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Dani's sore but in a good, deep way. He always feels like this on days when he pushes himself so hard it's like he's feeling out the shape of his own ambition with his fingertips.
It's raining again, heavy and warm and wetting his hair. He thinks about how Puig took a dark blue towel and dried his hair for him after the race, fingers on Dani's chin, tipping his head back. Puig hadn't been happy with the outcome, of course, to say the least. He thinks about how he cursed at the decision to stop the race, cursed at the rain and the track and at Jorge Lorenzo, how angry he'd seemed – but not with Dani, oh no. More like on Dani's behalf. And that was the difference. When he'd looked at Dani, when he'd spoken to him in intense, hurried snatches of conversation in between berating anyone official looking and muttering words under his breath like politics and robbed, he'd radiated nothing but approval.
Dani had felt like he was glowing inside.
He knows he raced well today. Better, possibly, than he ever has before under similar conditions. Better than any other fucker out there, even Jorge with his stubborn streak a mile wide. The pride in Puig's eyes is justified, but it still makes him buzz. In his mind he can see exactly how tonight is going to go – Puig still fully dressed, he always keeps his clothes on if he can, while he spreads Dani out all naked and exposed and fingers him open a little too quick. He'll tell Dani over and over how good he is while sinking his cock into Dani's body like a knife through butter.
Maybe tonight he'll go with it, let himself be as pliant and malleable as he sometimes longs – needs – to be. Maybe he'll grow warm, hot, wet and willing under Puig's familiar, calming hands and demanding thrusts. Maybe he'll lie back and think of his bike, its sleek edges and the way it purrs for him, imagine it's the bike between his legs, inside him somehow, unyielding and vibrating and making him come like it owns him.
He's had wet dreams like that. Back when he was younger he'd had them almost nightly – that season he spent watching Valentino own every fucking thing in sight and dreaming about riding Vale's bike round the tracks while he watched like Puig from the sidelines.
He used to imagine slipping into the garage when no one was around, no one was ever around in these fantasies, and climbing onto it, onto Rossi's bike. Perhaps it would be raining outside, like today. Perhaps the bike would still be warm from the race, still singing with it, still wet with spray and dripping rain like sweat. He'd strip his clothes off, clumsy with haste, and straddle it, already hard and leaking, his cock leaving smears on the seat when he bent over it.
And perhaps, fuck, perhaps Valentino would find him like that. Ignore his stammering attempts at explanation and laugh at him, maybe. Maybe correct his form, his position, as if he were a fucking novice, with those clever hands all hot on Dani's bare skin, manipulating him like a doll.
“Not like that,” he'd say. “More like – with your hips, here. And there – further down.”
He'd bend him down so low over the handlebars that his spine arched, Dani thinks, coax his hips up obscenely high. Under Rossi's measured gaze Dani would rub himself against the seat, feel the hum of it against his prick, his perineum, the spread cheeks of his arse.
Then maybe Rossi's fingers would find him and rub him right there, there where he was wantonly spread open and exposed, not inside him but so close, teasing until he was loose and shaken with it, humping against the bike, beyond shame or control – until he was spilling helplessly all over it and somehow Vale's voice was in his ear, that gorgeous, cocky, heavily accented English – “Look what you have done to my bike, Pedrosa. Look at it.”
He's brought up short outside Puig's office door by the sound of voices within.
“And what exactly is stopping me?” the voice says.
“Because I'll find out, and it won't be you that gets punished for it.”
It's already dark outside, which makes the bland little room seem even more close-quartered and claustrophobic when he enters. Like it's pressing in at the edges. Inside, Rossi and Puig barely react to his presence – as if they've been expecting him, or as if his being there changes nothing. Maybe both.
Dani sits on the floor out of the way and watches the two men watch each other. Alberto sits by the desk in a wide, soft chair – his legs spread and his entire posture calculated to broadcast relaxed ownership, intimidation. It's a scene Dani is very familiar with, and if this was a normal night he'd be crawling to him on his hands and knees at the slightest silent beckoning gesture of his fingertips – You. Here. Now. He'd unzip the pristine, charcoal coloured fabric and then let his mouth be fucked just the way Puig likes it – passive, eyes downcast. Dani licks his lips and feel embarrassed, as if they'll know or care what he's thinking.
