Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The winds were particularly harsh on that November night, roaring even through the thick, black visor on Simon’s head. The blaring noises around him dampened, the announcer’s hyping screams, barely getting through to him. Leaning into the next curve, he accelerates his bike, until he was almost sure that he felt the ground burning under him – the yelling masses around him, shrill in watching the street-race unfold into yet another spectacular performance going under as he zoned out. This was his time. He was at peace only when he felt his bike’s engine grumble and he was somewhere else. He was reckless, he didn’t have to be told that, riding like that, without care that one small slip-up would send his body flying into the nearest obstacle. When he goes flying through the finish line, he doesn’t even notice the uproar in the audience. He only comes to a halt when there was no road anymore. It’s then when he notices his ragged breathing, chest heaving like he had just had the blast of his life that suddenly came to a halt. It was always like this, whenever his nightly endeavours, be it in a race or on his own, came to a halt; he felt like a deer in headlights with how he was cornered in the flashing lights.

“Great job, the audience was- they were in a riot with your performance!”

His PR greets him as he trots back to the changing rooms. He shortly nods at her, as she starts giving him run-downs of numbers he truly didn’t care for. But she did her job well to keep Simon’s manager happy, so he in turn could participate in the races that required official registration, not like the one he just finished, that had been purely for his own fun.

“Ah- and I was told to remind you that they’ve got a new mechanic reeled in. Great guy. He’ll be in charge of your bike from now on, well if you get along with him.”

He doesn’t take his visor off, until she leaves with an encouraging smile.

The silence of the isolated changing rooms was always contrary to the tremors of a audience gone wild. It was peace. Peeling himself out of the sticky biker suit and the visor, which had fogged up slightly with his breath, he headed into the shower, washing off a night’s worth of worry and strain.

The sun shines when Simon arrives at his motorsports managing company to get his check-up after the number he pulled on his engine exhaust during the race a few night prior. Huffing and adjusting the surgical mask covering half of his face, he reels in his bike through the back door, right into the mechanic area. Not to his surprise it was still empty on the Friday morning. So Simon just sits down on a spare chair, playing around with spare parts.

“Aye, must be Riley.”

A playful voice with a heavy Scottish accents sounds. Simon jumps, not used to having people creep up to him without him noticing. He turns, facing a man with a cocksure grin on his lips, slightly tan skin that was quite tall. Not as much as him, but Simon dwarfed most people.

“Simon will do.”

Simon stares the man down, dressed in a dirtied tank top with what seemed to be motor oil and some black residue, bulging arms on full display. Then it’s the blue eyes that hit him.

“Aye, sure thing. Was told I’d take a look at that bike you got here.”

Simon nods, staying put in the chair, while approving the man’s request to touching the bike.

“Oh yeah, she’s a fucking beauty… She ain’t an everyday Yamaha y’see anywhere.”

The mechanic’s fingers lovingly touch the matte black on Simon’s bike, before he eyed Simon.

“Must’ve been custom made for a guy your size. Let’s take a look into her. Ah, name’s John by the way. John MacTavish.”

And John was already taking a look at the bike, as Simon just slightly disassociates, a little overwhelmed with how easy and effortlessly John kept babbling around, speaking in that accent of his, while taking the bike apart and reassembling it.

“Heard many things about you, now that I am your assigned mech, I’ll be looking forward to witnessing your races from the best seat there is.”

Simon has too look twice to process that John had winked at him. Winked. And it was gone like a breeze, like nothing ever happened. Simon writes it off as the mechanic’s personality, just like that never-tiring smile on his lips.

“Well, when I was a wee thing, still in school and clueless as ever, I thought I’d be a biker myself one day. Now I’m a mechanic for one of the best we have here, so I’ll take it. Ahh, your bike’s so fucking gorgeous, something younger me would have dreamt me off.”

John doesn’t stop, just keeps rambling on and on, carrying the conversation without demanding any answer whatsoever. By the end of it, Simon swears he could roughly recite the man’s life from toddler to present day. To his surprise he didn’t hate it as much as he thought, quite the opposite, John was like a typhoon that was sweeping through the light of day, swift and efficient in his motion without leaving a catastrophically dangerous aftermath.

“And? Eight weeks till your fourth race at Isle of Man, ready to sweep in for another under fourteen minute lap?”

John chuckles.

“Cause, god, I was watching ya on the TV the past years, when you shattered the record for the fastest lap on that race and it was fucking beautiful.”

“Yeah…we’ll see ‘bout that.”

Simon mumbles, caught off-guard with a question that somewhat required an answer.

John bids him goodbye with a soft pat to the shoulders and a smirk and Simon can’t help but like the feeling of it. Even at night, he turned in bed, not able to rest.

John is always there, when Simon turned up to training sessions, racing right on the company property and lap for lap kept on shattering his own record times, before discussing something with his coach and go in for another round. But they don’t talk. John nods him goodbye from afar, when Simon goes on with his day, attending sponsorship events, occasional photoshoots – just anything his manager had set up to him.

The next time Simon talks to him was a week later, when he was forced into a meeting with his manager, PR team and mechanics to discuss the upcoming Isle of Man race, after which Simon was about to return home with his manager dropping him off, as his bike was required to stay on company grounds for tweaking. But John had him wrapped up in yet another conversation and when his manager popped up, John had immediately offered to drive Simon. And who was Simon to say no to that overly excited glint in John’s eyes, when the possibility of chauffeuring Simon appeared.
“Why don’t you try to accumulate a more international reputation? You have the skill and the record to back it up, just always avoided media. I mean you maybe have a few interviews and refuse to partake in huge international races…”

John had curiously asked, as Simon sat in the passenger seat of John’s car. He didn’t say anything, when he adjusted the seat to his height, but he caught a glimpse in John’s eyes, just a short stock in the usually so fluent movement of the Scott.

“Never had much interest in becoming famous. And money’s never a problem.”

Simon had rumbled, eyes fixated on John’s hand on the steering-wheel.

“Yeah? I mean, don’t do it for the money, do it for the rush. Y’know, push to new heights or whatever. You could be on the top of the world! For yourself I mean, not for any audience.”

It might have sounded a little negative coming from anyone else, but John made it sound harmless, innocent. A child-like goodness in his voice.

“I- I actually don’t know- It’s hard to explain…”

What maybe had been the right thing to say was that Simon was scared of the public life and fanbases he would have to tend to, but that was only the ‘right’ thing to say. The truth would lie somewhere not too far away from that – that Simon was scared that he could lose everything racing meant to him. It wasn’t his job, it was the only thing he ever had. And the thought of having to share it, thus opening himself up, was nothing he could stomach. Not when he knew too well that one’s success was the other’s motivation for terrible things.

“But I remember when you were a rookie, taking part in the Grand Prix in-“

Simon flinches when John mentions it, he freezes for a small moment.

“Mugello.”

Mugello, what should have been his breakthrough into the international league as a rookie, if it hadn’t been for the not-so accidental incident after the race. Simon fights the urge to crumple up and
just stop. Just shut off. He tries to act normal.

