, his mouth dropping open in a small ‘o’. Alfonso, wasting no time, grasped both of their cocks in one hand and began to stroke them together.
Taffy dug his nails into Alfonso’s back and arched off the bed, seeking out Alfonso’s lips for another kiss. Alfonso was happy to oblige, and swept down to lick into his mouth and drink in a whimper.
The cooling slickness clinging to Taffy made Alfonso hiss through his teeth as they slid against each other. He sprawled down on top of him, pushing a knee between Taffy’s legs to open them wider so they could fit together without so much as an inch between them, and rolled his hips.
Taffy gave a long, guttural moan that Alfonso felt reverberate all the way through him. Every last drop of nervousness was gone, replaced by instinct and the welcome release of all those months of pent up tension. Together they moved as if they’d been doing so for years; bodies snaking around each other, hands taking turns to touch and bring each other to release.
“More, Fon,” Taffy begged. “I need you.”
“You’ve got me.”
Alfonso sucked at Taffy’s throat, hoping to leave a mark that would get the other drivers talking if they were to catch a glimpse of it, one that Taffy would have to pull his collar up high to hide. Taffy hummed, low and happy, and offered his neck up as fully as he could.
They were both sticky with sweat and Alfonso could feel that familiar build of pressure rising, the desperation and need.
“I’m close,” Taffy warned as if reading Alfonso’s mind.
“I know, me too.”
Taffy pressed a hand to the small of Alfonso’s back, silently urging him on, and soon he was spilling across Taffy’s stomach with an ineloquent grunt. Taffy quickly followed; he set his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed, clinging to Alfonso as he rode out his orgasm.
He fell down bedside Taffy on the bed, unintentionally rolling him into his arms as he went. Once comfortable, Alfonso kissed the crown of Taffy’s head and took a few extra seconds to just enjoy Taffy’s scent curling around him.
He felt his eyelids start to droop and didn’t attempt to fight the wave of sudden exhaustion that was creeping up on him. He was satiated, content and, remarkably, at peace.
“You didn’t open your present,” Taffy said, his words muffled in Alfonso’s chest, and looked up.
Alfonso forced his eyes back open. “I was a bit occupied,” he slurred and ran his thumb over Taffy’s bottom lip, grinning when the other man playfully nipped at it.
“Come on,” Taffy whined and shoved him to the edge of the bed. “I think you’ll like it.”
Alfonso had to admit, he was intrigued. He heaved himself to his feet and stretched to get the cricks out of his back. Taffy made an appreciative sound behind him at the sight.
“I changed my mind, come back to bed.”
Alfonso laughed.
“Too late now.”
The package was neatly wrapped in dark blue paper. He ran a fingernail under the loosest seam to reveal the box. He lifted off the lid and, nestled safely amongst a lighter coloured tissue paper was a new, state of the art camera.
Taffy picked back up Alfonso’s newly completed scrap book from where it had fallen onto the floor and padded over to him. He hooked his chin over Alfonso’s shoulder. “Maybe we can fill this year’s together?” He raised his eyebrows in question and gave Alfonso a lop-sided grin.
Alfonso caught Taffy round the waist, hoisted him up into the air and deposited him back on the bed. Taffy yelped as he bounced on the mattress, his limbs splaying everywhere.
Loading a fresh roll of film into the camera, Alfonso took his first photo of the year.
Pairing: Alfonso de Portago/Wolfgang von Trips
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6,037 (11,309 overall)
Disclaimer: Didn't happen, don't own
Summary: For Alfonso, 1956 proves a turning point in a way he would never have imagined. And it's all there for him to see at the mere turn of a page.
A/N: This has been practically finished for an entire month now, but I've been pretty ill and just couldn't quite bring myself to do the tweaks it needed. However, I finally kicked myself into action and here's the last part! Finally, haha.
He was chasing Taffy.
It didn’t matter that Phil and Maurice were leading.
It didn’t matter that Taffy was partnered with Peter.
It just didn’t matter.
In his mind, this was their race; just the two of them, no one else.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly and leaned forward. It was exhilarating, and he let out a roaring shout of excitement.
There were two more laps to go.
The gap between them had been slowly closing for the past hour; the seconds gradually falling away as Alfonso made up the time. But Taffy was pushing just as hard, and he was managing to hold his lead no matter what Alfonso tried. Showing his new nickname recently dreamt up by the British to be nothing but a cheap shot against an otherwise talented driver; Taffy wasn’t putting a foot, or wheel, wrong.
