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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 17 (NSFW)

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Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 8k

Recommended song: “SDBGS” by APM Boy

"How are you not freezing?"

You and Pierre had long since clambered from the pool, each of you ten pounds heavier with the weight of the water soaking your clothes. Alana had leant you a spare dry hoodie and for the moment, you were warm enough as you and Pierre walk hand and hand through the paddock.

With the sun setting and the cool, rose scented breeze filtering through the streets, you weren't surprised that he was chilled considering he was still soaked.

"I'm dryer than you," you say simply, poking at his bicep. "Evaporative cooling. That's what's getting you."

"The laws of whatever subject that is-" thermodynamics, you interject "-don't apply to me." Pierre shakes his head, sending droplets flying. The ends were beginning to curl as they dried, granting him a softer, almost angelic appearance when paired with his lopsided smile.

"They very much do. As pretty as you are, no one can escape heat transfer. You'll only feel colder and colder until you're in proper dry clothes. Until then the water molecules will draw heat from your body and dissipate it-"

You cut off your ramble with a sheepish shrug. The way Pierre looked at you now was reminiscent of you gazing at him up on the podium, prideful and chock full of love. "Sorry. My engineering brain can be hard to turn off."

"I don't mind. I learn something from you every day." He wraps and arm around your shoulders and you shriek, immediately ducking out of his grasp. The momentary contact leaves your shoulders wet.

"Now the water molecules will draw out your body heat too and we'll both be cold. Ohh, maybe we'll be forced to huddle together for warmth because we're locked out of the paddock-"

You wag a finger at him, biting back a smile. "Don't use my knowledge against me!"

"You don't own it," he points out, threading your fingers together again. "Besides, it's not like you'd mind, I'm sure."

No, you wouldn't, but hell would freeze over before you told him he was right.

“So about that dinner." Pierre swings your joined hands between you, his pace casual and unhurried.

“What about it?” With all the commotion it had completely slipped your mind. Pierre guides you through the garage, the path not quite as second nature to you yet as it was to him.

“I'd like you to come with me.”

“As much as I’d love to,” you start, closing the door to his driver’s room behind you, “I didn’t exactly pack with a fancy dinner in mind.”

“What makes you think I didn't plan ahead?” Pierre nods in the direction of his closet where two black garment bags hang. Your retort dies on your tongue when he unzips his dripping racesuit, shucking it off and unceremoniously leaving it in a heap on the floor. He leaves the fireproofs on, already mostly dry by the looks of it and runs a hand through his hair, leaving behind a mess of spiky, damp strands.

How many times have you enjoyed this view now? Too many to count and you were still just as awestruck each time. You could only hope that feeling never faded.

Screw a fancy dinner. You wanted him so bad you felt sick with desire, the sodden white and navy fireproofs clinging to every inch of him for dear life. The couch was big enough for two, especially if he sat up while you rode him. He liked it better that way anyway, so he could see your face when you came and were reduced to a shuddering, quivering mess above him.

Pierre waves a hand in your face. "Earth to mon amour."

"What? Oh, sorry. I was distracted."

Your eyes track his tongue as it darts over his lips and leaves them glistening. His mouth moves and instinctual you know you should be registering the sound of his accent smoothing out the edges of whatever he was saying but you're more concerned about imagining his tongue between your legs to pay any attention.

A hand engulfs your chin, forcing your attention upwards until you meet an amused ocean blue stare. "Since you clearly aren't listening to a word I say, I'll repeat myself. Do you want to see what I got you?"

"Um, yes?"

"I see you've finally found your voice."

Dear lord, he was doing this on purpose, wasn't he?

Your skin is cold when he drops his hand in favor of retrieving one of the garment bags. He shoots you a boyish grin. "I hope you like it. I went through a bunch of them before you flew in and picked this one out just in case."

Your jaw drops when he unzips the bag to reveal what he picked with you in mind. “You didn’t.”

“I’ll take that to mean I did a good job.” He pulls the floor length gown out so you can wholly appreciate the beauty. It’s so perfectly crafted that you’re not sure you possess the ability to do the dress justice.

"This had to be…" you trail off, shaking your head. "You know what? I don't even want to think about the price."

"Good, you shouldn't." He fluffs the fabric a little, letting it glimmer. "I didn't even look at the cost, to be honest. I knew you'd love it, so it's the one I picked."

Inky black fabric glimmers like the night sky over Rouen, dotted with tiny crystals that catch the smallest bits of light. The deep vee of the neckline is one that will undoubtedly give your mother a heart attack when she saw photos of you tomorrow, the cut trailing nearly to your navel. That and the low, swooping back providing plenty of easy access to your skin that he surely intended to take advantage of.

Your fingers glide over the dress still held in his hands, amazed that Pierre had managed to find something that fit you so well. He lays the garment carefully over the arm of the couch and shoots you a grin that has your fingers stilling at the hem of your borrowed sweater.

“Let me help.”

You raise your arms and Pierre grips the borrowed hoodie, tugging it over your head, intentionally scraping his calloused palms over your sides. The touch short circuits your senses, mind wiped blank of anything except where his skin grazes yours.

His lips meet your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. "You know, we have an hour or so before we have to be across town."

"Whatever shall we do to kill the time?" As you speak, you tilt your head to allow Pierre the opportunity to leave searing kisses along your neck. Predictably he jumps at the chance, surprising you when he bites softly at the junction of your shoulder. At your gasp he flicks his tongue over the small hurt, soothing away the sting.

"I swear if you just marked me before a big event where there's bound to be cameras-"

"Don't worry," his confidence immediately quells your concern. "It wasn't that hard. And besides, would it be so bad if I had left a mark? It's not like it'll be the first time a grid couple showed up covered in bruises."

You had to give him that. Daniel and his girlfriend had no qualms about very publicly displaying their purple splotches. "I like what we have. It's just for us. I don't want to share it with the world, at least not that side of us."