“You were awesome in Mugello, thought I’d get to see more of you…”

“Yeah, a few things happened after that.”

Simon dismisses the topic, voice more shaky than he had hoped. John takes the hint and was right back in his element, smoothly switching the topic with that bright-hearted demeanour of his. When they arrive at Simon’s home, John walks up to the door with him, before softly punching a fist to Simon’s chest.

“See ya around, Si.”

John doesn’t even seem to take the smallest notice of how Simon tenses. So winking and nicknames it were. It incapacitated Simon for longer than it should.

The blue-eyed Scott starts appearing everywhere, it was inevitable as the main mechanic either way, rolling in and out like cyclone, that only seemed to leave Simon in shambles of his own confusion and the yearning of reach for the turbulence. It doesn’t take long for John to be part of the tight-knitted team, winning over most people’s affection, even better at his job, as it turned out.

While his manager and PR team seemed more stressed than Simon did for approaching the Isle of Man, he was completely in his own world. The world was still spinning, with the subtle change that people around were moving faster and he had a small problem called John MacTavish sticking onto him without his own knowledge. Three weeks in, John isn’t there when Simon walks through the hallways. He catches himself feeling off when there isn’t any Scottish chatter all up in his face and it sets him off. Like there was something missing when he was on his bike. The blue pair of eyes that usually so eagerly followed him weren’t there. He looks over to the empty track, as he was roaring his engine to the max. Just a split second of loss of concentration. He almost comes into sliding, just able to catch himself, before anything worse happens. When he stops before his couch, he is met with a raised eyebrow and a comment about something along the lines of ‘what was that?’. When Johnny returns the day after, everything is back to normal. His chitter chatter finally filling up all the empty space.

A long day of training and the less sport-related part of the ordeal later, Simon found himself sitting in the lounge room with the mechanic, who had cracked him a beer with one of his winks, knowing that Simon’s manager wouldn’t be too content with him drinking. But one beer never hurt anyone.

“Tell me about yourself, Si…it’s always me talking.”

Johnny mumbles. Simon doesn’t know how exactly he had ended up with the Scott sitting next to him, head resting against his shoulder, slurring his words.

“You a lightweight, Johnny?”

He huffs, almost amused that three beers had done such a number on Johnny, while he was still sipping on his first.

“Noooo…’m not. But your dear PR team just had me take a few shots at their celebration today and I haven’t drank in a long, long, very long time.”

Ah right, some other client with the same manager as Simon had celebrated something today. Simon didn’t have time to attend, doubts he would have wanted to be there anyway.

“A few?”

“A few way too many...god…”

“So, you’re drunk.”

Johnny has the outright audacity to pinch Simon’s cheek, before pouting. Fucking pouting.

“No...”

It’s a lie - Johnny's pouty voice only adding to the evidence. The touchiness of the inebriated male didn’t stop, until his head was fully pressed against Simon, arms around him, mumbling something incoherent. Simon doesn’t hate it, maybe he even liked how clingy Johnny was and the fact that he could always just blame this, he supposed one-time-thing, on Johnny’s alcohol level. Yeah, he could let Johnny rest there just a little longer.

Carrying Johnny into his own car was less of a problem than he expected, the bigger issue would be somehow getting Johnny and Johnny’s car to his place, while Simon somehow had to make it
back home himself. The issue resolves when Simon asks Johnny, slumped in the passenger seat, where he lives.

“No…don’t wanna go there. Anywhere but home.”

His whiny voice was laced with something more desperate.

Simon doesn’t regret it when he stands in his own hallway, a car not belonging to him in the garage and Johnny in his arms.

Johnny had apologised profusely in the morning, though not losing his charm while doing so, making it seem like he wasn’t at all mad about having spent the night on Simon’s couch. And before Simon knew, Johnny somehow wiggled himself into Simon’s personal space and planted himself right at the kitchen counter, making it feel like he had been there all along.

“It’s Johnny now, eh?”

The Scott chuckled, as he coyly stared at Simon standing at the stove, scrambling up breakfast. It makes him freeze in the middle of flipping the bacon. Johnny notices, Simon continues like nothing ever happened, playing it off.

“You like John more?”

“Nah, not from you, Si.”

“Right then, Johnny it is.”

He ignores the smirk on Johnny’s lips, as he hands him a plate of food, doesn’t say a thing when Johnny smiles, as he drives himself and Simon back to work. Something told the racer that this
would be a reoccurring thing in the future and he wasn’t opposed to the idea at all.

Chapter Text

Mugello. It’s been seven years since Mugello. Yet so vividly the memories of that night replayed. Simon remembers every single thing. How his heart had thrum in his chest, so hard that he thought it would jump right out. The rush of excitement and fear. His manager had found him in his dressing cabin, hands shaky, sweat pearling down his forehead. He was young, the youngest competing in his division that day by far and the ‘Autodromo Internazionale del Mugello’ wasn’t a kind circuit. He felt like hurling every other moment. He never thought that he’d ever be so shaken up by anything, his manager even more surprised. Almost running late, because he was washing his face again and again with the cold water, until his hair was damp. Everything he had built towards was right in his grasp. When he walked out, the response had been overwhelming as he would learn later. The rush of stomach-churning adrenaline etched into him; not something he would ever forget.
His whole body felt shaky when he sat on his bike, a white Suzuki. But when the signal sounds, echoes through the air something in him clicks. Like a lock perfectly sliding into its lock. He just did it. The world had slowed, his gaze sharp as he zoomed through the race track. And he felt utter joy. The best feeling, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, one with his bike. The world didn’t matter anymore. And when he crossed the finish line after multiple laps in record speed and he pulled off his visor he felt alive. Gasping for air, while the rush of serotonin was pulling him into another plane of existence – he was sure he was in paradise. His manager came running, yelling, taking him into his arms. But the rush of blood tuned out any noise. The rest of the night went by in seconds, being pulled through the masses screaming, suddenly interested in him. Even when he was laying in bed his heart wouldn’t calm.

Two weeks later he has attended a more casual race, which had become increasingly difficult after Grand Prix had been broadcasted and amassed a huge viewership. That’s where everything went wrong. Something happened in the while when he was smarmed by people and he only noticed that his engine was acting up when he was mid-race, though he could swear that his engine had been checked the day before. As he tried to get his sliding bike under control, a turn he hadn’t anticipated came up and he was sent flying, crashing into something and all he saw was darkness. He was rushed into hospital for emergency surgery. When he woke up three days later only his manager had been by his side. When he groggily asked for what happened he was met with silence. It took some time to get his manager to speak. And as he saw his manager’s lips move his heart stood still. It felt like a nightmare come true. His mother and brother were rushing to the hospital after seeing him, hit by a drunk driver. Both died upon impact. Just gone, erased from the existence. The two people who had loved him, supported him through all the troubles years, the two people he had so much to make up to – they were gone. It takes a few minutes until he starts gasping for air, spiralling into a panic attack. Nurses come rushing in as his increased heartrate was worrying. It takes hours for him to settle, to process that it happened. That he would return to an empty home. That he was alone. The next days he spend in bed, staring into nothingness as his world shattered. As if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, his manager, who had visited him every other day, had a look of pity and anger in his eyes when he came in. he doesn’t tell Simon what had happened. But Simon finds out himself the next time he has a phone in his hands. There was an ongoing police investigation about the possibility that his bike had been sabotaged that day. Footage had resurfaced, showing someone kneeling next to his Suzuki, before leaving. It was boiling hot, blistering white anger that had filled him. That his mother’s and brother’s lives had been lost through some fucker, some low-life bastard, who messed with Simon’s bike.