Vale stands, and looks wound so tight that Dani's surprised he's not pacing. Calm enough on the surface, but his eyes are angry. They're furious. Dani finds it almost frightening, wishes he could find some way to fix everything, wishes it weren't all his fault.
Because he knows why they're here, what they're talking about. It was inevitable, really, after that fucked up night in Brno. But somehow Dani had convinced himself that Vale would let it all go. The days kept slipping by and he never came back, never said a word about it, until Dani felt foolish for ever expecting him to.
Alberto's voice is painstakingly relaxed. “I see no reason to continue this discussion. You have no position to bargain from – Daniel is mine. Alone. Why would I change that?”
“I could take him from you.” For some reason, Dani blushes at that. He feels hot all of a sudden, prickly and tense. Next time he orgasms, he thinks he'll hear Vale's voice in his head saying those words, just like that.
Alberto laughs. “You're welcome to try. You think you know him? You think you want to save him, my little lost boy? I made him. This pretty thing you see yourself riding off with in the sunset – I made it. He will not survive without me. No one else knows what he needs.”
Dani stares at his own feet while Puig makes his little speech and feels his ears burn. The worst part is that he knows it's the truth – there's something wrong with him, something broken that makes him crave this fucked up thing between them. He can taste bitter words at the back of his mouth, words like weak and gay and whipped. He wishes the floor would fucking swallow him whole.
When he finally brings himself to glance up again, Rossi's staring right at him. Their eyes lock briefly, before Dani tears his gaze back to the floor. It seems, however, like he can feel Vale smile – dangerous in its own hot, wicked way.
“You talk a lot of shit, Puig.”
“Why don't you try it, then.”
They pause, and Dani tries not to fidget. Years of being trained out of it by the man in the chair, the man casually debating his life – his ownership – as if he were a fucking dog. He hears Vale sigh. “It would be very difficult for him. I will give that to you.”
“So tell me again why I should listen to this.”
Rossi is still watching him. Dani doesn't know where to look.
“I know a lot about you,” Rossi says finally, and Dani doesn't know which of them he's talking to.
“Is that a threat? Clumsy, even for you.”
“Is not a threat. Just a reminder.”
And now Alberto moves, Dani can hear him lean forward in his chair. Menacing. Dani swallows. “What do you want, Valentino?”
Dani looks up to see Vale's eyes narrow. When he speaks, it's with a twist to his mouth as if the words have a bad taste. “A deal.”
*
He keeps his head down as he follows Rossi quietly to his transport, but still there's no missing Uccio in the far corner, hanging up clothes in the small wardrobe.
There are two beds in this room, but only one of them is folded out. Dani wonders what that says. The sheets on that one unfolded bed are rumpled.
Vale is still tense, as if something inside him is coiled tight ready to spring. He speaks with Uccio in rapid Italian, Dani can only understand the odd word. Lots of swearing, Dani thinks, and the word pervert over and over, which he hopes is in reference to Puig. Uccio seems so utterly unfazed by what Vale's saying, and by Dani's presence here, that it's clear he already knew about all this. Knew where Vale was going, what he was going to do, and why.
Vale collapses onto the still folded up sofa, sprawls low on the seat with his head tipped back. He rubs at his closed eyes as if he's tired, and Uccio strokes a hand through Vale's impossibly short hair in a way that's comforting and so familiar that it implies... Dani's not sure what it implies. He looks away.
These men – they know why he's here. What he is. The thought makes his cheeks burn, and he bites his lip and continues to stare resolutely at the floor. He doesn't move from the spot by the door where Vale left him. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. For a sickening moment, he wishes Puig was here to tell him.
“I can't deal with him right now,” Vale says in English to Uccio, gesturing to where Dani's hovering without even looking over. “I'm too angry, he is too skittish. A bad combination. I think I would crash him.”
Dani shivers and feels himself, god help him, getting a bit hard, a bit breathless.
Uccio laughs, a quiet and not unkind little sound, and then they're back to that quick Italian – but Dani's not even trying to follow it this time. He's too busy trying to stop himself from rocking his cock against the hard inner seam of his pants at the thought of Vale angry with him, riding him, breaking him. He's too busy feeling absolutely mortified with himself, his lack of control. Puig's right, Dani thinks. He does need a man to control him, even in this. He feels dizzy, ashamed, totally unsure – like the first time he competed in MotoGP, knowing with everything in him that he belongs yet feeling at the same time like an outsider with everything to prove. He forces himself to stand still and wait for Vale to decide what to do with him.