"That's fair." Pierre distracts you with another kiss while he toys with the waist of your shorts. "I promise I won't leave any marks where cameras might catch them. Other than that… no guarantees."

The sharp slice of his devilish smile makes you shiver as he finally slips a hand beneath your waistband. Practiced fingers dance over your hip, teasing you just enough to drag a half whimper from your throat before you catch yourself.

A deep, satisfied chuckle has goosebumps rising on your skin in the wake of his breath. The tight fitted fireproofs trap your fingers against his spine as you wind your way under his shirt to explore the ridges of muscle.

You wanted him now, your race winner, the man who defied all odds to come out on the top step. You wanted to prove to him what a good job he had done by way of your lips, tracing every vein of his stiff cock. You wanted to feel the weight of him on your tongue, taste the salt of the bead of precum that gathers at the tip. He deserved to be worshipped after his drive today and you'd be damned if you squandered this chance.

"Please," you breathe, your hand finding his cock between the crush of your hips, hard and waiting-

"Oh, that's enough for now I think."

The glare you shoot Pierre when he steps back nonchalantly could melt the polar ice caps. The pinpricks of pleasure he had served you on a silver platter had you itching to get on your knees and overrule him. "You can't be serious."

"Yes actually, I am." He gestures to the tiny space serving as his driver's room. "Walls aren't nearly insulated enough for me to have you how I want you."

"But- you can't-"

"Consider it payback for earlier." He winks and tosses you a clean shirt from his duffel. "Women's showers are down the hall. There should be all the stuff you need in there to get ready; I asked someone to stock it for you."

"You're insufferable."

"Yeah, but you love me."

**********

Hair and makeup may not have been your forte, but you managed to pull together what you hoped was an elegant, simple look with the few tools Pierre had selected for your use.

The dress had somehow magically appeared in the common room shared between the three private women's showers. Whatever magic Pierre managed to work to get your measurements had paid off. The dress fits you like a glove, tailored to hug every curve until the train settles in a starlit pool at your feet.

Deeming knocking unnecessary, you enter Pierre's room only to be stopped in your tracks by the golden expanse of his bare back. The white button down he wears does little to hide the defined arms and toned shoulders, the fabric straining across them.

He catches your eye in the mirror and offers you a wink. "You look amazing, baby."

"You're one to talk," you murmur, snaking your arms around his waist. "Did you happen to pick up some shoes for me as well, or am I expected to wear my Nikes?"

"I got you some heels. By any chance do you know how to tie a tie?"

You quirk a brow at him. "Are you telling me you don't?"

Pierre shrugs. "I usually have one of the guys do it for me. Charles says I don't do it right."

"Give it to me."

The red silk compliments the charcoal gray suit. You take your time tying it at his throat, accidentally grazing his skin a few times solely to continue your little game. He murmurs his thanks when you finish and slides into his suit coat to complete the look.

"We clean up well, huh?"

You swallow the memory his words dredge up, but not quick enough to keep the wince from your face.

His smile vanishes and he settles a hand on your hip, silently imploring you to explain. Pierre didn't prod, granting you the choice of whether or not to voice what had obviously perturbed you. You didn't want to spoil the mood but if you kept it in, it would bother you all night.

Your hands wind in his hair, gaze falling to the carpet. "You said that to Max last time I was in Monaco. At the gala."

"I remember," he says softly. "I was talking to you that night, I hope you know that."

You nod against his shoulder. Paired with his touch to the nape of your neck, you'd had no question that it was a thinly veiled attempt to keep up the ruse of friendship.

"Let's make better memories tonight." Pierre takes your hand from where it tangles in his hair, bringing it to his lips. "Replace those negative ones with positive ones of us dancing, singing, kissing and just being general menaces to high society."

"I like the sound of that."

**********

You barely have time to appreciate the gold-plated filigree on the stone columns and the sweeping lengths of pastel tulle decorating the grand hall before you're yanked aside, Pierre right along with you.

"Thank god you're here," hisses your best friend, pressing a flute of champagne into your hand. "Daniel abandoned me a half hour ago."

"Zak steal your man again?" Pierre teases, wrapping her in a hug. She shoves him off and rolls her eyes, as if she'd heard the joke a million times already. She probably had honestly, it was a running joke in the McLaren garage.

"Who else? Ever since Dan's been at McLaren, I barely see him at these events. And I thought Cyril was bad! He's got nothing on how Zak Brown fangirls over Dan, he's no better than the teenagers that stalk him on insta."

"Aw, Birdy's upset, huh?" The jab earns you a glare which you promptly laugh off. "Don't worry, it'll take much more than Zak Brown to separate me from you." You link your elbow through her crooked arm and sip your champagne.

"Speak of the devil," Pierre says, a grin splitting his tanned face as he claps Daniel on the back. "Who dressed you, a monkey?"

"Lost a bet, mate." Daniel gestures to the wretched suit, patterned with Hawaiian florals against a white backdrop. It looked more like something an ill advised high schooler might wear to a prom than a strapping Formula 1 driver's choice for dinner apparel.

"I bet him that he'd podium but not win- of course he bet on himself being on the top step." Dan's girlfriend bumps Pierre's shoulder with a fist. "Thanks for stealing first place out from under him. Now we can all enjoy his lovely fashion choice."

"I hope you've got pictures," you say, biting back a laugh. "I want this look memorialized forever."

"Yeah, I'd say I'm sorry but honestly? I'm not." Pierre laughs again, the way his body curls in on itself as he does so mesmerizes you.

"Ah yes, laughing at Daniel's suit are we?" Charles passes off one of the two drinks he carries to Dan, who raises it in salute before taking a long drink. "It's deserved. It's horrible, not even properly fitted or coordinated with Birdy."

The brightly colored suit does clash with the simple sheath of deep wine red his girlfriend wears, the floor length silk loose enough to hide her generous curves but the thigh-high slit offsets the modest cut.

