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Pierre cannot believe it’s finally the end of the season. For a while, it felt like this day would never come, with the sprint races, a revolving door of team personnel, and a steaming pile of shitty luck. He made it, though, and now he has some time to relax before the circus starts up again, providing he ever gets off this plane.
Halfway through the flight back to Nice, he feels the itch begin to settle underneath his skin, a year of suppressed hormones finally allowed to run wild. He’s not the only one who’s off his medication, either; Daniel has already excused himself to the bathroom once, Lando has ditched his usual hoodie, and Alex is staring at his phone with wide eyes, the screen titled unsubtly away from everyone else as he video calls his girlfriend. And Charles, of course, is curled up against Pierre’s side, practically melting into the expensive leather seat.
The combined smell is migraine-inducing. For the others, maybe it’s not so bad, but Pierre is aware of every single one of them and he knows they can all smell him. He presses himself even closer to Charles, surrounding himself with the familiar sandalwood and vanilla under the guise of being asleep, and has to repress a happy sigh when Charles kisses the top of his head.
“Mate, please don’t go into heat on my plane,” Max groans.
Pierre instinctively tenses, but Charles just laughs, his arm tightening around Pierre’s shoulders. “I’m not going into heat on your plane,” he promises.
For Charles, the words ring true. Pierre, however, is beginning to leak slick, very glad that he decided to shove a pad into his boxers before boarding the plane. It’s taking every last shred of his self-control, with some help from the strong air-conditioning, to keep himself from climbing into Charles’ lap right there in front of everyone.
“Will you be okay?” Charles whispers right into Pierre’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “It’s only one more hour, and then the drive home.”
Hesitantly, Pierre nods. He can make it through the plane ride, even with Charles right next to him, even with Daniel in pre-rut on the other side of the plane. The car ride with just the two of them, that might be difficult, but it’s nothing that a couple of fingers can’t solve. He’s dealt with much worse.
Still, it’s hard to push down his instincts entirely. Pierre really doesn’t mean to, but when Charles gets out of his seat, he whines softly, curling his fingers into Charles’ shirt so that he can’t move any further. “Where are you going? Stay here.”
Charles rests his hand on Pierre’s neck, rubbing his thumb across the scent gland there, a new wave of sandalwood floods his senses, a comfort that helps him relax again. “I’m getting you some more water, calamar,” Charles says gently, and this time Pierre lets him go.
He opens his eyes just enough that he can watch Charles move around the cabin, down to the small bar area at the back and its minifridge full of ice water. It calms him down, knowing that he’s being looked after, the desire spreading out all the way to his fingers and toes. Charles looks really good, too, his jeans perfectly hugging his figure as he bends down to grab a bottle of the brand Pierre likes most.
Now is not the time, he scolds himself. Next year, he is paying for his own private flight, so he can spread himself out in the aisle and not care about silly things like decency and carpet burn.
The water does help – Charles always knows what’s best for him – and before he knows it, the pilot is asking them to fasten their seatbelts. Landing is the worst part, the pressure in his head only adding to his discomfort, refusing to dissipate no matter how many times he yawns or holds his nose and blows. Charles notices, maybe picks it up in his scent, and gently rubs his temples, which helps but not enough. He’s glad when they finally touch the ground.
Security rush them through passport control, professional enough to know that a group of unsuppressed celebrities is a recipe for disaster, and then Pierre is being buckled into the passenger seat of Charles’ Ferrari, not sure how he got there or where his bags are. “Charles?”
“Right here, calamar,” Charles says, kissing him sweetly on the cheek before closing the door. Pierre rests his forehead against the cool glass, until the engine turns on and the car starts to shake.
Tarmac gives way to a familiar coastline, and Pierre settles back into his seat, enjoying the way that Charles fills the space, a little cocoon of scent to keep him safe. Delirious despite the cold drinks and winter air, he starts to laugh, head tilted towards Charles. “They still think you’re my omega.”