Alfonso checked his mirror. He couldn’t see the car behind him anymore.
Despite their cars and teams having been decided weeks ago, Taffy had been surprised with a practice run in Alfonso’s 860 Monza by Eraldo just before the race. Both he and Alfonso hoped they would go on to share the drive, with Taffy switching with Mike, but this was better. So much better.
He turned the last corner and was on the finishing straight. There was no way he could beat Taffy now, he was too far ahead, but he kept up his speed. The cheering of the crowd was faint against the roar of his engine; muted and pushed to the back of his mind as he zoomed past.
He could see Taffy already being mobbed by well-wishers ahead and as soon he brought the car to a halt, he too was swamped. Nine seconds behind, someone told him as they handed over a bottle of water. Third place. Not that he couldn’t have guessed.
He gulped down the cool liquid in haste to soothe his raw throat and vaulted over the side of the car. He carelessly dropped his helmet and goggles onto the ground, forgotten, and scrubbed at his soot covered face. Pats were still raining down on his back and his eyesight was blurred, but still he staggered towards the large group surrounding Taffy.
He felt like a warrior; satisfied after a particular arduous but thrilling battle.
It was a feeling he was forever trying to achieve. And today, Taffy helped him do so.
Mike pulled him into a one-armed embrace and messed up his hair into further disarray by roughly raking his fingers through it. “Well done, mate,” he boomed with vigour. “You brought us home just behind Pete and Taffy. It was pretty bloody close, though!”
Alfonso relished the closeness, suddenly craving contact after the intensity of his drive. He slouched against Mike’s chest with heavy limbs and a pounding in his ears.
Mike hefted him up without complaint and walked them over to where Phil, Maurice, Peter and Taffy were gathered.
There would be more celebrating tonight.
**
Alfonso softly shut the door to his son’s bedroom as quietly as he could manage; subconsciously waiting for that familiar click of the metal fixture slotting into its place before releasing the breath he was holding.
Unbeknownst to him, his wife was silently watching from the other end of the hallway. Though a loving father, she wasn’t used to him being so attentive and could sense something was different.
“You’re seeing someone,” she announced abruptly as he turned round.
It was a bold accusation, one he’d heard often.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He was not in the mood for this tonight. “Carroll, please,” he almost-begged.
“I don’t mean Dorian,” she cut in sharply. “That’s not exactly news anymore, now is it?”
He supposed it wasn’t.
“I’m not mad, Fon,” she sighed. “Tired, but not mad.” She pulled her nightgown tightly round her chest and padded back into the living room.
Alfonso wiped his hands on his trousers in agitation. He was craving a smoke.
“There isn’t anyone else,” he stated simply, following after her. No one serious, at least, he thought. There was an American actress he’d taken out on a date last week, but that didn’t count. Despite having already made plans to see her again.
Regardless, she wasn’t convinced. That much was obvious.
On impulse, he reached out and gently cradled her head. Letting his fingers smooth over the soft skin behind her ears, he kissed her. The feel of her lips against his was comfortably familiar, but there was nothing there, no spark or passion; there hadn’t been in a very long while. She kept her arms hanging uselessly at her sides, barely reacting to the kiss, until Alfonso finally drew back.
“I’ll talk to my lawyer in the morning,” she said, stepping out of Alfonso’s loose hold. “See if we can speed along the divorce.” And with that, she glided out of the room.
Alfonso flopped down onto the sofa.
Another, albeit unintentional, step closer to marrying Dorian. After all, it was the least she deserved.
A car horn honked loudly from the street below. As usual, New York was bustling with life just outside the window.
He grabbed his wallet and headed out into the night.
**
It was the weekend of the Italian Grand Prix and the last race of the Formula One season. It was also Taffy’s debut in a works car. He was buzzing with excitement, spurred on by an obvious undercurrent of nervous energy, and absolutely desperate to prove himself.
He was happily talking to his mechanics when Alfonso draped an arm around his shoulders. Taffy immediately leant back against him, and Alfonso could feel his body heat seep through his shirt and warm his own skin.
“Mind if I kidnap you for a bit?” He asked close to his ear. Alfonso couldn’t help the delight he felt at seeing the slight upwards twitch of Taffy’s lips.