It takes him a while to realise that they've stopped talking.
“I'm going out,” Vale says. “You stay here, try not to get in the way yes?”
“For how long should I stay?”
“All night. Uccio will sort it out.”
“All night? People will say-”
“You were drinking yourself unconscious. Uccio let you sleep on our couch. Yes?”
“I can just go.”
Rossi's eyes flash, and Dani swallows. He forces himself not to step back under the force of that glare. “No you cannot 'just go',” he says, “Jesus. Twenty-four hours the man said, and I intend to take them. Not to throw you back to the fucking wolves – you think I don't know how it will be if you go back tonight?” Dani bites his tongue, because otherwise he'll be telling Valentino Rossi to go fuck himself if he thinks he knows Alberto Puig better than Dani does, and given the circumstances that probably wouldn't be wise. “Twenty-four hours, Pedrosa. You understand?”
Dani nods reluctantly, and Rossi moves for the door. When he brushes past, Dani bites his lip and then says “Vale?”
He stops, right in Dani's space so that Dani has to tip his head back to look up at him. “What?”
Dani meets his eyes, as level and unshaken as he knows how to be. “Why tonight?”
There's silence for a long moment, and tension you could cut with a knife. But then: “The way you rode today,” Vale says, as if it's an answer.
“What do you mean?”
He's looking down at Dani's face as if he's searching for something. “I wanted you,” he says simply. “I wanted him not to have you. You're so...” He exhales forcefully and reaches out. Dani's sure he's going to touch him, finally, going to push Dani's hips into the wall and ease up against him. But Vale pulls his hand back at the last moment and shakes his head as if to clear it. “It was different today,” he says. “You were so good, out there in the rain. Perfect. I thought, he doesn't deserve you.”
Dani drags in a shaky breath. Vale is gone by the time he exhales. He turns to Uccio.
“Where's he going?”
Uccio just grins. “To get laid, probably.”
Dani feels his face fall. “With who?”
“Some girl or another,” he says in that halting English that's even worse than Rossi's, and he shrugs. “Groupie probably, who can say. They always find him.”
“Oh,” Dani says, and the crestfallen way he feels must be showing because Uccio makes a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.
“Is for the best. Trust me. Come along, I find you something to keep busy. Vale will be back soon enough.”
*
Dani's woken up by the blanket being tugged away, hands on him in the dark, warm skin and a wet mouth pressed to his taut abdomen. He's still mostly asleep, lulled even further by the murmured “Shh, it's okay,” of Vale's voice coming at him like something from a dream. Then the scratch of stubble, and his legs being pushed insistently apart, and Dani knows his body is sleep-soft and malleable as toffee under those firm hands.
He's still drowsy as Vale nuzzles his cock, mouthing at him in a way that should be teasing but instead feels nothing but indulgent, gently exploratory. Dani's eyes are still closed, the room is dark but enough artificial light drips through the fogged window that he's sure Vale can see every inch of him. For once he can't bring himself to feel embarrassed. He lets Vale coax his legs even wider apart – it feels good, it feels just right to spread his legs for Vale, to bare himself so intimately, and he's rewarded by Vale's breathing growing heavier, and by him sucking wetly at the sensitive skin of Dani's inner thigh, then again right in the crease where those thighs meet the soft flesh at their apex.
Dani squirms once, lethargic and still unsure whether any of this is real. “Vale,” he breathes, then “Oh, fuck, oh,” as the tip of Vale's tongue drags itself against his perineum, and there – there – where his body opens for him.
One of Vale's hands reaches up to rest possessively on Dani's stomach, as if to hold him in place. As if Dani could even think about moving now, on his back with his legs over Valentino's shoulders, Vale's tongue like wet velvet on the most intimate, hidden places his body offers, and no one has ever done this to Dani, greedy mouth all hot and too soft right there where he wants to be fucked so hard, no one has ever...
He must be dreaming. Must be. He's never felt so open and he whimpers with it, mewls like a fucking cat. “Shh,” Vale says, and his breath is hot against Dani's wet skin.
It takes a moment for Dani's sleep fogged mind to comprehend why he needs to be quiet, but then he remembers Uccio sleeping on the other side of the room. How he'd unfolded the other bed earlier and gotten Dani settled in it. There had been no sign of Vale, but Dani had fancied that the bed clothes, smooth and cool against Dani's naked skin, smelled of him.