"I didn't exactly have time to get it tailored," Daniel protests and flicks the lapel of Charles' Ferrari blazer. "And at least I'm not wearing the same thing I do to every damn event we attend."

"I'll have you know this is timeless," Charles defends, smoothing the wrinkle Daniel caused. "You can never go wrong with a black coat. It goes with everything."

You snort. "Right, it has nothing to do with the fact that Binotto would have your head if you were photographed without it."

Charles changes the subject with grace. "Anyone seen Charlotte?"

"I'm right here," she chimes in, raising a martini glass. "You left me at the bar in your haste to return to your boyfriends."

"Char, that dress is gorgeous," you swoon, immediately reaching to run your fingers over the blue chiffon. Simple was the theme for the three of you apparently, Charlotte's strapless dress flaring out at her hips and falling mid calf. "Where did you find it?"

"A little boutique in Nice," she says, indulging you with a spin. You and Dan's girlfriend both let out whoops, miming throwing dollars her way. "It's been sitting in the back of my closet and I decided it was time to give it some limelight."

Pierre's hand slips to your lower back, toying with the hem as he leans in to brush his lips to the shell of your ear. "They want us for pictures. I'll be back in a bit."

You nod, leaning in when he presses a quick kiss to your temple.

"I can't believe we're at another one of these dumb galas," you sigh, draining your glass. As long as it was free, you might as well enjoy it. "This is already, what, number three this season?"

"Fourth for me," Charlotte offers. "Ferrari love their banquets. God, they're always stuffy and insufferable. Binotto talks for hours and hours in that horrible accent. I don't know how anyone understands him."

"It can't be that bad," Daniel's girlfriend notes, snagging an appetizer from a server that passes by.

"Okay sure, you sit next to engineers prattling on all night about engine codes and suspension ratios and then you tell me it's not that bad."

"I feel for you there," you say, accepting half of the mini sandwich Dan's girlfriend offers you. "At least I somewhat enjoy that mechanical talk, but even I get bored."

"At least this one isn't so formal," Dan's girlfriend says. "As the only one present that's attended this particular dinner in the past, I'm happy to report that it's more of a party than a banquet. Plenty of opportunities to sneak off and have a bit of fun." She winks at you when she says it and heat rises to your cheeks at the implication.

"Shut up," you mumble, crossing your arms. "I would never."

"I think you should live a little," Charlotte says, nodding to where Pierre stood with his fellow podium sitters to pose for pictures. "Pierre's been making eyes at you the entire time he's been over there."

A grin fights its way onto your face and Pierre quirks a brow. You bite your lip and look him up and down, drinking him in. He looks almost as good clad head to toe in gray as he did in navy and white. He mimics the action, shamelessly undressing you with his gaze.

"Bedroom eyes," Daniel's girlfriend stage whispers behind her hand to Charlotte. "I give them an hour tops until they find their way to a bathroom stall."

"Hush, the pair of you!" You laugh, but don't deny the accusation. You can't guarantee you won't steal Pierre off somewhere once the dancing has started, not if he keeps up those heated glances.

"Let's get you a proper drink. Gotta take advantage of that open bar, don't we?"

You let Charlotte tow you along to the bar, ordering herself another martini and whatever she pleased for you. The three of you chat at the bar for a while, enjoying the night and the liquor flowing between you.

You're two drinks in when an arm snakes around your waist. "You're gonna get wasted if you keep this up, mon amour."

You hum, turning in Pierre's grip to face him and cup his cheek. "Once I have something to eat I'll be fine."

"Speaking of which, I found our seats. Dinner's about to be served."

Pierre's arm remains locked around your waist as you weave through the half-seated crowd to a table centered in front of the stage. Pierre drapes his coat over the back of the chair next to Daniel's, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. You grip one to steady yourself as you sit, beaming up at your man when he leans down to kiss your forehead.

"No speeches?" You ask when a steaming dish is set before you.

"Not until after we eat," Pierre points out, laying a hand on your thigh. "Like I said, way less formal than most events."

You take a bite of the vegetables, melted butter and savory spices exploding on your tongue. One thing you couldn't deny about these dinners was that the food never failed to delight.

Pierre's hand inches up your leg as the two of you eat and enjoy conversation with your friends and the various people lucky enough to be seated at the winner's table. You stop paying attention to what's being said somewhere around the third course when Pierre's pinky grazes your center and continues to torture you as the night wears on.

Eventually you put a stop to his teasing, clenching your thighs and taking his offending hand in your own. His answer is a lazy grin, love drunk and perfectly aware of what he was doing to you.

"Stop that," you hiss, turning back to your plate.

Pierre's thumb sweeps over your knuckles. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything. Simply enjoying a meal with my lovely girlfriend."

"We are in public," you whisper, shooting him a reprimanding glance.

"There's a tablecloth blocking the view. And I would like to remind you that you started it with that massage," he points out, laying his hand flat on your thigh. "I'm only reciprocating."

You grit your teeth. Pierre was right but that didn't mean you had to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

Setting down his fork, Pierre leans over to whisper in your ear. "There's my good girl. Let me make this a memorable night for you like I promised, yeah?"

You nod sharply, focusing on your meal and pointedly ignoring the glances your two friends continually shoot your way. Pierre's thumb skirts over your core, the fabric of your dress suddenly very much a nuisance. He draws rough circles over your center until your breath catches in your throat.

You send a silent thanks to the man that takes the stage to give brief introductions of the various officials attending the dinner. He calls each of the podium sitters one by one and they take turns standing to roaring applause from the attendees. When Pierre stands he doesn't break contact, instead resting his hand on your bare shoulder.

At least you weren't the only one that was craving skin on skin.

"Dance with me."

Pierre doesn't give you much choice, sweeping you up out of your seat and into his arms as the music swells. He leads you off to the tiny dance floor currently populated by a few half drunk couples and a few singles dancing together. You're sure to keep a chaste distance between your chests when a slow song starts.