“I think they can spare me,” Taffy quipped and inclined his head slightly towards his mechanics, silently asking for unnecessary permission to go. They happily shooed to two of them away and reluctantly got back to work.
Holding onto Taffy’s forearms, Alfonso directed him next to his Ferrari. He positioned him accordingly so his hip was cocked against the side of the car and then made him fold his arms over his chest. Finally, he grabbed Taffy’s helmet which was resting on the seat and fixed it on his head.
“There,” Alfonso said, satisfied, and took a few steps back. In what now had become a familiar ritual for the two of them, he raised his camera up to eye-level and started to take photos.
With his head cocked and chin dipped down, Taffy looked sweetly self-effacing. Alfonso circled around him, like a wild animal toying with its prey; their possible audience completely forgotten.
“Now in the car,” Alfonso prompted.
Taffy obeyed, swinging his long legs over the side and lowering himself down into the cockpit. He wriggled around, trying to get comfortable, before eventually gripping the steering wheel and beaming into Alfonso’s lens.
Alfonso lowered the camera down.
“Taffy, you look-” Before he could finish, Alfonso was thankfully interrupted by a journalist brandishing a Dictaphone hoping for a pre-race interview with Taffy. Of course, he obliged, and Alfonso left them in peace; relieved he’d been saved from spilling out the dangerous admission that had been on the tip of his tongue.
“You’re never that happy when you take photos of me,” Harry teased, having watched the whole display with amusement and a touch of understanding.
“That’s because you’re ugly,” Alfonso drawled easily, earning him a punch on the arm from his tall friend.
It was unfortunately to be a short lived period of ease.
“Von Trips smashed the car up,” Eugenio said when Alfonso got back to the pits after a brief run in the car. He was pale and clearly shaken up, his usual refined nature having fallen by the wayside in distress. “Ferrari is going to be livid.”
Alfonso paused; dread hitting him with such intensity, that he momentarily forgot to breathe. “Is he okay?” He managed to force out.
“Well, he’s not dead,” Eugenio dismissed with a slight shrug.
Eugenio wasn’t being deliberately callous; there was scarcely a driver around who wouldn’t respond in the same way. Accidents, and the possible resulting deaths, were an accepted normality. But Alfonso couldn’t help the annoyance that bubbled up at the Italian’s seemingly blasé attitude.
Alfonso caught him roughly by the arm and squeezed tightly in warning.
“Is he okay?” Alfonso repeated through gritted teeth.
“What is your problem?” Eugenio demanded, eyes wide in alarm, and ripped his arm out of Alfonso’s grasp. “He’s fine. It’s Ferrari you should be worried about.”
Alfonso really couldn’t care less about Ferrari.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on the Taffy’s accident before having to jump back into his car for the rest of the practice session. He fruitlessly twisted around in his Ferrari, glancing down the pitlane, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bruised and battered, but mostly unharmed, Taffy.
He didn’t see him.
He tried to ignore the worry, instead channelling it into going as fast as he could, and soon was done for the day. The bent chassis of Taffy’s car was being looked over outside the Ferrari garage when he got back. It didn’t look as bad as he feared, but Eugenio was right, Ferrari would not be pleased.
After asking around the various teams, Alfonso eventually found Taffy in the Maserati pit with his goggles stubbornly still hanging round his neck as if he intended to get back into his mangled car. He was leaning against a work bench, his arm already in a sling. Umberto was keeping a close eye on him, clearly not as engrossed in his book as he was trying to appear to be.
“So much for my debut, huh?” Taffy laughed self-deprecatingly. Pain flickered across his face and he transferred his weight to his uninjured leg.
Alfonso slipped off his driving gloves and tugged on his leather jacket that had been draped over his arm. “I’ll take you back to your hotel,” he offered.
“Don’t you need to stay here?”
“I don’t care,” Alfonso countered firmly.
Taffy blinked owlishly but Alfonso stood his ground. There was no way Taffy was getting his way this time. Eventually, the tension visibly drained out of him and he nodded in compliance.
Alfonso slipped an arm round Taffy’s waist and, with a quick nod to Umberto in thanks, together they hobbled away from the garages in search of a car to borrow.