“Try to sleep, Pedrosa. I get tired just from looking at you,” Uccio had said with that small, friendly smile, and a little later Dani had heard him climb into his own bed, sheets still unmade, and been soothed to sleep by the soft sound of his breathing.
Oh god, Dani thinks, is Uccio awake right now? Awake and watching Dani get eaten out like a starstruck girl in Vale's bed? Dani can't bring himself to look over and check. He can't even open his eyes. He bites on his hand to stop himself crying out, and pushes further up into Vale's face, and feels utterly shameless.
Vale sucks at him, pushes with his tongue like he's trying to penetrate him. Dani can feel it just inside. He shudders, and feels so wet and loose even as he clenches around the tip of Vale's tongue. So ready.
Sex has never been like this, not ever. Always perfunctory with Puig, always so efficient, nothing like this messy, almost painfully intimate act that's leaving Dani shaken and helpless. His hips are moving, rutting, he can't stop them.
Vale grips his cheeks to hold him still and then spreads them, pulls back slightly and dips his thumbs into the spit-wet crevice between.
“So tiny,” Vale whispers in a voice that's all wrung out, and he pushes a thumb into Dani's arse.
Dani's toes curl against Vale's back, and he makes a noise like he's wounded.
“Please,” he says, and doesn't care if Uccio hears him. “Vale, please.”
“Steady,” Vale murmurs, and slides two lube-slick fingers into him so smooth and sweet Dani could sob with it. He's very aware of how close Vale's face is, how he's watching every slow millimetre of his long fingers disappear inside him. “Piccolo Dani,” Vale breathes, and bites softly at Dani's inner thigh.
Dani's lost. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing, how he's supposed to react to this onslaught of tender pleasure and broken intimacy. His cock is hard as a fucking rock against his belly, and he can hear himself babbling – “In English,” Vale says, but Dani can't think and the words are so elusive.
“Please, your- your prick.”
Vale grins like the devil himself, and twists his fingers. “Yes. What about it?”
“In me, I need it. Please.”
“Soon, so soon. You are doing so well, Dani.” A third finger stretches him tight, and Dani's moaning like he can't take any more – although he knows he can, he will, he'll take everything Vale wants to give him.
“The sounds you make,” Vale says hoarsely, and swallows Dani's cock to the root.
Dani feels trapped, rocking back on Vale's fingers and up into that sinful mouth. He's wet with Vale's spit, it drips down to where his fingers thrust shallow inside Dani. He imagines, dizzyingly, what it would be like for Vale to finger him like this while still wearing his gloves – the hard, cool leather all bulky and slippery, too much and unyielding. He feels something inside him start to grow tense. He's way too fucking close.
“Oh no, no, fuck.”
“Shh, it's all right,” Vale says, easing his fingers away. “Just a moment longer. You can do that for me, can't you Dani?” Dani doesn't know. He feels too close to the brink, cock already leaking a clear pool onto his stomach. Rossi dips his tongue into it. “Come here,” he says, pulling Dani up off the bed. Dani feels his impending orgasm ebb somewhat.
The room is warm, almost too warm actually, but still he shivers when he sees Uccio sat up sideways on the other bed watching them, back to the wall and a grin on his face that's as wicked as anything Vale's capable of.
Out of the three of them he's the only one who's dressed – simple, thin pyjama pants and a worn old Yamaha tee-shirt that must date back years. Sentiment?
Vale stands behind Dani, wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses close. Dani can feel the hard length of Vale's penis in the small of his back. Directly ahead, Uccio's eyes are practically devouring him. He lets his head drop back against Vale's chest.
“Let Uccio look at you, hmm?” Vale coaxes, rubbing his thumb against Dani's nipple in a way that makes him shudder. He knocks Dani's feet slightly further apart, and with his other hand palms Dani's cock possessively. “You like him?” he asks, and Dani knows the question's not for him.
Uccio responds in Italian, words Dani can't understand that make Vale laugh brightly. He puts his mouth to Dani's ear. “He says you have small tits,” he says, as if sharing a confidence, and pinches hard the pert nipple he'd been playing with as if to emphasise the point, “but an arse to die for.”
Dani scowls. “Of course I have small tits, compared to his.”