"My love," Pierre murmurs, drawing you attention as you sway in time with the beat, "there's no reason for you to act so innocent. There's no cameras anymore- Monaco's laws kick them out after the initial round of photographs. It's just us, you can relax a little."

He leaves kisses on your shoulders like drops of dew. You sigh, leaning into him and letting your hand slide down his bicep. You had long since memorized the mountains and valleys of your racer but you'd never stop appreciating them every chance you got. Each line of muscle was hard earned, the result of hours upon hours of training at home and at the gym. No matter how committed anyone else on the grid was, they couldn't live up to the level of fitness Pierre had achieved; he was in a class of his own.

Mental strength is the trait you admire most about Pierre though. For everything he had been through, he never lost his positivity, never let the world beat him into the box it insisted he belonged in. Fighting for track position was second nature to most racers, but the confidence required to go for a gap that could disappear in the blink of an eye was something that few possessed.

Moving from Red Bull back to Torro Rosso had been like jumping into the deep end of a murky pool and discovering the bottom was much closer than had been expected. Pierre had used the momentum to rebound and skyrocket to the top with ease. It was impossible to deny he was one of the most talented racers on the grid. There was no doubt he'd be world champion one day.

You'd make damn sure you were there to see it.

"You're gonna win it all one day," you blurt, the filter between your brain and your mouth spotted with holes after the handful of fruity drinks you'd consumed.

"Win what, the championship?" Pierre always does this when you're too vague for his liking. Though he is perfectly capable of deciphering your half-formed thought and knows what you mean, he's still rather hear you say it outright.

You nod fervently. "Yes, win the championship."

Pierre chuckles, hand wandering to your bum. "It's mine for the taking, is it?"

"Once you get to Mercedes, or McLaren, or maybe even if Alpha steps up their game, you'll win it." Once you've started there's no stopping the babbling brook bubbling past your lips. "Seb told me once that you had what it takes, it's just a matter of finding the right team. He said that Red Bull was that team for him, but you could go to Ferrari or anywhere really and make the team yours, build a winning car. He said you've got the stuff and it would be a shame if it went to waste."

"Seb said all that, huh?" Pierre pulls you impossibly closer, chests and hips flush. You can tell exactly where your praise has caused his mind to wander.

"He did!" Pierre hums in approval at your insistence. "He told me you've got raw talent, the type that leads to- stop that," you dodge his lips, rambling on, "that leads to championships or burn outs, and I think we all know you're not gonna burn out-"

"Would you shut up for a second and let me kiss you?"

"No, because I want you to know how talented and- hey!" You break off to rub at the skin he had pinched. "That hurt-"

Pierre takes advantage of your redirection to cut you off with a kiss. Immediately you forget why you were against this, why you would ever say no to Pierre's alcohol tinted tongue sliding against the seam of your lips and setting you ablaze. You wind your arms around his neck, bursts of color blooming behind your eyelids with each second the kiss plays out.

How easy it would be to get lost in him, to explore the wooded, secluded paths of his soul and be perfectly content setting up camp and staying forever. If life could be reduced to a single moment of bliss it would be this: the slide of Pierre's lips against yours, the crush of his fingertips digging into your flesh, and the grind of his thigh between yours.

The hoots and hollers of your collective friends draw you back to reality some minutes later. Cheeks flush when you pull away, but Pierre doesn’t seem to notice your audience. Daniel and his girlfriend stand back to chest, his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder. They didn’t look much farther off from getting out of this goddamn hell hole, as Daniel would put it.

Something about the atmosphere of a far too fancy setting in a far too fancy destination made you feel weightless. For the night you didn’t care what people might think of catching you and your boyfriend lost in the heat of the moment, wrapped up in each other like you were the only two in the room. If it weren’t for Charles nudging Pierre’s shoulders, you probably would have picked up right where you left off.

"Go home," Charles suggests, handing over his apartment keys. "I'll stay with Charlotte tonight. Let me know when it's safe to come back tomorrow."

"Thanks." Pierre is breathless, the same wild look in his eyes as after a particularly thrilling qualifying session. Driving on a knife's edge and skirting public scandal apparently came with the same adrenaline rush.

“Well?” You do your best to keep the smile from dominating your face, trying for a teasing smirk. “Take my home, lover boy.”

You make it all of twenty steps before Pierre detours you down a hallway and pins you against the wall. "I don't know if I can make it home, mon amour. The way you look in that dress… magnifique. Positivement délicieux."

"How do you say 'find us a closet' in French?" You hitch a leg up around his hips, his arousal pressing against your stomach. "Because I'm not gonna make it home either if you keep talking like that."

The thought that you're in public doesn't cross your mind once. Pierre's attention shifts to letting his lips roam your jaw and you tip your head to allow him better access. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the shared high of his podium; either way you don’t question your sudden rush of confidence.

You tug on his tie until his ear is level with your mouth. "Leave a mark."

Pierre’s been waiting all night for that permission. He jumps to comply, nipping at the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You sigh, wishing the feeling of free falling that accompanied letting go of your inhibitions would last forever. Pierre picks up on it, starting slow and drawing the process of claiming you out as long as he can.

Alternating between sucking and biting, he doesn't let up until you're ready to push him off, skin too sensitive for him to continue. You don't have to look to know that the hickey is probably already a deep purple, throbbing lightly with each staccato beat of your heart.

“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” Pierre admits. “That night you texted me, I knew where it was going. And when I was at your door it took everything in me to keep from kissing you. And merde, when I had you on that counter, I wanted to leave bruises like that everywhere, just so everyone knew who you belonged to.”

“I think they already knew,” you say quietly. You’d always been his, really, even before that night at the bar in London months and months ago. It hadn’t taken him long after you’d first met to claim a piece of your heart. “Didn’t you wonder why I never dated anyone while we were friends?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder the same?”

“Guess we’re both oblivious, huh?”

Pierre’s thumb sweeps over your swollen lips. “Not anymore. What do you say we give them something to talk about? I want one too," he says, tapping the space just below his stubbled jaw. "Make it big, I want everyone to know I'm yours."