It's cold and lonely once he gets discharged, left with a burden too heavy in his soul too young. His manager helped him slowly back to his feet, taking care of any paperwork, making sure Simon recovered, had somewhere else to live, even had been the one responsible for the deaths of his family members to never touch the news. Life had been a mess, causing him to distance him from overly competitive races, finding solace in being alone with his bike on the road rather than in a damned track.

It takes two years to slowly move back to the scene.

Simon wakes up with a cold sweat on his back, eyes jerking open at the face of his younger brother smiling at him. ‘You’re the best Simon.’ Tommy had laughed when Simon had come back from another day at the track. He ruffled Tommy’s hair, smiling.

He stumbles out of bed, trying to get his breathing under control. Haunting and unforgiving. That’s what the past had become.

He looks like shit when he turns up later, Johnny immediately shooting him a worried look. It doesn’t take long at all for the Scott to excuse him from whoever he was talking to and some running to Simon.

“Aye, Si, you alright?”

The sudden voice startles Simon and in his irritated state his fist comes crushing down on the table. When he realises what he had done, he turns to see Johnny, visibly confused and caught off-guard by the sudden, loud noise.

“Fu- sorry, didn’t- I…I was somewhere else.”

He sighs out from under his surgical mask, a habit to always wear it after some reoccurring dreams. For a moment he fears that he had accidentally chased Johnny away, he stops breathing. But the man just settles right next to him, looking more serious than ever. His hand meets Simon’s shoulder, his eyes locked to Simon’s.

“It’s alright…what happened? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

“Bad dreams.”

Simon does his best to act like everything was alright, even though he felt far from it.

“Hmm? Wanna tell me?”

“I- it’s fine really. Happens all the time.”

There is something stern and aggressive in Simon’s voice and Johnny can feel him closing, pulling back. He doesn’t dig any further. He goes away and Simon doesn’t know if it’s for the better or worse. As he was ready to stand up and apologise, Johnny was back again with a can of some cold energy drink the company advertised and an apple.

“You look like you haven’t eaten as well. Not a beer, but it’ll keep you awake, so you don’t fall off the bike later.”

Simon was truly taken aback when Johnny winks at him, his signature smile on his lips. When Johnny turns to walk, Simon grabs the him by the wrist.

“Don’t…don’t leave.”

Johnny’s eyes crinkle, a soft hum sounding as he settled again, watching Simon devouring the apple and chugging the drink. The smile not wavering when Simon wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“Always, Si.”

Simon brings himself to smile a little, as he ruffles the Scott’s mohawk, which he to be honest didn’t think anyone could pull of until he met Johnny, and enjoyed how soft it was. Johnny’s slightly dumbfounded look, as he started blushing was only the cherry on top.

“See you around Johnny, manager’s calling.”

When Simon stood up, Johnny sat at the very same table for a few minutes, hoping his cheeks would cool back down. It takes someone calling his name three times until he reacts, almost falling to the floor. Distracted was an understatement for how he felt throughout the rest of the say, until he spent his break watching Simon race on a miniature replica of Isle of Man, getting the theory down. But in Johnny’s eyes Simon was the best, no matter what he did.

“Two weeks left, Simon. You’re getting shipped up in eight days, so they can test for drug abuse and whatnot, you know.”

His manager rumbled, putting the newly added rules of the yearly race. The only more well-known race Simon had attended the past years.

“So…there is nothing that clashes with the way we’ve prepared…”

Simon listens, nods, takes mental notes. A low rumbling in his stomach catches him off-guard. Almost like there was glint of anticipation in him.

“When are you done, Johnny?”

Simon creeps up to the mechanic, who currently had earphones on and was working on some engines parts Simon had never seen before. Johnny turns as he feels Simon behind him, his face brightening the moment he seems Simon. He hurries to take off one of the earphones.

“Uh…already am. Juts playing around with spares you have laying around. They’d throw them out otherwise. “

“I’m heading back now. Wanted to know if you maybe wanted to come to dinner with me.”

Johnny’s mouth opens, eyes widen a bit.

“The manager and you going out with the rest? I-“

“No. Just me.”

A few seconds of silence spreads between the two.

“Since I had barely anything to eat.”

Simon adds, scratching his neck, not knowing where to look.

“Course. Gimme two minutes.”

And Johnny was gone. As promised he was back two minutes later, a joyful smile on his lips as he happily sits into the passenger seat of Simon’s car and can’t stop squirm around in excitement.

“Any reason? To go somewhere for dinner?”

Johnny finally breaks the silence with the question that had seemed to bother him since Simon had invited him.

“Treating my favourite mechanic. Do I need a reason? Also, going eating alone is miserable.”

Simon lies on the last part. He never thought eating alone was miserable.

“Yeah, it would be.”

Johnny laughs softly.

“Where we headed?”

“You like sushi, Johnny?”

When Simon escorts the slightly drunk Scott back to the passenger seat of his car, he can’t help but feel happy with how needily Johnny held onto him. He had taken Johnny somewhere more high end; he wasn’t joking when he said it would be a treat. Even when Johnny had asked why there were no price tags, completely oblivious that the people eyed him for wearing a stained shirt. Simon had dismissed it, insisted on paying, until Johnny obliged. And the few sakes the Scott had that still managed to get him so drunk proved Simon’s suspicion; The Scott was a lightweight, despite being taller and more muscular than the average male. When he asks for Johnny’s address, the man coyly spells out Simon’s address, smiling at him with the most charming grin. Simon deadpan stares at him, wordlessly driving back to his own home as Johnny falls asleep.

Later on he can’t get Johnny to sleep on the couch, the man appearing every few minutes, still drunk, at Simon’s door. After the fourth time Simon walks over, pulling Johnny into bed with him. And the nightmares are gone as Johnny nuzzled against him with a content hum and presses a small kiss to Simon’s cheek.

‘Fucking hell. What have I gotten myself into.’

Simon thinks, before he puts an arms around the man in his bed, tugging him closer.

Chapter Text

The sight of Johnny sitting at the kitchen counter, gazing at Simon in a tank top and sweatpants, just felt right. The way the Scott moved, he already treated the apartment like his own, leaving his marl anywhere without crossing boundaries. Though Simon was sure that there was nothing Johnny could do that would get him mad.

“What’s for breakfast, Si?”

“You get some pancakes with bacon. Got maple in the pantry.”

“Hmm? We not eating the same thing? Gotta watch your macros?”

“Yeah.”