**
There weren’t many people around at the hotel; everyone was still at the track, so Alfonso took his time gingerly helping Taffy up the stairs. He could feel Taffy tense with every step and briefly flirted with the idea of sweeping him up into his arms and just carrying him the rest of the way to his room. But before he could make up his mind, they were already there, neither of them having uttered a word the entire way.
Once inside, he closed the curtains and switched on the bedside table light. Taffy slowly lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, hissing through his teeth as he did so. Alfonso politely averted his eyes until he was settled.
“Fon?” Taffy called, voice tight with pain and frustration. “Do you think…” he trailed off and gestured helplessly at himself. He looked miserable. Defeated, almost.
Alfonso wordlessly fell to his knees with a dull thump and began to undo the laces on Taffy’s shoes.
“What are you going to do in the morning?” Alfonso asked as he rested Taffy’s foot on his thigh. “You’ll probably be hurting just as much, if not more.”
“Well, if I can’t convince you to stay and be my personal dresser, I suspect just try to push through the pain.”
Alfonso looked up, not sure how to respond.
“Or just walk around naked,” Taffy chuckled nervously and gripped the bed sheet.
“I was talking about the race,” Alfonso mumbled.
“Oh.” Alfonso saw Taffy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “We’ll see.”
He sat down closely next to Taffy, his added weight on the bed making the other man tilt towards him. Alfonso tugged the bottom of Taffy’s shirt out of his trousers and gently lifted it over his head. There were bruises already blossoming across his ribs. Alfonso skimmed his fingers over them, barely touching the abused skin; unwilling to let himself give in entirely. He eyed the buttons on Taffy’s trousers, wondering if he should risk overstepping a possible boundary, but immediately thought better of it and quickly, too quickly, stood up.
Taffy seemed to curl in on himself even more.
With his back curved forward and injured arm held close to his chest, Taffy looked almost fragile. Shadows played across his back, darkening his skin, and Alfonso was suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap him up in his arms.
“Tomorrow, the race, I’ll win for you.”
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it. Taffy wasn’t some impressionable young girl he could flatter. Maybe things would be easier if he was; a line would be all he needed. Nevertheless, it earned him a small smile.
“That’s a pretty big promise.”
“Maybe,” Alfonso agreed. “But you should know by now that I don’t do things by halves.”
“As if you’d ever allow yourself to,” he said with such warmth, that Alfonso couldn’t help but inwardly preen.
“Will you be alright?” Alfonso asked one last time, knowing he should probably get back to the track; regardless of if he wanted to or not. Taffy would never forgive him if he ended up losing his job because of him.
“I’ll be fine, Fon, thank you.”
Alfonso nodded and bid him goodnight; his thoughts already occupied by tomorrow’s race and just how he’d try to pull off a win.
**
Never had he been angrier at himself for crashing out.
**
November was an unusually free month for Alfonso; as it seemed it was for many of the other Ferrari drivers as well. Along with Peter, Phil, and Taffy, he had been invited out to Maranello by Enzo Ferrari for a few days in an attempt to build relations between the ever growing Italian team. No doubt another small group would fly out soon enough to in turn participate in the charade. Not for the first time, Alfonso cursed Juan’s seniority.
Dinner with Enzo was predictably awkward and cemented itself as something Alfonso knew he’d never enjoy. Taffy had taken it in his stride, doing what he did best - making people fall utterly in love with him. Between him and Peter, Alfonso, along with Phil, didn’t really have to concern themselves with the whole affair. Which Alfonso thought probably best for the nervous American, who seemed quite queasy at the thought of having to be the centre of attention at the large table.
Afterwards, Alfonso and Taffy managed to escape with relative fuss to explore the small town. They were walking side by side down a cobbled street, the sweet smell of food drifted along on the air and young children ran after each other around the legs of their exasperated parents.
“I’ll probably get a little place near the factory,” Taffy confessed as he kicked a stray stone down the path.
“Phil will be glad to have some company once he starts having to spend longer out here.”
“He’s a sweet guy,” Taffy said approvingly. “You think he’s going to get a full-time drive?”
“Eventually,” Alfonso easily admitted. “He has the talent. Ferrari won’t let him slip through his fingers.”
Taffy hummed in agreement. “God forbid.”
They shared a small smile.
“Why don’t you buy an apartment out here, too?” Taffy suggested. “Or ask Enzo for a room at the complex where Peter stays?”
