Chapter Text
If someone had told him a year ago that Ayrton would invite him to his home at his own accord, he would have laughed in their face.
But things change, and so does life.
Standing outside Ayrton's enormous and modern mansion in Portugal, Alain thought about all the things that had led him to that moment.
After his retirement at the end of 1993, he didn't expect much from his relationship with Ayrton. They were always cordial (at least on their terms), and at best, it was a purely professional relationship.
But he could hear the rumors about them. Alain knew they existed because he was one of the few omegas on the grid; people always had some gossip about him having slept with some of his coworkers.
Even if he had done it, they shouldn't care at all.
Even so, rumors about them ranged from a bad breakup to "a bad fling," sometimes attributed to Alain, sometimes to Ayrton. Alain recalls, with a touch of humor, how Ayrton smashed the camera of a journalist who had the nerve to ask him directly.
God forbid Ayrton Senna ever be accused of having bad sex.
They didn't even get along badly enough for anyone to think that. Yes, they had a couple of clashes and perhaps a lot of malicious comments in the newspapers, but that wasn't much different from how they got along with everyone else. They always tried to make it seem like there was a "special" relationship between them, unlike any other, which wasn't true.
Or at least that's what he had thought.
If Ayrton hadn't called that Sunday in December, he would have simply listed him with the many other rivals in his career. But no, Ayrton never gave up without a fight; it was the kind of philosophy that had made him shine in racing and a pain in the ass in his daily life.
Ayrton then clung to not being just another photograph on his wall of memories, but a constant voice on the other end of the line.
They talked about the good, the bad, and the ugly of being a Williams driver, about Ayrton's future plans, and about Alain's dinners. There was never an apology for the negative comments, nor any mention of their on-track encounters; after so many years, they had finally turned the page.
That's when Alain told him that he had to go to Portugal for a business meeting and that they could meet whenever he had some free time.
“You could stay at my house, I'll be here until next week when I return to Brazil.”
Alain hesitated. While his relationship with Ayrton had improved and he might even consider him a "friend," there were still rules regarding how close an Omega and an Alpha should be without being in a relationship...
Furthermore, of course, it was clear that his connection with Ayrton was ultimately heading towards becoming more than just a friendship.
Alain didn't want to accept it because he'd spent years denying any such interaction with Ayrton, but talking to him felt different than talking to any other alpha; he felt understood. He always assumed their meetings to set up the cars were an exception, that they were simply both very passionate.
But no. In their calls, it seemed as if he was talking to an old friend rather than a complete stranger; they knew each other's moods so well that it was a little unsettling because before, they could go months without speaking a single word to each other.
“Alright, tell me the address and I'll be there in two days.”
The press always claimed that he turned into a fool when he had to deal with Ayrton Senna. Alain always denied that accusation, but perhaps the journalists weren't entirely wrong.
“Alain!”
Ayrton trotted towards the front gate with a smile that Alain had rarely seen directed at him.
Alain had arrived at 11:45 in the morning after an uninterrupted journey. Ayrton had insisted on picking him up at the airport, but Alain simply took a taxi.
Upon opening the gate, Ayrton instantly reached out to take Alain's luggage, but Alain pushed him away.
“It’s okay, I can carry it.”
Ayrton looked at him with an expression of not understanding.
“I’m trying to be a good host.”
“Well, I'd prefer a cold drink then.”
Alain could almost see a slight pout on Ayrton's face. He knew Ayrton had a history of being "chivalrous" with omegas, but while they were competing, those gestures were never extended to him. Sometimes he wondered if the Brazilian had forgotten that Alain was one.
It seems not.
-
After an awkward pause, Ayrton invited him in and, in fact, brought him a glass of fresh lemonade.
The place was beautiful and... a little extravagant for Alain's taste. As he could see from the outside, the house was very large with a big swimming pool and a game room that opened directly onto the patio.
The pool table was in the center of the room, and further back it connected to the kitchen, the main dining room, and Ayrton's personal study. The bedrooms were on the second floor; the first one on the left, he assumed, was Ayrton's because it was the only one closed off, and two rooms further on was the one Ayrton had set up for him.
Alain couldn't resist glancing into the other rooms down the hall, but they seemed empty. Two very neat beds with orange sheets and white pillows, and a large window.
It looked like a perfect room for children.
His nephews must love this place.
Alain's room was enormous and, like the rest of the house, spotless. He didn't notice any cleaning supplies anywhere (or even the presence of a maid), but the air smelled of lemon and disinfectant.
Elio was right: Ayrton is like a neurotic wife. If he could see my study he'd probably have a stroke from the shock.