Simon slides over a glass of water with a cup of tea.

“Drink. You’re looking bloody dehydrated. Thought you could handle your liquor.”

Simon can physically hear Johnny pout, but he drank the water.

“Good boy.”

It comes out of Simon before he realises, freezing in his motion. His eyes widen, shoulders cramp.

“Hmm? Say again?”

Simon turns, facing the confused expression on Johnny’s face.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah…regarding my alcohol intake, it’s not that bad. I just never really drank before. Never attended those parties when I was still a wee idiot. And right after high-school I just started working anyway, so never got the college experience.”

“Now that you’re with the company you might have to get used to it. Idiots like to drink a lot off season, sometimes go to bars to celebrate. I’m sure they want you there.”

“Do you turn up at these celebrations?”

“Not my thing.”

There was an audible smile on Johnny’s lips when he spoke.

“Then I might have to ditch ‘em to spend time with you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Johnny’s eyes linger, Simon lets it happen. When he slides some breakfast over the kitchen counter and starts preparing his own meal, he can’t help but smile with his back turned to the other.

“Never knew Si was a good cook.”

Johnny mumbles as he thinks about the morning at Simon’s, after which they drove to the company together. He currently was sat next to Sabrina, Simon’s PR assistant, while both had their break.

“Say again?”

A deep frown spreads on her forehead, crinkling her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Si…he cooks real good. Made me pancakes today. Fucking delicious.”

There was a tranquil tint in Johnny’s eyes, as a faint smile curled on his lips.

“You- okay, so first of all, you call him Si?! And under which circumstances did he make pancakes for you…?”

She seemed to freeze, disbelief and curiosity riddling her face. Johnny doesn’t know if she’s genuinely interested, or she was to keep an eye out for Simon’s relations.

“Ah- well, Si and me went to dinner last night and got too drunk, so he brought me back to his. Not a biggie, though I really appreciated it. And he made me breakfast…and then we drove here?”

He raises an eyebrow, she whistles.

“Tell me everything. How does his place look like? Does he also wear that mask all the time? Oh my god…it’s Simon Riley we are talking about. How in god’s name did you pull that off?”

“You fangirling over the guy whose PR assistant you are?”

Johnny chuckles as Sabrina seemed to flip out a little.

“Of course! He is a celebrity after all. And through my years of working with him you get to know how sick he really is. I mean, he’s really reserved, but half of the company are secret fangirls. Don’t tell him though – But I don’t think he would care a lot anyway. He’s just unapproachable but a still pretty great guy under all that…hardened exterior. But no one can really blame him. Has got a rough past.”

That catches Johnny’s attention and Sabrina immediately notices his confused look.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“He-“

A shadow settles over the table, a weighty hand on Johnny’s shoulder. While Sabrina seemed to jump back in shock, Johnny just turns and smiles.

“Oh, hey there. Breaktime, too?”

“Yeah, wanted to ask if you wanted to join me.”

Johnny’s eyes lit up as he heard those words, looking over to Sabrina.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?”

And he was gone, staying close to Simon like a lost puppy. The girl has to take a few minutes to process whatever had happened.

Times flies by and Simon sat in a ferry headed to the island in the Irish sea, leaning against the railing that separated him from the sea. His bike was somewhere in the storeroom, safely tucked away. He sighed, staring into the waters, mind set on a certain man. He hadn’t seen Johnny since their plane landed and Simon had headed straight for the ferry. And he found himself missing the upbeat chatter and touchiness. It was like his brain was gnawing on him, telling him to search for the thing that provided that very relief, reaching out to Johnny.

Simon wasn’t stupid. He knew there was something going on between them and that Johnny was very well reciprocating on whatever Simon did. But what he didn’t know is how to handle it. He was too scared to take any step. Maybe because he didn’t want to lose anything he now had, maybe he was too emotionally distant to feel capable of even the idea that they could be anything. The fact that Johnny had been over for four times in the past eight days, sleeping at his place for three times might solidified their mutual need, although didn’t help much with Simon sinking into his own world in hopes he could understand what he really needed and shutting off.

“There you are.”

His manager leans onto the railing next to him.

“What’s up Hans?”

Simon greets him, pulled back into the world where seagulls cawed and the dark blue of the sea met the grey clouds that indicated an upcoming storm.

“Just checking up on you. Thought you’d be inside. It’s getting broody out here. Might as well join us.”

“I- I want to stay out a little more.”

Hans nodded understandingly – the father figure Simon had. The middle aged man had been taking care of him for a long time now in, far more than professionally.

“I’ve seen and been told that you and John are getting along real nice.”

“Hmm”

“He’s a bright boy, worked his own way up to where he is. And seems like he was also able to give you a run for your money. Fast, isn’t he? Very much likable. Moreover and most importantly, you look happy when you’re with him.”

There was some vulnerability in the words Hans spoke, nudging towards a more sensitive topic.

“You’ve grown a lot. And I am very proud of you, Simon. I hope you know that.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Hans left it uncommented.

“Does John know?”

So that’s where this conversation was heading. Simon tenses up a little.

“No. Doesn’t need to.”

“I know, thought that since you were getting closer you maybe had been able to-“

“It still haunts me. Johnny doesn’t need to know. It isn’t important for our work-relation. He’s a mechanic on the team, not a trauma dumpster that is here to clean up some mess, just because we are ‘closer’.”

“I am not blind, Simon. I know you. Maybe not good, you haven’t been one to be all that open, but I have known you for long enough to see that anything you do holds meaning to you. Because you don’t waste energy on things without purpose. So when I see you reaching out for someone for the first time, which is not a reproach on you not doing so, I know it’s because it’s important to you. I see a chance in John. And the boy is all over you.”

It had been long since Hans ever talked like that, Simon dared to reckon Mugello had been the last time. He sounded fatherly, caring.

“Things will unravel themselves with the passage of time, son, but it’s the first time in so long I’ve seen you happy. I couldn’t let it go to waste. Just know, whatever you decide on, I will only care for your well-being. Your mother…the first time I met her. She was a worried thing. Immediately knew you had a deadbeat father, a mother who loved her sons more than anything on the world. She pulled me aside and all I could see in her face was love. She wasn’t sure if you wanted or could persevere in racing, but she didn’t tell me that. She just asked me to take care of you, as if you were my son. I deem myself to have tried and done that and plan on keeping to do it.”

He pats Simon on the shoulder, squeezing it.

“I’ll be inside if you need me.”

Simon wants to tell him to stop, wants to say something, but the words are stuck in his throat that suddenly closed too fast. He waits until he hear the door close and only the cawing of the seagulls remain until he lets the tears pearl down his face, soaking into his mask. He doesn’t even know why, it’s too sudden. It must have been the first time he cried in a long, long time.

Simon isn’t surprised when he and Johnny share a room in the hotel. His first thought wandered to Hans, but decided his manager was not the type to do this kind of thing, with that he meant a childishly naïve and unable-to-miss attempt to do something. Hans never intervened, until it was needed. Sabrina or someone on his PR team that was close to Johnny, he figured. When he opens the door to the room, trying to keep his head low so no one could ask him why his eyes were red (he spent at least ten minutes in the restroom, trying to make it all seem fine), Johnny stands there in nothing but boxers. A perfect distraction, Simon thinks before he catches himself.