“Ferrari already owns enough of my soul,” he stated simply. He was only here out of necessity and that’s the way he wanted it to stay. As much as he loved the team, he wouldn’t let the Old Man dictate his life outside of just racing for them.
“That’s a shame, your children would love the sun.”
Alfonso thought it endearingly naïve of Taffy to think Carroll would ever agree to them moving out here with him. The same went for Dorian. Alfonso was more than happy for them to stay with their mothers.
Taffy shielded his eyes and squinted up at the sky. “Maybe I’ll end up with a permanent tan,” he mused out loud. He pressed his bare arm against Alfonso’s and made an unhappy sound. “Oh, that’s just embarrassing.”
“It suits you,” Alfonso assured, glancing down at their arms. “You have fair features.”
Taffy huffed in petulant acceptance.
“And anyway, I’ve seen how you look after spending too much time in the sun,” he continued. “Burnt to a crisp comes to mind.”
“Hey!” Taffy exclaimed in put-upon offense and bumped against him. “At least I don’t turn as red as Mike.”
“No one but him is that hilariously unfortunate.”
They found a small, stone fountain in the middle of the town centre and settled down on the side of it. Taffy bought them an ice-cream each from a nearby vender; chocolate and strawberry. Alfonso immediately snatched up the chocolate one and started to lap at the generous mound atop the cone. He felt the cool cream dribble down his chin but continued to devour the treat.
“I swear, you’re the messiest person I know,” Taffy admonished.
Alfonso swiped his tongue across the corner of his mouth, deliberating missing the smear of chocolate with a cheeky grin. Taffy sighed and reached out towards him. He hesitated, his fingers twitching uncertainly in the air, before mopping up the sticky trail off Alfonso’s chin with one long sweep that went all the way up to his bottom lip.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.
“Not interrupting, am I?” Peter said with a smirk, making Taffy jump. The Brit looked between the two of them as he unapologetically blocked the sun his two teammates had been enjoying so much.
Taffy absentmindedly popped his index into his mouth and sucked away the chocolate. “Don’t be silly,” he mumbled around the digit. “Want to join us?” Taffy asked and patted the space next to him.
“As appealing as that sounds, the Old Man wants us back at the factory to tell us something about Fangio.” Peter shrugged. “I bet he’s decided to sign for Maserati next year. No big surprise there.”
“Good news for you, then,” Alfonso added. Peter was the obvious choice to lead the team next year if Juan was no longer around. Enzo was utterly besotted with him, especially since his gentlemanly gesture in Italy that had effectively given Juan the championship title.
Peter scrunched up his nose and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not too sure about that.”
Taffy shook his head in fondness. He plucked the forgotten ice-cream cone out of Alfonso’s hand and went to go find a rubbish bin to deposit it in, stopping to squeeze Peter’s arm in reassurance before doing so.
Now alone, Peter frowned and narrowed his eyes at Alfonso. Alfonso gave him a blank look in return, his attempt to school his features into nonchalance a well-practiced one. “Shit,” Peter whispered in realisation. “I actually was interrupting something, wasn’t I?”
Peter always had been annoyingly perceptive.
“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Alfonso said calmly, the or ever going unsaid. Peter nodded and, true to his word, changed the subject as soon as Taffy rejoined them; more stunned by Alfonso’s uncharacteristic seriousness than anything else.
The entire way back to the factory, Alfonso could feel Peter’s eyes on him; questioning, concerned and intrigued.
**
It was at the annual Ferrari team lunch in Modena a few days before Christmas that Peter finally brought it up again.
They were all seated at long tables inside the infamous Fini restaurant. Peter had made sure to get the seat next to Alfonso, even going as far as sweet-talking a factory mechanic into moving down a few spaces.
“You’re ridiculous,” Peter said as way of greeting and poured Alfonso a drink.
“I am well aware of that.”
“I take it this is more than just simple curiosity?” Peter inquired, already knowing the answer.
Alfonso made a distressed sound of acknowledgement, one so unmatched to his silky drawl, that Peter barked loudly with laughter. Heads whipped round at the noise, eager to see what was so funny. Peter bit down hard on his lip in an attempt to calm himself.
Alfonso rolled his eyes.
“It’s odd seeing you like this.” Peter leant back and rested an arm on the back of Alfonso’s chair. “Sweet, though,” he added with a snigger.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Alfonso smiled despite himself.