"Here." After setting down his things, Ayrton handed him a set of keys. "I'll be in a few meetings these days and might not be here when you get back, so you're free to come and go into the house as you like."
"Eh? Seriously?”
Ayrton raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, why not? Unless you want to steal something or wait on the sidewalk in front of the house.”
“You just seem overly confident that I won't do anything.”
“Well, now I'm not so sure. I'll have to change the safe's combination to put my mind at ease,” he smiled.
Alain laughed. It wasn't like he needed the money (they both knew that), but it was fun to tease Ayrton about that sort of thing; Berger did it regularly.
“So, you have a safe?”
“You won't get any more information from me, Prost. Stop trying.”
They had lunch together; Ayrton had ordered takeout and they served themselves an amazing Italian pasta with a good French wine.
"I didn't know you liked this kind of wine," Alain remarked after taking a sip. It was smooth and slightly sweet.
“I got it for you, of course.”
Alain looked up, trying to find some indication that it was another joke, but instead Ayrton's face seemed pleased. He was telling the truth.
Well, he’s definitely flirting now.
Alain tried to think of something clever to say in response, but his brain was fried. He tried to blame the long flight for his lack of ideas, but that wasn't true. So many years flirting with pretty beta women, and just one evening with Ayrton was enough to make him blush like a twenty-year-old.
“Will you be gone for long? My meeting is at 3.”
Alain preferred to change the subject.
“Mine will be after 6 but I don't know when I'll be back.”
“Um. Who are you meeting with?”
“A sponsor, you know how they are. Sometimes they keep you there for hours without getting anywhere and then it's a ‘Well, we'll see next time.’”
“Yes, I understand. When I was a rookie, it was just too annoying to talk to them, unless there was a party involved, of course.”
“Yes. I must confess something; lately I don't know if I want to continue with this.”
“Speak with the sponsors?”
“Formula One.”
Alain's eyes widened in surprise.
“You're not serious.”
“What? Are you the only one who has the right to retire?”
"No, but," Alain had to choose his words carefully, "You? You love to race."
“I love it, yes, I'm not saying I'd stop driving. I am just saying that I might leave Formula 1. Every year it gets harder to keep up with the politics of the series and the drivers aren't what they used to be, Mansell isn't there, you aren't there.”
"There's Schumacher," Alain interjected. "And Häkkinen, even Gilles' son, Jacques, they all say he's a prodigy."
"Schumacher is dirty." Ayrton grimaced, remembering the times Michael had taken him out for a position. "And Häkkinen is too inconsistent."
“The McLaren just hasn't been the best, you know that.”
"It's still not the same, cars too. All these new rules... They're making cars less safe, someone's going to get killed."
"True... I can't refute that." Alain sighed; that was one of the reasons why he himself had left single-seaters.
“No, I suppose not.”
They finished eating in silence. Ayrton took both their plates to the sink and Alain followed him.
"Whatever you decide," Alain began. "I hope you're happy."
Ayrton smiled.
“If I went to IndyCar, would you come to watch me compete?”
“If I had the time, I suppose. I'm a busy man.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It's a maybe.”
--
As they had agreed, Alain left the house at 2:30 PM to arrive at his meeting on time.
More than a business meeting, it was like a party at the country house of one of Renault's top executives. Alain couldn't actually remember the host's name, but putting on a good face and cracking a couple of jokes usually made people forget that you’ve never spoken to them directly.
If he had a closer relationship with the family, he would have stayed with them while he was in Portugal, but since Ayrton had offered... Well, he couldn't refuse.
He returned home early, just after 9 p.m. He had to meet with another of Peugeot’s investors the next day for his "small project," and time zone changes are no longer as easy to manage as they were 10 years ago.
Ayrton's house was in darkness except for the lights by the pool and garden; Ayrton, of course, was nowhere to be found.
I’m sure he’ll be back later.
Even without another soul in sight, Alain found the place very warm. He felt a pang of curiosity to snoop around the rooms, but his weariness was stronger. He would leave Ayrton's privacy as it was.
At least that night.
-
“Alain, wake up, breakfast is ready.”
A voice startled Alain from his deep sleep. Annoyed, he tossed and turned further under the covers.
“Alain.”
“Fine, I'm coming.”
He opened one eye to find Ayrton dressed entirely in athletic wear. Alain assumed he'd returned from his morning workout, given the light perspiration trickling down his forehead. Ayrton hadn't even bothered to put on his scent suppressant, which allowed Alain to better perceive the alpha's scent; it was citrusy, sweet but with a hint of acidity.
A particularly large drop below Ayrton's jaw, running down his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar.
Alain felt thirsty.
“What's for breakfast?”