Dipping your head, you graze your teeth over his throat. The skin pulls tighter beneath your tongue, the man at your mercy growing impatient. You indulge him- because after all, it's his day- and suck at the fragile skin. It only takes a few seconds for a red splotch to appear.

"There," you say triumphantly, running a finger over your handiwork. "Mine."

A tropical storm rises in Pierre's ocean eyes at the claim. He kisses you, ignoring the person that scoots past mumbling about finding a room. "It's my day, so what I say goes, right?" He squeezes your thigh, grinding his hips against you for emphasis.

"Within reason," you amend. "I haven't had so much to drink that I'm completely shameless. I'm not going to let you fuck me right here in the open."

"Well then I guess we better find that closet."

Pierre stumbles down the corridor, trying every door until he finds one unlocked. "Coats," he declares, tugging you inside. "We can make a bed and everything."

"Who wears a coat to a dinner in Monaco?"

"I don't know, and I don't really care." Pierre's hands land on your hips. "All I know is this dress? It's coming off."

Between kisses, Pierre makes quick work of pulling the heavy fabric up past your waist. He helps it over your head and drops it in a pile at your feet. A blush paints your cheeks as his hungry eyes roam over the expanses of bare skin, your lacy underwear the only scrap of clothing left.

"That's much better."

The moan that escapes you when his finger brushes your dripping center would be embarrassing if it weren't Pierre who lapped the sound up like honey.

"God, I got you this wet just by giving you a hickey?"

"And teasing me all damn night," you grit out, nails digging into his upper arm as he drags a finger against you again. You try and fail to unknot his tie. Frustrated, you tug at it and let out a whine. "Take this off so I can-"

"So you can what?" Pierre purrs, utterly nonplussed by your temper tantrum. "What are you gonna do with it?"

You shrug, confused by the sudden turn. "I don't know, I feel we aren't equally undressed and I'd rather change that."

"Oh, you want me to strip?" What had gotten into him? It was like a switch had been flipped, unlocking some dominant side of him that you had never seen before. His eyes were glassy, his hands wandering and needy, waiting on your reply.

"Well yes, if that's how you want to put it."

"I'll tell you what," Pierre says, "I'll take this off but it's not joining your clothes on the floor. I've got other uses for it I think you might like."

"Like what?" Your eyes track his nimble fingers as they work at the knot until the tie hangs loose around his neck. Pierre's grin promises trouble as he looks you up and down once more.

Without a word Pierre grabs ahold of both of your wrists and pins them above your head. His lips are an inch from yours, close enough that the slightest nudge forward would have his plump, angry red lower lip caught between your teeth. Close enough that your breath mingles and you're certain Pierre can hear the way your breathing becomes uneven.

"How do you feel about being tied up?"

Ever the gentleman, he waits for you to nod before tying the silk around your wrists. He tightens it enough that it'll hold firm if you squirm, but not enough to cause an uncomfortable level of pain. Pierre shoulders aside the coats and ties the other end to the railing, effectively forcing your arms to remain over your head until he sees fit to release them.

And god, something about being entirely at his mercy has a plea springing to your tongue. Any same thought in your head revolves around getting him to touch you, getting him inside you- fingers or cock or tongue you didn't care, you just needed something to ease the ache. But Pierre was in control, he was the one that decided what happened when and you had no say in the matter.

"You like that, don't you?" Pierre drags his nose along your neck, one hand slipping beneath your panties. You both moan when his fingers are instantly slick. "Yeah, I guess you do."

"Please," you whisper, bucking your hips into his hand. "Please Pierre-"

You cry out when he removes his hand completely. "You said you wanted me to strip," he says simply, untucking his shirt. He undoes each button with agonizing deliberateness, dragging out each one. You strain against the tie that digs into your wrists, desperate for him to, "hurry up."

The last part comes out as a pained whine. You're too needy to care that you've been reduced to a mewling, begging mess. Pierre takes pity on you and sheds his button down and undoes his belt.

"You want me to fuck you here, baby? Where anyone might walk in and find me buried in you?"

You nod, toes curling against the tile. The prospect of it was thrilling; being caught with your lover in the throes of fucking, too blissed out to give a damn.

"Lucky for you, that's what I want too." Pierre pops the button on his pants and tugs his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth waters at the sight of it as he strokes himself once, twice, three times before forcing your chin up to look at him.

"I want to see you."

You do your best to listen, to keep your eyelids from fluttering shut as Pierre guides the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

"You're being so good for me," he murmurs, lips leaving a searing trail over your chest. Your fingers itch to bury themselves in his hair, instead your nails bite into your palms.

"Pierre, please just fuck me, I've waited long enough, please-"

Pierre thrusts into you without preamble. The words die in your throat as your body goes rigid, shutting down now that you've gotten exactly what you've been begging for.

It shouldn't be possible for a man to make you feel this good. The way he fills you leaves no part of you wanting. Planes of muscle tense against you and you know Pierre is holding back, forcing himself to remain still while you construct a sentence brick by brick.

"Can you- god, I just-" Frustrated, you let out a groan. His cock had you too fucked out to speak and he hadn't even moved since that first stroke.

Fingers dimple the skin of your lower back, pressing your centers tight. Pierre's devilish tongue flicks over the mark on your neck, sending a fresh wave of candy coated pain crashing over you. "Tell me what you need."

"You know," you whimper, rising on your tiptoes. The inch of movement is enough to have your eyes rolling back.

"Yeah." Pierre slides a hand down your exposed side. You can feel him twitch inside you and you know it's taking years of discipline to keep from fucking you open. With bound hands there's not much you can do to entice him besides rolling your hips. Pierre responds by pulling out an inch with each of your undulations until the heat of him is gone completely.