“I have to admit, I didn’t think that sort of thing interested you.” Peter coloured slightly in what Alfonso assumed was embarrassment. But it could easily have been the alcohol taking its effect.
Alfonso tapped his fingers against the table top in thought.
“Does it bother you?” he inquired simply. It was an accepted fact that men sort refuge and relief with one another, but it was something you never talked about in polite - or impolite - conversation; the possible repercussions of discussing it with the wrong person were astronomical. But Alfonso found it refreshing to do so, especially with someone he liked as much as Peter.
An offended look settled across Peter’s face and he flicked Alfonso on the forehead in annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot, Fon, it doesn’t suit you.”
Alfonso patted Peter on the knee in appreciation and they fell into comfortable conversation.
Alfonso spiked an olive with a tooth pick and dropped it into his mouth as he listened to Peter talk about Monaco. Apparently he’d bought a bigger boat and was eager for everyone to visit. There wasn’t much that could dissuade Alfonso from spending a few days in Monte Carlo’s harbour and he readily agreed.
Before he could gush some more, Peter paused. Something behind Alfonso had caught his attention.
“Isn’t that your camera?” Peter nodded over to where Taffy was taking close-up photos of Olivier. He was hopping round the Belgian, who seemed more than happy to indulge him by pulling various silly faces. Much to Taffy’s glee.
“Yes,” Alfonso answered curtly, knowing Peter was already brewing some sort of remark. “He forgot his own and asked to borrow it.”
Peter whistled. “Then it must be love,” he teased.
“Don’t be an idiot, Peter, it’s doesn’t suit you.”
**
“Well, hello there, teammate,” Taffy greeted when Alfonso opened the door of his hotel room.
Taffy was still on a high after their last visit to Maranello before Christmas. The beginnings of the tan he was hoping would become a lasting feature was still evident across his cheeks and nose, and Alfonso was happy to note he was even looking a little leaner. Clearly he’d been looking after himself over their break.
Alfonso stepped aside to let Taffy in. “Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”
“Probably not,” Taffy warned with a wink. “I’ve got you a present,” he added and pushed a weighty package into Alfonso’s hands. “For your bronze medal.”
Between seeing each other, Alfonso had again competed in the bobsleigh, this time managing a third place in the two-man event at the FIBT World Championships. It wasn’t quite the Olympics, but a fantastic achievement nonetheless.
Alfonso huffed in amusement. “We’ve come full circle,” he muttered to himself.
“Hmm?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
As Taffy wandered further in, he spied a large book open on Alfonso’s bed; the remnants of newspaper clippings scattered around it.
“What are you doing?” He asked curiously, eyes darting over the scissors and tape Alfonso had hastily piled onto the bedside table.
“Just finishing off last year’s scrapbook.” He’d been so caught up over the winter that a backlog of photos and other little mementos from the past few months had accumulated. The perfectionist in him was determined to sort them all out before starting the new book he’d already bought.
“Can I see?” Taffy bounced on his toes.
Alfonso hesitated. “Of course,” he eventually allowed and distractedly set the package down on his dresser.
Alfonso watched as Taffy turned each page, smiling at the photos and the memories they brought back from the year before. Of course, he was keenly aware of how many photos of Taffy there were; from races as well as their rare moments of relaxation in between. And not just photos - magazine and newspaper articles, too. He went to stand by the window, hoping to put some distance between them. Nerves were rarely something Alfonso experienced, but he couldn’t do much to quell them at that moment.
He listened as Taffy punctured each turn with an embarrassed I can’t believe you put this in or a nostalgic that was a great day, wasn’t it? But as Taffy neared the end, Alfonso could see the dawning realisation on his face as clear as day; the smile slowly dropped and a crease between his eyebrows formed as they were pulled together in a frown. Without saying anything, he delicately plucked something out of the book. It was the postcard Taffy brought back for him from last year’s Mille Miglia.
Alfonso braced himself. He wasn’t about to start making excuses. Nor was he necessarily ready, or willing, for their friendship to be strained, but he’d deal with it. He at least knew Taffy wouldn’t take a swing at him or start screaming bloody murder; he just wasn’t that sort of person. Strangely enough, that didn’t bring him much relief.
“After I crashed in Monza,” Taffy began slowly, as if testing the waters, “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to stay.” He closed the book with a dull thump and moved it out of his lap, but stayed where he was; perched on the side of Alfonso’s bed.