“Coffee, French toast and scrambled eggs.”
Alain scoffed.
“Don’t tell me; you got the toast for me.”
Ayrton pretended to be offended by the insinuation.
“No, I happen to like french toast.”
“You like them? That's a surprise, I've never heard you say that before.
“Well, you can always develop tastes over the years.”
Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt Ayrton's gaze travel over his body. Alain stretched out on the bed, happy with the attention.
“Hm, you're weird.”
“It's not the first time you've told me that.”
“Nor will it be the last, I’m sure.”
Ayrton made a face and turned back towards the corridor.
“Come on, I wouldn't want you to drink cold coffee.”
That morning was much calmer than the day before; breakfast was simple but acceptable. Ayrton hadn't burned anything and had even taken a shower before joining Alain in the dining room.
If Alain had brought his own running gear, he would have gone out to explore the neighborhood as well; even so, the house was cozy enough. Ayrton had a rather large collection of books, mostly in Portuguese, but there were also several in English and Italian. Alain also noticed a Bible, which he assumed was Ayrton's personal copy, filled with notes and bookmarks.
Alain has also read the Bible, but never to Ayrton's level. The intensity with which he did things in his life always surprised him; he never left things half-finished or was casual about them.
Alain wanted to know where all that emotion came from and why it had once been directed towards him.
Why him of all people? Why take a sports rivalry to this extreme? Is it because they were alpha and omega and it was just natural? Or was it simply a matter of it "happening"?
He loved Ayrton, but trying to understand his logic gave him a headache.
–
“And which hotel are you staying at?”
Alain was pulled from his train of thought by the man to his right. He'd been at the meeting with Peugeot for half an hour, and it would be a lie to say he was paying much attention to anything.
“Actually, I'm staying at a friend's house.”
“Another Omega?”
“Yes, he's a friend I met a few years ago at a Grand Prix.”
Lies, of course. But he preferred that to word getting out that he was staying with Ayrton. Journalists have ears everywhere, especially at these meetings.
“Will you be staying in Portugal for long?”
“No, I'm going back to Switzerland tomorrow. I have another trip planned for next week.”
The evening continued uninterrupted, and Alain returned home close to midnight. The deal was done, but at the cost of his sobriety; he didn't even realize when he was on his sixth glass of whiskey.
Compared to the previous night, the lights in the garden and pool felt like a direct blow to his physical integrity in the middle of the darkness.
He went up to the second floor, but instead of walking to his room, he decided to sleep in the first door he came across. He grabbed the doorknob of the first door on the right and...
“... Huh?”
The room was barely illuminated by the garden lights, but the scene was unmistakable.
A nest... Ayrton has a-
Ayrton's scent was present in this room in a completely different way than in the rest of the house; it wasn't just the small things where it was obvious that Ayrton passed by frequently out of habit; no, it was a place where, on purpose, Ayrton left his scent.
The surprise turned to embarrassment when, in addition to Ayrton's scent, he also caught a whiff of his own.
No, this is too much.
He slammed the door, feeling the intoxication wear off, and went back to his room. He rummaged through his clothes and noticed that one of his shirts was missing.
My God, he always does this kind of thing. He takes what's mine and... and then puts me in these situations.
He hated Ayrton; he should take his things and leave without a word.
Instead, he slept.
“Alain? Are you alright?”
Morning arrived sooner than he’d like, and Alain didn't leave his room... but he didn't pack his bags either.
He never gave Ayrton an exact date for when he would return to Switzerland, but it definitely couldn't be longer than 3 days; no business meeting lasted that long.
Ayrton had knocked on his door twice before asking if he was alright; perhaps he was making him nervous.
“Yes, it's nothing. I'll be right down.”
Ayrton left and Alain felt an inexplicable panic surge through him about going to the dining room with him. He wasn't afraid of Ayrton because, regardless of all that happened on track, Ayrton wasn't a bad man.
But he was afraid of conflict; confronting Ayrton verbally had never gone well in their history, and this could be the situation where Ayrton might shut down completely and they would never speak again.
And, as much as he hated Ayrton right now, the thought of a future where they never spoke to each other again was not something that made him happy.
The throbbing headache of the moral dilemma forced him to bury his head back in the pillow. Why was everything with Ayrton like this? How did he manage to be the perfect guy and then do something that all his instincts screamed at him to avoid?
The worst part is that he didn't want to run away. Has he developed Stockholm syndrome during the months they’ve been talking? Perhaps that was always the plan, to drive him crazy until anything Ayrton did was just a "well, but I still love him."
"Alain!" Ayrton shouted impatiently.
“I'm coming!”