Vale laughs so hard that for a moment he seems to forget the games they're playing, and simply hangs from Dani's neck like he would on the podium or jerking around for the cameras. “Oh this – this is why I like you,” he says, ruffling Dani's hair. “I'm going to fuck you now. Okay?”
Dani's a bit lost for words – he thinks spending too much time with Rossi would be enough to give a person whiplash. He opens his mouth, but no words come. So he nods.
“Good. Get on your knees – here.”
He lets Vale position him over Uccio's bed – knees on the floor, forearms braced on the mattress by Uccio's crossed legs. Uccio pushes Dani's hair off his forehead gently. “Pretty boy,” he says, and despite it all Dani can't help smiling shyly back at him. Behind him Vale drops to the floor as well, and catches the small square packet Uccio throws to him. Dani can hear the quiet, obscene sound of him rolling the condom onto his cock. His breath catches.
A moment, and then Vale is bent over him, chest hot on Dani's back and cock so big and insistent against his opening. “I want you to remember this,” Vale says.
Dani nods. There's no way he could ever forget, he's been dreaming about this moment since his adolescence, an impossible wank fantasy that's somehow come to life. He wants to push back greedily, to impale himself on Rossi's cock in one hard thrust and rock and rock and rock his way to completion. He summons all his self control and remains motionless as Vale inches his way into him. He's even holding his breath, he realises, trembling with the effort of keeping still.
It's such a sweet, slow stretch. Dani's hands clench in the bed sheets, and Uccio rubs them absently. Dani wonders if this is what it's always like, with the two of them. Sharing everything without a second thought.
Vale groans into the back of Dani's neck once he's fully seated. “You don't know how beautiful you are like this,” he says. “Like you were made for my cock.” And it's not the pretty words that are Dani's undoing, but the clumsy open-mouthed kiss Vale presses to Dani's shoulder. It's a tenderness Dani doesn't know what to do with, and he finds himself moaning softly, little nonsense words that he's glad Vale can't understand while he writhes on his dick, trying to make Vale fuck him.
“Yes,” Vale says. “Like that, that's it.” And yes, finally, finally, fucking hell, Vale is moving – taking Dani hard, almost punishing, his hands on Dani's hips now jerking him back onto Vale in little snaps that make Dani swear under his breath. “Can you feel it?” Vale says. “I want you to feel it. The next time you ride your bike I want you to be thinking of my cock in you.”
Dani closes his eyes, and thinks there should be entire pornographic movies dedicated to the way Vale pants the word fuck when he's balls deep in Dani's arse. He can feel his orgasm coming from a mile away, the slow tightening of muscles and that relentless pressure on his prostate that makes him want to beg Rossi to own him. His cock is sliding back and forth against the bed, friction that's too dry, too maddeningly light, but probably still enough.
How can he go back to Puig after this?
He looks up to Uccio jerking off furiously, and blushes all the way down his chest. Vale chuckles. “See how beautiful we are together?”
“You-” Dani says, “you-”
“I want to feel you come, Pedrosa.”
Dani shakes his head, but he can feel his body responding, straining to do as its told. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck.”
“Come on, you pretty, dirty little – I want to feel it. Yes.”
And then he's there. Floating on it, falling, riding Vale's cock and feeling all that tension release itself. The sheets are damp against his cock, and all he can hear is the ringing in his ears. He's dimly aware of a sudden hot wetness inside him, and Vale's teeth on the scruff of his neck. Garbled words in Italian, and a slow fade to black.
*
Later, Dani lies awake and watches Uccio across the room, snoring quietly. He watches Vale sat on the floor, still nude, drinking beer from a glass bottle and looking on fondly at his sleeping friend.
“Go to sleep Dani,” he says, with that same fondness.
“I can't.” He can't close his eyes and blink away the few more hours he has here. He wants to cling to each running second.
Vale nods as if he understands. “It was okay, while I was gone?”
Dani tips his head at Uccio's sleeping form. “He was nice to me.”
Rossi shrugs. “Of course. He takes care of my things.”
Dani bites his lip. Vale opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again. Then – “There are other managers, you know.”
“You think I don't?”
“I could take you from him.”
Dani's silent for a long while. When he speaks, it's with all the quiet determination he has. “I wouldn't let you.”
Vale looks at him sharply.
Outside, Dani can hear, it is still fucking raining.