A string of profanities leave your lips and Pierre swallows them whole. Speech is too complicated. Instead Pierre tells you what he needs to by snapping his hips up, seating himself to the hilt in one go. Your moans fuse until you're not sure where your own ends and Pierre's begins. All you're certain of is how right it feels that Pierre's dick fits your pussy so perfectly, like it belongs there. The hanger digging into your shoulder blade is an afterthought, your focus on the fingers working your clit. The whispers of praise in your ear slip fluidly between English and French, and it doesn't matter what Pierre's saying, just that you can glean the lust coating each word.

Each thrust of his hips has your nails biting harder and harder into your palms. You hadn't expected to like being deprived your sense of touch but it seemed to heighten your other senses. You pick up on the wet sounds accompanying Pierre's movements. Breathing gets harder with each stroke as the sensation builds to a crescendo in your belly.

You barely manage to breathe out, "Don't stop," before Pierre's hand finds your hastily done ponytail and yanks your head back. His lips find your exposed neck to leave a hot, open mouthed kiss to your throat.

"Merde, you're so tight, feels so good-"

"I'm-"

"No," Pierre says, the order plain and clear. "You're going to wait until I tell you that you can come. Understand?"

Pierre wasn't a selfish lover. Normally he'd coax an orgasm or two from you before he thought about himself. Tonight that wasn't the case.

Your nod is weak, mouth hanging open and at a loss for words. You could get used to this side of him. A little less soft, less asking and more taking.

"I knew you would." Pierre's thumb sweeps under your jaw as his strokes come more infrequently, the time between each one growing fat and lazy. "I almost wish someone would walk in right now so they could see what I do to you. You're so easy to get worked up, aren't you? A few expert touches and you're unravelling around me."

If he didn't shut up, you'd be more than just worked up. You were about fifteen seconds of dirty words from shattering.

Pierre's lips graze the shell of your ear. "When I was on that top step today, all I could think about was getting you alone. That dumb grin on your face nearly made me leap off that platform and come running to you."

"If Daniel hadn't insisted on dumping the rest of my champagne over my head, I would've saved it to pour on you. Maybe do some body shots."

A knuckle trails between your breasts. You swear you can feel liquid fizzing against your skin before his tongue follows his knuckle, licking a wide stripe up your sternum. The strangled sound that escapes your mouth is foreign, guttural and rife with need.

You'd do anything for him to pound into you, to fuck you senseless. Hell, at this point you'd settle for being on your knees while he fucked your mouth, his hand on the back of your head urging you to take him deeper while your own fingers were buried between your spread thighs.

You don't realize you're audibly begging please, please, please, until Pierre cups your jaw and taps your lips. "You wanna come, don't you?"

Silk grinds into your wrists when you tense. "I wanna touch-"

It's all Pierre needs to hear to have him untying your hands and properly crowding you against the wall. Finally free, you dig your fingers into his biceps hard enough to leave stippled bruises. Pierre slams into you hard and fast, like having your hands on him has managed to snap the last of his resolve.

"Come for me."

Pierre swallows your cry with a crushing kiss as the knot in your stomach explodes. Your orgasm tears through you, pleasure licking through your veins and igniting every last nerve in your body. He doesn't give you time to catch your breath, your shaking legs somehow managing to hold you up while he chases his own high.

"Your turn, race winner," you breathe, and that does it for him. He pulls out a second before he cums on your stomach. His head falls forward to rest on your shoulder and you gently brush the sweat-damp hair from his forehead while he comes back to earth.

"You did amazing today. And I don't just mean the sex."

Pierre's laugh is barely a puff of air. "It was a pretty good drive."

"I hate to ruin the moment," you start, "but my stomach is starting to itch. I don't suppose you planned ahead and brought something with you to clean ourselves up?"

Pierre fumbles for his suit coat and produces a clean table napkin from the pocket. "You'd think you would have learned by now."

Halfway into dressing yourself, a knock sounds at the door. The muffled voice is unmistakable, instantly recognizable as Daniel's girlfriend. "Are you two done? Daniel can only hold the minister and his wife up with small talk for so long. They need their coats."

Pierre kisses your reddened cheeks. "Guess round two will have to wait until we get home."

"God, fix your hair." Your best friend fusses over you the second the door swings open. "Haven't you ever fucked in a public space before? You're supposed to pull yourselves together before you rejoin the population. Pierre you're no better, tuck in your shirt. And what happened to your tie?"

Pierre shoots you a grin that goes right through you. "Don't worry about it."

"Yep, that's all I need to hear. You two scamper off while Daniel still has them distracted." She makes a shooing motion with her hands.

"Thank him for us," Pierre says before kissing her cheek. "But let's never speak of this again, yeah?"

"Ugh, agreed." She waves a hand, nose scrunched like a plate of rotten eggs had been set before her. "I don't ever want to remember the things I heard."

The warmth of Pierre's hand on your lower back is a welcome weight as he guides you through the people. A few stop him to chat, which he politely obliges for a few moments before using the same excuse each time, complaining of a headache. He declines the endless stream of drinks pushed into his hand, his actions focused solely on getting the two of you out the door.

You breathe a lungful of salty sea air when you finally make it outside. House lights dot the cliffs, twinkling in a mirror image of the stars above. Moonlight dances off the water, waves lapping at the sandy shores a few streets below.

"I forgot how beautiful it is here at night," you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself. It had cooled off significantly since you'd arrived, the chill November air seeping in. "Though I am beginning to regret our decision to walk here tonight."

"Wasn't the smartest thing we've done." Pierre shrugs out of his jacket and sets it around your shoulders. You hum as his lingering heat envelops you, abating the cold. You clutch the lapels in one hand, trapping the warmth inside.

"Only a few more weeks until winter break," you point out, if only for something to talk about. If you didn't keep your mouth running, you weren't entirely certain you'd make it home without falling asleep on a bench somewhere. "Have any big plans?"

"More nights like this. You and me, walking somewhere with a nice view, living for ourselves. No deadlines or appearances to be up early for, just us."