“Uh…thought you’d be back later, Si. I was just about to shower.”

“Go ahead, I’ll take a nap.”

Johnny stares for a moment, but scurries into the shower instead.

The bed nicely conforms to his weight, sinking in, like he was falling into water and it enveloped him so he didn’t need to be the force to keep himself up anymore. Yeah, just sink and know that something was there to keep him form drowning.

“Si, it’s dinner time.”

A hand on his shoulder gently shook him, pulling him from his peaceful slumber into somewhere ho wouldn’t rather be. He blinks, sees that it was dark outside.

“How long was I out for, Johnny?”

“Uhh, two hours? We’re dead asleep and looked like you needed it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Not been sleeping well?”

“Weren’t in my bed last night to keep me warm, so no, horrendous.”

Simon huffed, not knowing if it was a joke or not. Johnny doesn’t answer.

“Said dinner time, eh? How about I take you out again, Johnny. The menu of this hotel is looking bloody pretentious to be that expensive.”

“Thought you didn’t care for spending on food from last time.”

Johnny teases already.

“It’s not about money. But if you insist, I-“

“Nah, surprise me, Si. If you don’t wanna eat here, I don’t either.”

“Good boy.”

This time Simon makes sure Johnny hears it, eyes locking, so Johnny couldn’t escape.

“We’ll take my bike though.”

Simon ignores any protest from Johnny that his bike had to be in perfect shape for the race in six days and whatnot.

The wind was breezy, not cold, when Simon drove through the city. The streets were rather empty for the spring night, much to Simon’s content. The arms clung around his waist and the soft warmth pressed into him was like a pleasure he never thought to get to know. Like soft lights in a dark street, spending light to the ones needed. He doesn’t need to look back to Johnny and how he was wearing Simon’s visor, the man’s gentle grip around him cleared any doubts that Johnny was uncomfortable. It doesn’t take long, maybe even a little too short to Simon’s dismay, when they arrive to the restaurant. Not overly huge and all fanfares, nor casual. Italian.

Simon is the first to step off the bike, then holds a hand on Johnny’s waist, as he climbs down. He had been over the moon when it dawned on him that he was on the machine that had won the Grand Prix the past years, let alone belonged to Simon, eyes longingly lingering on the bike.

“C’mon Johnny. You can ride her all you want another time. Heard your stomach grumbling all the way here.”

“Aye, coming. Though, at least let myself pay this-“

“Be good.”

Simon’s hand grips into him, softly digging into the vaguely plush, yet firm flesh, built from years of mechanical work. It shuts Johnny up, makes him blush.

Dinner is incredible, better than the hotel, so thought Johnny when he was eyeing Simon’s bare face as he sipped on the wine the latter had ordered. None for himself though, wouldn’t do any good. The smooth liquid, perfectly sweet and sour with a soft spice to it was going down too easily, as Johnny lost view of how much he was consuming. Perfect in every aspect, maybe like Simon.

The ride back is just as calming and grounding as the one from the hotel, with the exception that Johnny was more clingy. The wine? Maybe. And some part of Simon doesn’t hate it, not at all. He could get used to having Johnny, ears burning from the booze, hands gripping a little tighter than normally. He takes a longer route, one that led him to somewhere with a nice view to the sea. He gets Johnny from the bike, settles with him on a bench. As Johnny shows sign of coldness, the blonde pulls him closer.

“Not complaining at all, but what are we doing here?”

“Enjoying the view, Johnny?”

“Always when you are with me.”

Later it’s not even a question when Simon was laying in his bed and Johnny wiggled under his blanket, hands roaming innocently.

“G’night, Si.”

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Chapter Text

When Johnny peels him from the sheets that revelled in Simon’s faint scent he feels awfully cold. There were no arms that held him, no soft hair tickling the back of his neck. He grumbles. It was to expect though; Simon had places to be that early in the morning. So Johnny just gets up to shower, maybe steal some of Simon’s bodywash that smelled like comfort before he is also called to routine inspection and also keeping out an eye for Simon, who was now preparing on the track.

Things seem to go well, not much of an uproar anywhere. A few pre-race interviews were pre-recorded and general photoshoots for the big day were still happening. He gets pulled aside by a few members of the company’s PR section and got to see a few other contestants.

“Riley doesn’t quite fit in with them, am I right?”

Another man, Aleander, one of the helpers in the race as Johnny recalled, chuckled with a smile on his face.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Look at them. The way they hold themselves, how they talk and just act – you can tell that they are names in the racing scene. Riley on the other hand…first of all, he is way taller and broader if you
want it that way. You wouldn’t think he is a great fit for racing, until you see him pull up. And as special as he is, he always to go under in the masses. Just like Mugello seven years ago. Just disappeared into nothingness.”

“Yeah…Mugello. Was sure he’d blow up back then. But I prefer him like how he is now.”

“You with him? Haven’t seen you much around here before.”

“Aye, I am. Mechanic. Work with him.”

“Is he as cool as the media always paints him? Never seen him answer in more than a few words. And always got that bloody mask on. Most of the public doesn’t even know what exactly he looks like.”

Johnny chuckles at Aleander’s words.

“Yeah, he…is even better than the most outrageous media portray him.”

Two days remaining. 48 hours, the clock constantly ticking, yet Simon always found time to spend on Johnny. A quick touch, dinners or just sharing the bed and sparing a few minutes each morning for him. Even Johnny was getting giddy from anticipation, while Simon was set in his indifference, continuing like always. It’s afternoon when a few photocards and piles of something land next to
Johnny, who was resting in his bed (Simon and his).

“Hmm, what’s that?”

“Spare promotion material. Thought you might want them, if not, I can throw ‘em out.”

The first picture immediately catches Johnny’s attention. It was Simon in the new biker-suit that clung to him like a glove in all the right places, he was sweaty, pulling off his visor, under which his trademark black mask hid his face. His hazel eyes stared into the camera, slightly narrowed. It was a sight behold.

“I’m keeping all of them. Every single one you get your hands on, gimme.”

Johnny huffs, hands roaming in the pile. In and out of the suit, on his bike, just standing there for a front and back profile. Profiles, portraits.

“Do they always go all out like that? Like, damn, this is more like a model thing than promotion for biking.”

“You enjoying it, Johnny?”

“Every second of it.”

Johnny was humming as he put them back into order, fingers softly tracing over the paper.

“Are you excited at all, Si?”

“More or less. Just another race, nothing special about it.”

“You say that, but don’t you feel anything? Not even…a sliver of anticipation?”

“It’s complicated. I’m like that anymore. Maybe I’m just getting used to it.”

“Hmm, growing old?”

Johnny teasingly asked, laughing at how Simon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Si. Not a fan of guys younger than me.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, just crawls into bed with Johnny.

25 hours left.