Breakfast was awkward; Alain tried to explain his curt replies away from the previous night's resulting hangover, but Ayrton didn't seem entirely convinced.
“Have you taken anything for that?”
“I took some aspirin.”
“Um, okay. But will you be okay traveling like that?”
“Actually…” Alain looked up for the first time since they'd been eating, “My trip was extended.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, I don't know if it would be a problem to stay until Friday?”
Ayrton hesitated. If he refused, Alain could simply grab his things and leave. But if he agreed... He hadn't really thought the plan through.
“No, it's fine. You can stay as long as you like, Alain.”
Three hours had passed since he left; Alain hadn't gone anywhere in particular, just wandered the streets while trying to calm down.
He knew what he’d done was wrong; lying to Ayrton about extending his trip was an afterthought, inspired solely by the memory of the nest Ayrton had built behind his back.
That he’d made for him.
A shiver ran through his body, but not from disgust, rather something else. He felt excited, irritated, confused, all caught in a whirlwind of emotions that gave him no peace.
He had to smoke a cigarette.
Under other circumstances he wouldn't have done it; he was never a heavy smoker, but the situation warranted it. He got a pack at a local kiosk and smoked half a box before he was satisfied.
He needed to go back, collect his things, and get a flight home as soon as possible. He would leave Ayrton a note about something important unexpectedly coming up that he had to take care of immediately, which was why he'd left without saying anything. It might sound rude, but it was that or having a very embarrassing conversation, which he would greatly prefer to avoid.
He returned home at 4 p.m., two hours earlier than expected, and Ayrton was clearly nowhere to be found. He had at least another hour to get everything ready and call a taxi.
He went up to the second floor and firmly ignored that door. When he reached his room, he hesitated for a second before entering and locking it.
He swallowed hard.
The thought of looking back into the room made his hands sweat.
He picked up his clothes and folded them carefully, putting them back in his suitcase. Even with all the attention to detail he put into it, it only took him five minutes to finish. The only item missing was the shirt Ayrton had taken.
The one who was still in the nest.
Alain bit his thumbnail, trying to decide what to do. He could simply leave it and ask Ayrton for it later, make up a story about having completely forgotten he'd brought it, or...
Or I could go and get it.
The ease with which he returned to that room made him feel dizzy. Alain had never been one to be ruled by instincts; even in his youth, his relationships with other alphas had been few and sporadic. He didn't know how to cook, and his face was unattractive, which had stopped several men from making advances.
Things clearly became more tense when his work interfered with his relationships. If he had been an alpha like his peers, or at least a beta, he would have married someone who could give him pups and have a home together, but with his status, that was clearly not something he could offer.
No one had ever made a nest for him. And yes, he often spent his heat with alphas because it was something his body needed, but the nests they made were so... impersonal. The kind of nests shown in infomercials, completely empty to entice any omega to share their heat.
It was different with Ayrton.
The first time he opened it, he couldn't appreciate all the details, but now he could perceive them more closely. The nest was on a huge bed that Alain assumed was king-size; the blankets and cushions on it varied in material, but the colors were generally the same, variations of greenish and blue tones.
Although it was arranged in such a way that it made it seem like the author had spent more than a couple of hours organizing and reorganizing; Alain could perceive Ayrton's scent on every garment... And also a little of his own.
In the center of the nest was his shirt, a light yellow shirt that contrasted sharply with all the blue and green around it. If he wanted to get it, he would have to go inside the nest.
Alain stood still by the nest, staring at the shirt as if it might suddenly hold the answer to his problem. Suddenly, Alain felt warm; he felt like he was back inside a single-seater race car, about to compete in a Grand Prix under the blazing Brazilian sun.
Alain placed his left hand on the bed and with the other reached up to grab the garment; the smell was stronger up close. Alain wondered if Ayrton would use the nest for himself if he left his shirt there, touching himself trying to compensate for the lack of a lover beside him.
"Oh, for God’s sake..."
His face flushed at the mental image, and blood began to rush down to a specific spot in his pants.
I have to get out of here while I still have some shame intact.
But before he could turn back properly, he lost his balance and fell right into the nest.
Surrounded by blankets and pillows, Alain thought it was the first time he'd ever felt comfortable in a nest. Or rather, the first time outside the family nest he once shared with his parents and brother.
He remembers that their nest wasn't anything particularly luxurious, and their bed was so small that even they had to perform acrobatics to fit all of them in it together. He recalls those times with fondness and affection: the nights he played with Daniel with the pillows, or the mornings he dozed with his mother during vacations.
He never thought that that sense of affection could return, and all thanks to an accident.
And without meaning to, Alain fell asleep.