Alfonso eyed Taffy’s hands clenching and unclenching on his knees with interest. “If I remember correctly, you never got as far as actually asking,” he responded.
Taffy looked up and broke into a wide, genuine smile. “So pedantic.”
Well, what do you know?
Alfonso chuckled lightly and felt the rush that always crackled just beneath the surface whenever he was around Taffy surge dramatically in want. The relief was unmatched, incomparable even to the feeling of making it through a race in one piece.
“Christ, I didn’t think you felt the same,” Taffy admitted. He ran his hands through his hair and laughed with pent up nervousness. “I mean, I thought maybe, but couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to assume, so-”
“You have no idea,” Alfonso interrupted. He bent down and cupped his hand round Taffy’s jaw, drawing him into a light kiss. It was simple, uncomplicated and so innocently perfect that somehow it made him all the more enamoured. All the more desperate.
Taffy whimpered. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” he murmured against Alfonso’s lips. “I think that’s the last thing either of us wants right now.”
Pleasantly surprised, Alfonso gripped the back of Taffy’s head, his fingers clenching his soft hair, and crushed their mouths together. Taffy made a pleased sound at the back of his throat and pushed forward to meet him, smiling into the kiss.
The height difference was proving awkward, so Taffy confidently pulled Alfonso onto the bed, making the other man crawl on top of him. Alfonso took the opportunity to greedily run his hands under Taffy’s shirt and up his sides, finally able to touch in the way he wanted to all those months ago.
“Fon,” Taffy groaned, his lips shining red; debauched.
Alfonso couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so far gone from just kissing someone. Surely he’d have to revisit his youth to catch a glimpse of such undisguised passion; to a time when every lick or touch or inch of slowly revealed skin was a new experience.
He ground his hips down into Taffy’s and earned a wonderful gasp for his troubles.
Alfonso grinned, Taffy was already hard.
“I’ve never…” Taffy fumbled with his words. “Not with a man.”
Alfonso had sort of guessed as much. The slight tremble to his hands was telling, regardless of how eager he was.
“Well, there was this boy I went to school with, but we never exactly got very far,” Taffy trailed on.
He was babbling, but his eyes were still dark with arousal. Alfonso brushed his knuckles against Taffy’s cheek, hoping to calm him down.
“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”
Taffy laughed; the small burst of warm ghosting over Alfonso’s lips. “Deal,” he agreed, the easy banter that always came so naturally between them a welcome distraction.
“It’s alright,” Alfonso soothed. “I’ll show you.”
Taffy flushed in embarrassment. The dark pink blossomed all the way down his neck in such a deliciously tantalising way, that Alfonso had to touch. He lightly peppered his skin with butterfly kisses until reaching the collar of his shirt. There was so much Alfonso wanted to do to him, with him, but he could wait. Tonight, he’d improvise.
Meeting no resistance, Alfonso slowly began to undress him; savouring the soft sounds Taffy made as he peeled away each piece of clothing. The erotic clink of belts being unbuckled echoed throughout the room as they silently shifted around on the bed in a dance the two of them were more than familiar with.
Taffy, beginning to feel a little bolder, started to reciprocate; his fingers easily slotting the buttons through their holes on Alfonso’s shirt without so much as a fumble.
The sudden forwardness of it went straight to Alfonso’s cock, and he forced Taffy back down onto the bed with an appreciative growl. He kissed down his chest, drifting over to gently take a nipple into his mouth. He rolled the nub between his teeth, feeling it harden against his tongue.
“Seems as if I’ve been missing out,” Taffy panted, running his hands over Alfonso’s shoulders.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
Alfonso missed the softening of Taffy’s eyes as he went lower and lower, tasting every inch of the German he could reach with his mouth. He circled his belly button with his tongue and lapped at the hollow of his hip bone. Taffy quivered under his touch and Alfonso found himself whispering reassurances against his skin, soft little shhh’s he wouldn’t waste on just anyone.
He mouthed at the tented bulge in his underwear, blowing hot air through the cotton and making it damp.
“Please, Fon,” Taffy whined.
Alfonso hooked his fingers over the waistband and tugged them down.
“Fucking hell, Taffy,” Alfonso cursed as took the opportunity to finally drink in the sight of him. All of him. Taffy’s skin was far from unblemished, small silvery scars and fading bruises - war wounds from one too many crashes - were scattered all over. But Alfonso never did like perfection. Perfection was boring.