Johnny was still lying in bed, watching Simon packing his bag for a long day. His eyes wander to the small, scratched keychain of a red motorcycle and over to Simon’s gloves. For some reason his conversations with Sabrina and even Aleander the previous was itching some part of brain. Deciding just to try and start a conversation he speaks.

“Where’d you get that keychain, Si?”

“A present from- from a long time ago.”

Simon flinches a little as he can’t bring himself to say it. From my brother, Tommy. Johnny doesn’t notice, smiles as the revelation that even Simon had some sentiment to something like a keychain.

“You like it? You’ve been taking it everywhere.”

“Holds memories. More symbolic than anything, it doesn’t matter.”

His tone is sharper than usual, not wanting to dig into the conversation.

“Oh, alright. How old is it?”

“Twelve years.”

“Twelve? It’s ancient. Pretty though.”

“You sound like you have something else to ask me, Johnny. You’re talking around it.”

Johnny gulps, not knowing if he was relieved or scared that Simon had read right though him. Too busy with his own thoughts he misses Simon’s discontent towards talking about the chain.

“You- you don’t on ever plan on taking your career to the next step, do you? Like, every year the same races, never even thinking about going up? I’ve been thinking just…you could, you know? What is holding you back, Si?”

“Anyone planted a little seed in your head?”

There was underlying anger, a fire in it that Simon didn’t intend.

“What? What are-“

“The media. Some have given up, but there are still people that have paid people around me and trying to get me to do more. You met anyone today that did that, told you to get to me?”

There was something accusatory in Simon’s voice. He doesn’t even realise that he had been the one speaking, not knowing why’d he react so strongly to the suggestion. His throat tightens when he sees Johnny’s eyebrows furrow and a quick flash of hurt appearing in his eyes.

“No, I wouldn’t! I was just wondering…I didn’t mean to come across as so intrusive.”

There was uncertainty in Johnny’s voice for the first time Simon had ever heard him speak. Regrets claws at his throat, but something in Simon froze, not able to quicky apologise, acting like he didn’t mean it and just go back to Johnny’s cradling arms like always. But when he sees the man, who had quickly sat up, something in him panics. Coldly he stares at Johnny, unable to show that this iciness wasn’t what he was trying to express, as he was suddenly pushed back to a little corner in his mind, something else taking over. Memories of waking up in the hospital, the knowledge that something had gone terribly wrong – suddenly so vivid like he was living through it all again. He couldn’t do that ever again, couldn’t go that one step he did seven years ago that buried his life after it ripped apart. He doesn’t even know why, how he was reacting so strongly. When Johnny’s face starts to flash in his mind in between the ones of his mother and brother he loses it. He takes a step back, hands raising in a defensive manner, mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s too much, too overwhelming when his mind brutally replays it all over again and again, as if he was showing Simon just what would happen when he dared to go down the same road. Telling him that it was all his fault, that if he was never so selfish to pursue motorsports hundreds of miles away from home, away from the ones he loved and just stayed home, stayed in school he would still be able to see his little brother looking up at him, telling him that he was the best brother ever and feel the comforting touch of his mother who had been a saint, willing to give her life for his to be better. Johny stands up, reaching out for Simon. Like a choice he didn’t have last time, someone was reaching out to him through the fog. Simon almost gives in, just wanting to feel Johnny and tune out how his body was shaky, his breathing strained, but the tiniest waver in him, a possibility of seeing Johnny hurt because of him, in a hospital bed just like Tommy after Simon’s mother had already been pronounced dead and the doctors pulled the plug after Tommy had been too far gone. He pulls away. Rushing to the door and storming out of it, before Johnny can react. Like a man possessed he ran, faster than Johnny could catch up and he is long gone when Johnny runs into the lobby, confused but even more worried. His heart aches, the sudden panic rising in his chest, as he doesn’t know what to do.

“Where is Simon?”

Hans had sternly called Johnny, when five hours passed since Simon had ran away in a frenzy. Johnny had hoped Simon would just need some time for himself, maybe already at the track to get
prepared for the race, trying to take his mind off whatever went down.

“Wha- Isn’t he with you guys?”

A deep frown wrinkled the already anxious man.

“I haven’t seen him since midday. Hasn’t answered any texts and is late for his pre-race check. He turned off any signal. He’s gone.”

“I- I thought…Si, he ran away a few hours ago after I said something that seemed to upset him. I don’t understand. I-“

“John, what exactly happened?”

“He- I asked him if he ever wanted to do more, just maybe pursue more. And he suddenly got all cold and distant, asked me if someone made me or even offered to pay me to get him to do that. I- I tried to apologise but he ran and took his bike. I thought he needed to blow some steam off at the circuit or just somewhere else. I tried calling but he also didn’t answer – God, what did I do?”

Johnny needs a moment to be able to be able to breathe again.

“John, listen. It’s not your fault-“

Johnny heard some rustling and Hans loudly calling for a few people.

“He’s a grown man, he can handle himself, yeah? You caught him on a bad foot. I’ll try to get through to him. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Hans hangs up, nothing feels like it will be fine, Johnny stares at the wall in front of him. Hans didn’t seem fine. He looks at his phone, where he had called Simon seven times, not knowing if she should have or not.

17 hours left.

No sign of Simon. Calling police was impossible, what for would be the next question. But it doesn’t ease Johnny’s mind as he roams around in the streets, not too far away from the arena. There was nothing he could do with Simon and his bike gone. Hans was still convinces Simon would turn up, even if he missed the few events, which had been unlike him, always a man to do his job from start to finish with utmost care. So Johnny had decided he might as well take public transport and search for Simon himself, checking near the shore, walking down a few ports, hoping he’d just find Simon’s silhouette sitting there and watching the sea.

It had gotten dark, a little rain dripping down the black clouds. They soak his mohawk, make his hair cling to his head, but he doesn’t care. Johnny doesn’t know what he is feeling, almost pathetic with how he’d been searching for Simon like a puppy for his owner with no idea why.

“Fuck…”

He curses out, feeling the rain becoming stronger. He picks up his pace. There were no more busses at this time and place, just roads on the side of a few cliffs that seemed to lead nowhere. He just followed the map on his phone pointed him towards, as he hadn’t no reception, flinching as the drops of water were soaking him from head to toe. As if he wasn’t already blaming himself for Simon’s disappearance, he now had gotten himself somewhat lost. Just because Simon held a spell over him that threw his rationality right out the window. Just because he yearned nothing more than being close to the tall, blonde man that had been perfect since the day they’ve met, making Johnny feel like a teenager again that was crushing on someone for the first time, with the difference that they both were adults and somehow it made it worse.
Two hours later he finds himself shivering, standing in the lobby, Hans meeting him there, after Johnny hadn’t been answering calls either. When he sees Johnny’s dejected look, looking pitying with how drenched he was he just sighs, telling Johnny to get himself washed up. No sign from Simon.