"When you get that Red Bull spot, won't you have photoshoots and stuff to attend in Milton?" You pointedly ignore Pierre's protests at your certainty of his seat for next year, barreling right over him. "Because that's much closer to home for me. I don't mind sharing you a day a week. You could even unpack your suitcase, stay awhile at my place maybe."

This last bit is said while your gaze is trained on the uneven stone path beneath your feet, half to ensure your heel doesn't snag in a crack and send you sprawling on your ass, and half because you're afraid of what Pierre's reaction might be to your suggestion. You had no idea where it had come from, the idea popping into your head and rolling off your tongue before you could think better of it.

The silence stretches a heartbeat too long. "Did you just ask me to move in with you?"

"I mean kinda, if you want? There's plenty of closet space for your team gear and I've got a second parking space in the garage that I just use to park my bike. I know you have to keep your apartment in Milan, but I thought maybe you could use my place as a sort of satellite for when you're in England, it has to be easier than flying back and forth every weekend. But if you don't want to, that's fine."

"You know it's funny, I was planning to ask you the same thing. To move to Milan with me, once you finish school." Pierre stops, your tethered hands forcing you to do the same. "But I like your idea better. I wouldn't have to wait so long."

"Wait, really?" You had to admit, the thought of waking up to a fresh pot of coffee and a kiss each morning was intriguing. "You're serious?"

"Of course I am." Pierre places a hand on your hip and tugs you close so he can kiss you. "Once the season's over, I'm getting on the first flight to London."

"Might want to stop in Milan first," you tease, rising on your tiptoes for another kiss. "Round up your trophies. My place could use some redecorating."

"I've got it covered."

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hannahharps · 7 years

Text

Shoes, Dates, Boys & Girls | Hantana

TAGGING: @lopezcollection & @hannahharps

TIME: Thursday 8/17

PLACE: Hannah's Apartment

NOTES: Santana comes over to help Hannah pick out an outfit for her date and they talk about things with their love lives.

Santana: It had been a pretty sure deal that Hannah was going to get that date, because she was Hannah. The girl may have doubted herself, but Santana never had. So Santana couldn’t be happier for her, and helping her pick an outfit, and more importantly shoes, was a great excuse to catch. There was just, unfortunately, a few things on her mind that she couldn’t shake off. It’s not like she was nervous…Santana was never nervous. A Lopez just didn’t do nerves, but she was about to see her best friend and tell her that she was .. heavily flirting with her twin sister and well, maybe she was a little nervous. It was just flirting, but Hannah often met any comments about Dani with disgust, so she wasn’t all too sure how she’d react to the information. That is if she didn’t already know. Bags of clothes and shoes in hand, Santana knocked on Hannah’s door with a little more hesitance than normal.

Hannah was so excited about her date with Cooper. It all felt so exciting and a little taboo even because he was her teacher and that just made the thrill of it better. She was pacing around her bedroom apartment, clothes already thrown all over the floor when she heard the knock on the door. Hannah hopped up and went to answer it quickly. "Oh thank god you are here. You took forever. I need help!" She whined and pulled Santana inside. The best part of Hannah having her own apartment was the decorations. She had gone all out with nice furniture and fancy artwork on her walls. The whole apartment was very girly but very much Hannah. Santana had been there a million times before.

Santana: It was no surprise to Santana that Hannah pulled her in quickly, it was an all too familiar situation. They had done this so many times before, helping each other pick outfits for dates or parties or just for a normal day. Santana was about to make a comment about how she really did /not/ take forever, but all she could do was step further in her room and take a breath, blurting out what was on her mind without thought. “Don’t kill me but I’ve been flirting with Dani.” It was out, now, so Santana actually felt like she could breathe. And relax. “So…how did he ask you out?”

Hannah paused for a moment when Santana opened her mouth. She raised an eyebrow at her as she changed the subject. "Wait a minute. Rewind. You're flirting with my sister?" She asked. "You flirt with everyone though." She shrugged. Hannah was definitely a little uncomfortable about it. She didn't want Santana and Dani to date. In Hannah's eyes, Dani was perfect and just better in general so it wasn't a surprise that Santana would like her and forget all about Hannah. She handed Santana her phone. "He just said we should hang out again and grab coffee." As she let Santana read through her texts she frowned. "So was she flirting back?" She asked curiously as she looked at her nails pretending not to care.

Santana looked at Hannah, and was slightly relieved when she didn’t seem absolutely horrified. Yes, she wouldn’t let Santana change the subject, but it was better than what she imagined. “Mhm. And yeah, that’s true..” It wasn’t like Santana hid her ways, she definitely was one to play the field. Santana took the opportunity to look at Hannah’s phone, reading through the texts she was showing her. “Damn. He’s a serious one. But he did wink at you.” Santana kept scrolling, mostly so she wouldn’t have to look at Hannah when her friend asked the same question. “Yeah. She was. But like…don’t yell at her. She didn’t want to at first.” Santana had had to push quite a bit for Dani to get over the fact that they were friends. “And anyways, I doubt it’ll be for long. Told me she was into me and some other chick, so my bet’s on them getting together. So. You don’t have to worry or whatever..and I’d like..stop, if you asked me to.”

Hannah was in too good of a mood to let this whole Santana and Dani thing get to her. She smiled excitedly when Santana mentioned the wink. "Ahh I know right?! He wants me I know it." She smirked. Hannah took her phone back and she rolled her eyes. "Of course she is." She shook her head. "I'm not gonna yell at her. Dani can do whatever the fuck she wants. It's not like she cares what I think anyways." She scoffed. "San you can like her. Whatever. Just don't be surprised when I'm not hella excited for you and shit about it. I mean...she's still my sister. It's weird."

Santana laughed at Hannah's excitement. "See? That's the Han I know. Told you he wanted you." They were both pretty damn confident when it came to who they were sleeping with, or seeing, or whatever this was, but Hannah hadn't been too sure about this one. She was glad that it seemed to be turning out positive for her. "Is he like, teaching your class after all? Will you two be getting wanky during office hours?" San smirked, and she tried to keep the teasing going but she could tell Hannah was a little bothered. “I shouldn’t have said anything..it doesn’t matter anyway, she’s probably gonna end whatever flirting we had going on.” It got to Santana, but that’s not something she’d ever admit. “Just felt like I needed to tell you, though. And that I’d always put you first.”