Taffy shuddered as Alfonso’s stubble grazed along the inside of his thigh, making goosebumps break out all across his body. He skimmed his lips up the length of Taffy’s erection, enclosing them over the tip, and sucked. Taffy gasped sharply above him and Alfonso slid his mouth down further, taking as much of Taffy as he could.
“Oh, God.” Taffy’s voice was strained and he pulled at Alfonso’s hair. Alfonso enjoyed the sting and flattened his tongue against the underside of Taffy’s cock, applying just the right amount of pressure.
He bobbed his head a few times, savouring the taste, before letting him slip from his mouth and making a show of licking his lips.
“You’re obscene,” Taffy groaned. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly added.
Alfonso grinned widely. “Good,” he said. “Otherwise you’re in for a shock.”
He quickly slipped off his own underwear and settled down on the top of Taffy’s thighs so their cocks lined up flush against each other. Taffy made a soft sound of surprised pleasure at the contact, his mouth dropping open in a small ‘o’. Alfonso, wasting no time, grasped both of their cocks in one hand and began to stroke them together.
Taffy dug his nails into Alfonso’s back and arched off the bed, seeking out Alfonso’s lips for another kiss. Alfonso was happy to oblige, and swept down to lick into his mouth and drink in a whimper.
The cooling slickness clinging to Taffy made Alfonso hiss through his teeth as they slid against each other. He sprawled down on top of him, pushing a knee between Taffy’s legs to open them wider so they could fit together without so much as an inch between them, and rolled his hips.
Taffy gave a long, guttural moan that Alfonso felt reverberate all the way through him. Every last drop of nervousness was gone, replaced by instinct and the welcome release of all those months of pent up tension. Together they moved as if they’d been doing so for years; bodies snaking around each other, hands taking turns to touch and bring each other to release.
“More, Fon,” Taffy begged. “I need you.”
“You’ve got me.”
Alfonso sucked at Taffy’s throat, hoping to leave a mark that would get the other drivers talking if they were to catch a glimpse of it, one that Taffy would have to pull his collar up high to hide. Taffy hummed, low and happy, and offered his neck up as fully as he could.
They were both sticky with sweat and Alfonso could feel that familiar build of pressure rising, the desperation and need.
“I’m close,” Taffy warned as if reading Alfonso’s mind.
“I know, me too.”
Taffy pressed a hand to the small of Alfonso’s back, silently urging him on, and soon he was spilling across Taffy’s stomach with an ineloquent grunt. Taffy quickly followed; he set his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed, clinging to Alfonso as he rode out his orgasm.
He fell down bedside Taffy on the bed, unintentionally rolling him into his arms as he went. Once comfortable, Alfonso kissed the crown of Taffy’s head and took a few extra seconds to just enjoy Taffy’s scent curling around him.
He felt his eyelids start to droop and didn’t attempt to fight the wave of sudden exhaustion that was creeping up on him. He was satiated, content and, remarkably, at peace.
“You didn’t open your present,” Taffy said, his words muffled in Alfonso’s chest, and looked up.
Alfonso forced his eyes back open. “I was a bit occupied,” he slurred and ran his thumb over Taffy’s bottom lip, grinning when the other man playfully nipped at it.
“Come on,” Taffy whined and shoved him to the edge of the bed. “I think you’ll like it.”
Alfonso had to admit, he was intrigued. He heaved himself to his feet and stretched to get the cricks out of his back. Taffy made an appreciative sound behind him at the sight.
“I changed my mind, come back to bed.”
Alfonso laughed.
“Too late now.”
The package was neatly wrapped in dark blue paper. He ran a fingernail under the loosest seam to reveal the box. He lifted off the lid and, nestled safely amongst a lighter coloured tissue paper was a new, state of the art camera.
Taffy picked back up Alfonso’s newly completed scrap book from where it had fallen onto the floor and padded over to him. He hooked his chin over Alfonso’s shoulder. “Maybe we can fill this year’s together?” He raised his eyebrows in question and gave Alfonso a lop-sided grin.
Alfonso caught Taffy round the waist, hoisted him up into the air and deposited him back on the bed. Taffy yelped as he bounced on the mattress, his limbs splaying everywhere.
Loading a fresh roll of film into the camera, Alfonso took his first photo of the year.