When Johnny wakes he feels a cold sweat on his back, his face burning up. Cussing, stumbling as he was dizzy, he searches for his travel kit in his suitcase, managing to find the thermometer. A light fever and nausea. He blinks a few times, ignoring his headache and forces himself to get his shit together. He takes a pill against the fever, wash it down with some water. When he faces himself in the mirror he cringes at how tired. Hans takes him with him to prepare the race; both not knowing when Simon would even be there. The arena next to the race was already overrun with staff preparing. Seven hours left, Simon gone eighteen.

“Has he ever done this before?”

Johnny mumbles, sitting in the changing room assigned to Simon. At least it was heated, so he wasn’t shivering.

“No, the first time.”

“I’m sorry.”

Johnny says, not feeling like it was making the situation any better.

“I told you it isn’t your fault. Simon isn’t the best emotions. He must have panicked himself.”

“Panicked about what?”

Hans sist down next to him.

“I’m not blind, John. I see how you two look at each other. And Simon…you’re the first person in a long time he treated like this. I’m sure he wanted to tell you himself sometime when he would be ready, but it’s a little late now.”

Hans takes a deep breath.

“Simon was always a troubled kid. His father abusive from what I could tell, his mother trying her best to keep him and his younger brother from going down a bad road. He found racing at a young age and was naturally great at it. I met him during a scouting, treated him like my own. Right after his over-night rise to fame after the Grand Prix seven years ago he attended in another, small-time race. Someone messed with his bike, sent him in a couple days coma. And, well…his mother and brother were caught by a drunk truckdriver, when they headed all the way over to see Simon. We weren’t sure if he was going to make it back then. So when he woke up, his mother was dead, his brother kept alive by machines. He was in the room when the doctor pulled the plug. Hasn’t stopped blaming himself for it, beating himself up, wishing he had never raced. It took a long time to get him back to doing anything. And he has refused to ever pursue a professional, international career. And who is there to blame him? It cost him a lot and he’s still not over it. He’s scared, but I can see it in his eyes that he is moving on slowly. I have seen him eyeing the Assen TT for a few months now. But with you here, he has even more to lose.”

Johnny doesn’t know what to say, wishing he had been more attentive to Simon. It had been in front of him all along – Simon never behaved like he was absolutely alright. When he had nightmares
with Johnny right next to him in bed and Johnny just hugged him until he felt Simon’s body stilling without himself even waking. When Simon avoided certain topics.

“I can hear you blaming yourself, John. You’ll understand when Simon is back.”

Hans sits for a few more minutes, before he is called away, leaving Johnny with all his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Johnny’s pills started to wear off a few hours later, his vision a little blurry as he steps out for a walk. There was too much happening, yet Hans didn’t call Simon off. In a couple hours everyone would expect the champion of the previous years to come in and sweep the whole audience from their feet. No one knew that he was gone, somewhere far, far away. He tightens his jacket a little, ignoring how his headache had returned in all its might. He asked himself where Simon had slept the night before, if he has eaten, if he was upset, if yes, if it as at Johnny. If he cared about Johnny.
There was too much unanswered and even though Johnny was never the type to rush things, more a fan of improvising and adjusting to newly found situations, he wanted time to pass faster, to see Simon again. Settling near some park and watching time flying by, he didn’t care about the fever anymore. Fuck it, if it got any worse.

His phone vibrates; he assumes it’s Hans, answers it immediately. A spur of adrenaline rushing through his veins when it’s someone else.

“Johnny. Where are you.”

It was worded demanding, no question, the rough baritone and the creamy accent made Johnny shiver, as if he had been denied the drug he was addicted to and was finally getting a dose.

“Simon! Where were you? Are you okay?”

Johnny jumps up, not knowing where he was planning on going.

“Where are you, Johnny?”

There was bite to every syllable, maybe even impatience.

“The park, few miles from the arena. Sim-“

“I am picking you up on the east gate. Give me ten minutes. Don’t call Hans.”

And Simon had already hung up. Johnny doesn’t know if to be relieved or worried even more. The thumping in the back of his head not helping with how quick he was breathing. He has to forcibly get himself to the eat gate of the park, knees weak with every step. He checks his time; 15:57. One hour until the race began, around half an hours until the window closed. Well, it didn’t matter anymore; all that did was meeting Simon again and talking.

And sure enough the black bike pulled up with a speed way above speed limit. Johnny’s heart jumps as Simon stops in front of him, slowly gets down from the bike, taking off his visor to reveal his reddened eyes and unkempt hair. Before Johnny can even say anything, Simon had him already pulled against himself, lips clashing. It shocks Johnny, the underlying despair and how hard Simon was gripping his sides, not letting him away, but he lets it happen, body giving in to what he had wanted all along. He feels himself exhaling, hands wandering into Simon’s hair, tugging just as distressed. When he pulls away for air, Simon lets out a silent, gut-wrenching ‘no’, scared he might lose Johnny. There were tears in his hazel eyes, ears red.

“You- what happened, Si?”

Johnny softly asked, feeling the turmoil of the past day almost pushing him to tears himself. Though Simon doesn’t answer, hiding his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck, silently crying, as the rest of his body trembled in Johnny’s arms.

“Sorry. ‘M so sorry, Johnny. I- I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing for fucks sake. ‘M so sorry.”

Seeing Simon so vulnerable, brittle and fragile made Johnny’s heart clench, having to keep himself under control as to not also start crying.

“I don’t wanna lose you, Johnny. Can’t.”

“I know, Si. I don’t either. So don’t go running from me, you stupid idiot.”

Johnny mumbles.

“’M so sorry, Johnny.”

“It’s okay, Si. Everything is fine. You don’t have anything to apologise for. Just…don’t scare me like that. I care for you, you moron.”

The dampness Simon left on Johnny’s jacket slowly dries, Simon raising his head some time later, lips trembling, lashes even more prominent in contrast to his reddened eyes. Beautiful in its own right, just as much it hurt to see him like that. He catches himself quickly, a few silent sobs later and still not letting go of Johnny, his voice was almost steady again.

Johnny’s hands come up to brush away the tears, pressing a kiss onto Simon’s cheek, putting on the smile that had enthralled Simon since day one, eyes crinkling as he looked up at Simon.

“You big, fat, loveable idiot.”

He mumbles.

Simon nudges into Johnny’s touch, sighing as he enjoyed it, giving Johnny the reassurance that he hadn’t been the only one to feel withdrawal symptoms. Johny keep his hand there.

“You’re burning up.”

Simon huffs, almost back to normal with the exception that there was more to his voice. There was no missing the softness, adoration.

“Ah- fuck. My fever is getting up there again. Shite timing, haha.”

Johnny laughs it off.

“Doesn’t matter. All this…it’s not important as long as you are okay and by my side.”

He adds with a gentle hum. Simon nods, almost like a child, feverishly. He bites his lip, gulping.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Johnny just goes onto his toes, placing his lips on Simon, this time not as forceful and despaired, slower and softer. Simon takes what he gets, leaning into the comfort Johnny provided. When they pull apart, there was denying anything anymore.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say something?”

Johnny jokes playfully.

“I like you, Simon. Very much so.”

“Me too, Johnny.”