Charles grins, quickly glancing over at Pierre. “Of course they do. I’m far too pretty to be an alpha.”
He is very pretty, Pierre thinks. Absolutely unfair that he gets to walk around looking like that, the eyes and the dimples and all. The best part, though, is that Pierre is the only one who gets to know those features up close. “You’re the best alpha,” he says quietly, sure there’s a dopey smile on his face.
Charles doesn’t reply, but he does grip the steering wheel tighter and drives faster than he should.
The lobby of their apartment building is blissfully empty, but Charles still keeps his distance in the elevator, their suitcases taking up space between them. It’s been far too long since he last touched Pierre, and the itch is starting to build again. He must look so indecent right now, drenched with sweat and grinding against the heel of his hand, but Charles doesn’t give in, only grabbing Pierre’s wrist to pull him out of the elevator when it stops.
He’s not unaffected though, no, not in the slightest. “You do not cum before my knot is in you,” he growls in Pierre’s ear, one arm wrapped around Pierre’s waist, the other fumbling with the keys. “You make me feel so insane.”
Pierre doesn’t register anything between the door slamming shut and being dropped on the bed, the clean sheets soft against his bare skin. Charles carried you, his brain helpfully supplies, and he moans as he tangles his fingers in Charles’ hair, dragging him away from his attack on Pierre’s collarbones and down, down, down. He loves that Charles is taller than him now, loves the stubble that scrapes against his stomach, the same way that he’s always loved Charles and always will.
Charles avoids the areas where Pierre wants him most and instead trails his lips down Pierre’s thigh, nipping at the skin until he sinks his teeth into familiar indents, the burst of pain quickly melting into pleasure. They mated years ago, but every bite still feels like the first. Pierre’s mind goes blank, and he doesn’t cum, because Charles told him not to, but it’s definitely close and for a second he exists somewhere outside his body, so alight with their shared desire that it cannot be contained by skin and bones.
“Knot me, please, Alpha, knot me,” Pierre begs, his hearing coming back into sharp focus just as Charles rolls him over onto his stomach.
“I’ve got you,” Charles promises. He slides two fingers into Pierre’s hole, curling them to hit that sweet spot that makes Pierre’s legs shake. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, perfect omega,” he says, and Pierre moans again because he is, he’s been slick for hours, and he’s so perfect for Charles because Charles is perfect for him, and–
Charles removes his fingers, but he doesn’t leave Pierre waiting for long, fucking into him so quickly that it makes Pierre gasp. He sets a rapid pace, both of them at the end of their tethers. There will be bruises on Pierre’s hips later from where Charles is gripping him tightly, and little teeth marks on the back of his neck, Charles making all kinds of romantic declarations while his nose is pressed against Pierre’s scent gland, like he can’t get enough. Pierre knows the feeling.
He wants to touch himself so badly, but he’ll cum the second he does, and he can’t– not until Charles does. “Please, knot me, need you so much,” he cries, clenching down around Charles, trying to make it as good as he can.
Charles swears as he buries himself inside Pierre, his knot quickly swelling to join them together, and the feeling of it finally pushes Pierre over the edge. So good, filling him up in all the right ways. A knot settles him like nothing else, the certainty that he belongs here, that he’s the perfect person for Charles, made even clearer when Charles is able to shift them both onto their sides without slipping out.
“Love you so much,” Charles says softly. Pierre tries to say it back, doesn’t quite manage to put the sounds together, but Charles must understand because he laughs and kisses Pierre’s shoulder. “I know. All mine, my perfect omega.”
His heat is starting to set in now, putting him in that fuzzy mindset where the only thing that matters is being good for Charles. Easy, it’s so easy to be good when he knows Charles will look after him, knotting him every time his heat builds and making sure he stays safe in between. Even now, he can feel a straw being pressed against his lips, and he swallows down the sports drink, knowing Charles won’t let him choke on it.
Three days of bliss. He gets three days, and he intends to spend every moment of them like this.