Hannah laughed. "Yeah I have him as a teacher again this year. I wish. Can you imagine? Ugh I love it" she groaned and smiled over at Santana. She was really excited about Cooper. She had a big crush on the teacher all of last semester. Hannah listened to her and she nodded. "Well...thanks. For telling me I mean." She waved her arms and shook her head. "Enough of that. You need to help me pick out an outfit." She said as she walked towards her bedroom. Clothes were lying everywhere on the floor. "I have nothing to wear." She sighed. "I wanna look sexy but also like hey I'm really smart and we are here for coffee but look at my chest." She laughed.

Santana smirked at the comment Hannah made. Count on her to be excited about a boy and the prospect of inappropriate sex. San was all for it, though, so her smirk turned into a grin. “Think you can talk him into giving me an A, too?” It was worth a shot, after all. Hannah waving her arms was enough for San to know that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and Santana expected that. It wasn’t like Hannah would be the one she’d be able to talk about this with when it came to Dani. Her eyes traveled to the clothes on the floor and she laughed. “Holy shit, looks like tornado Han made a visit.” Santana nodded, “You definitely need some heels..these ones.” She said as she pulled up a pair she had brought. Thank God they were the same size. “Nice pants. A blouse that shows off cleavage. Make him notice your tits without him knowing you wanted him to.”

Hannah smiled. "Maybe" As they got to their room she looked over at Santana and laughed. "Yeah well..." She looked at the floor and sighed, putting her hands on her hips. Hannah clapped excitedly about the heels. "Maybe favorites! I love these" Hannah loved when they helped each other pick out outfits for things. It felt like Santana was the sister that she always wanted. "Okay I might go with jeans because these heels will make my legs look good" She moved to her dresser to find a pair that she thought would work. "Okay either these or...these. So basically dark or light jeans?" She moved to pull off the skirt she was currently wearing and slipped on one pair. She turned around in front of the floor length mirror to look at herself from behind.

Santana: "Let me know and then I'll definitely register for that class. Or maybe I will anyway just to watch the two of you eye-fucking. That's entertainment gold right there." Santana laughed, handing over the shoes to Hannah. She had had a feeling that she'd go for those heels, which is why she hadn't brought as many as usual. She sat on the edge of Hannah's bed, waiting for her to get changed. "Those ones. Dark. You look hot." Santana nodded, and threw her one of the shirts that was on the bed. "Maybe with this top."

Hannah laughed. "You would do that!" She rolled her eyes and smiled. Hannah looked at herself in the mirror and back at Santana. "Okay." She caught the shirt that Santana threw at her and switched it for the one she was wearing. She pushed her boobs up and pulled the shirt down to reveal a little more. "How does this look?" She asked doing a little turn for her with her hands on her hips.

Santana would definitely do that. It would be entertaining and would probably make Hannah slightly uncomfortable, but in an amusing way, so she was all for it. Santana leaned back on the bed, and watched Hannah turn in front of her. "Yep. I'd do you. I say you go with that." San said with a smirk, just winking at her friend. "He's definitely notice you've got more in mind than talking about classes."

Hannah shook her head to herself and laughed a little. "I hope so. God I really don't want it to be boring. But I mean even last semester like we would talk after class and it was so obvious that I was flirting. And he never said no." She shrugged. Hannah changed back into her normal clothes and set the outfit aside for tomorrow. "Also we are both adults. It's not like we're in high school so it shouldn't matter right?" She asked trying to convince herself that it was still okay to want to date her teacher. She sat down on the bed next to her.

Santana: "It's totally legal, so you've got my OK." Santana shrugged. It's not like she stood on moral high ground when it came to relationships, but Hannah had asked her her opinion. "I think you deserve someone a little bit more mature anyway. None of these annoying ass dweebs with a flaccid personality that we go to school with."

Hannah smiled. "Good" Hannah laughed. "You're right. I mean why would I settle for a stupid frat boy that plays beer pong for kicks when I can have a hot, intelligent man that knows how to treat women?" She scoffed. The boys at their school were actually a joke. Santana was lucky that she was into girls because she didn't have to deal with finding a good date because most of the girls were hot anyways.

Santana: Hannah definitely had a point. "There ya go, Han. You said it yourself. You just need to go for this. You deserve it." Santana nudged Hannah slightly, with a smile, and then let herself plop back down on the bed. "But I expect full details on the date, and everything else. Haven't gotten laid since Berry so, I'll be living through you for that."

Hannah laughed. "You know I will. She frowned and shook her head. "I still can't believe you hooked up with Rachel. So weird." Hannah teased her. "Maybe we should find you a really really hot girl. OH and older woman. Then we can both date up." She said wiggling her eyebrows at her. "Who is someone older that we know?" She asked thinking for a moment. "I got nothing. I'm sure we can find you a cougar though"

Santana: "Shut up. It was sex, and it was actually decent. Least I got laid. Which isn't that easy in Lima, by the way. Hot lesbians don't just roam the streets." Santana laughed, shaking her head at Hannah's teasing. "You know I don't date. At least not seriously...and cougars are usually moms." It's not like she could say that she was liking her present scenario either, with Hannah making it quite clear she didn't want to talk about Dani at all. "So, no thank you and you can do that for both of us."

Hannah shrugged. "Fine I'll be with the hot older guy and you can just...do whatever you do" She nodded. Hannah fidgeted with the bottom of her skirt she was wearing. She sat there in silence for a while. Usually this was the time that Hannah would invite Santana to sleepover or they could go out but Hannah wasn't feeling in today. She tried to keep her mind focused on Cooper at her date.

#para #para: sdbg #para: santana

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