He doesn’t need anything more, lets Simon take his time.

“Where do we go from here, Si?”

“We go back, get you to the hotel. You’re too sick to be out here and-“

“No. You’ve got twenty minutes to make it to arena and I suggest we better get going before you get kicked.”

Simon stares at him, searching for something in Johnny’s eyes, before nodding, pulling Johnny to the bike, putting his own jacket around the other. Ten minutes of peace, where Johnny finally wasn’t cold anymore, where Simon felt like his world was being glued back together by the simplest touch. Johnny’s face pressed to Simon’s back, seeing the scenery flow by as Simon was breaking various traffic laws. Once they arrive, Johnny immediately orders Simon to find Hans, the clock ticking. Simon hesitates, but does so, as Johnny sat himself down, letting the fatigues wash over him. His eyes fall shut when Hans shook him awake, a smile on the older man’s face.

“Wake up, John. We’ll get you to somewhere warmer.”

“Simon! Is he-“

“He made it. I told you.”

Johnny sighs, letting the weight fall form his back, a warm smile on Hans’ face.

“You bet on me all along, didn’t you?”

“I told you – you’re the only one with the key to that idiot’s heart.”

Johnny follows Hans to one of the many rooms, where the manager cranks up all the heating and turns on the screen that was live broadcasting. Interviews and introduction to the contestants playing as a moderator commented on something. His heart clenches in a good way when he sees Simon’s introduction playing and Simon, still with puffy eyes and a little restless look in his eyes appeared on camera, zooming on to him.

‘Simon Riley, four-time champion of the annual Isle of Man TT. Looks like he made it on time, some personal issues almost having stopped him from attending today. Let’s see if he’ll be as dominant as ever…’

The broadcast goes on, Johny having a hard time concentrating on the screen, as his attention was slowly falling.

“You’re not gonna be with Simon?”

He asks Hans, the manager usually to be closer to his client.

“Wouldn’t do anything; he’s riled up without end, he’ll take this race apart in one way or the other with or without me to stand by him. The boy really has grown.”

Hans laughs, taking his gaze off the screen to Johnny.

“Good job, John, getting Simon back.”

“Aye, always a pleasure.”

As the minutes stretch and Johnny can barely keep his foot from tapping around, lips almost bitten a little bloody when the announcers start the official beginning of the annual race, going though the contestants on their bikes one last time. His gaze is caught by Simon, who had briefly opened his visor, staring straight into the camera, maybe in the hopes Johnny would see him. And even through the screen Johnny could feel sparks.

The countdown starts, the audience screaming in anticipation, the last preparations made. Johnny’s breath hitches, heart threatening to jump right out of his chest.

“4”

He gulps, eyes fixated on Simon.

“3”

Johnny looks over to Hans, who was just as eagerly watching the screen, eyes slightly narrowed.

“2”

Johnny turns back himself.

“1”

He prays, wishes for Simon.

“0”

They racers take off, the arena erupts in screams. Through the chaos Johnny quickly finds Simon again. Four laps, each around 38 miles – more endurance than anything. One lap lasts around fourteen to sixteen minutes throughout the top contestants, and a little proud Johnny notes the fact Simon, his Simon, had been the first to get a sub-fourteen lap three year ago.

The cameras that followed the racers was shot from wide angles, showcasing just how fast they racers were going on one of the most dangerous races. An hour. It would last an hour, or less until a winner was decided. And when he saw two people fighting for the lead in the race, L’Marque and Riley as the announcers called out, the favourites of this year, he relaxes a bit.

Simon had been breathing irregularly ever since he had sat on his bike, waiting for the countdown. Johnny – it was all he cared for; to get this over with and go right back into Johnny’s arms. Where was he now? Had Hans taken care of him? Was Johnny watching him? He doesn’t know. A camera that was zoomed in on him gives him a chance to do something about it nonetheless. He opens the hatch of his helmet, staring dead into the black lens, reflective in the light, hoping Johnny would know this one was for him, for them.

The countdown was excruciating. Just like Mugello, he felt young, alive, excited that he could throw up if he wanted. Sweating without having moved, forcing a pact to show Johnny the best he’s ever seen.

And once the shrill sound hit his ear drums he was gone, like the wind. One with the air around him, at peace. Any sounds are gone, replaced by the echoes of Johnny’s voice. ‘You big, fat, loveable idiot’ he had called Simon and under his helmet he smiles at the thought. Forgiving as ever, loving as ever. The turns went so smoothly, he wasn’t even sure if he still was on a proper race, or not just cruising through a nightly city with Johnny behind him, shyly fiddling with his fingers around Simon’s waist. Though there would be none of the shyness noticeable when Johnny kept firing teasing jokes that now looking back were more than obvious to be of affection.

‘You oblivious idiot.’

Simon thinks to himself.

Once he thought he was on top of the world – when he was younger, maybe a year or two after meeting Hans and getting taken under his wing. Called gifted, incredible for his age. He never understood the pained look his mother sometimes had whenever someone, acquaintance or family member, had praised him. He even had started to believe he was special – never voiced it, but the hope had been boiling in the depths of the young boy’s heart. And now he got it, years after he paid the price of fame, though even here he just had been incredibly unlucky. But it always hit someone and fate just decided it would be Simon Riley. He was not special by any means, still the boy that had cried when he scraped his knees on the ground, all bloodied and bruised, calling for his mom, still the boy that was growing, learning to live, still the boy that had so much more to experience – like love – before he dared calling himself anywhere close to the tip of the world. His mother knew that Simon wouldn’t be able to grow without pain, because she once also was a child and had experienced hell herself. She just made it bearable, putting her heart into him and Tommy. She built it, he lost it, from the ashes of a life of a boy burned a man rose, ready to reclaim it. And all he could think off was Johnny’s damned smile.

No – this was only the beginning of his world, a world where Johnny existed. It was their story to be written.

Chapter Text

“Don’t wanna get outta bed.”

Simon holds Johnny even tighter, softly grabbing at him, so he couldn’t either. A soft nip to Johnny’s nape to keep him squirming.

“C’mon, Si. We’ve been cuddling for a good hour now. We’ll miss the ferry if you keep me in bed and we can’t get home to properly celebrate.”

Johnny’s laugh was clear as day, a fuzzy warm feeling. But he tugged at Simon’s death grip.

“We’ve packed everything already. Five more minutes.”

Simon argues, voice muffled into Johnny.

“Five and that’s it.”

Simon doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes again, letting the world keep on spinning with Johnny in his arms.

When he had torn through the finish line two days prior, heart ablaze, having something new to burn for, he had put his bike away, ignoring the screams around him, the people that came rushing towards him, as every sports anchor had announced Simon Riley to be the one to win five years in a row, with a destructive power that had sent his last record shattering, and torn off his helmet, letting air finally back into his lungs that feel like they have been ripped, sending a second ripple of yells across the audience as his face was clearly broadcasted on television. He later had found Johnny’s new wallpaper to be that very moment, a screenshot taken from the live broadcast. His hands had been trembling and all he did was search for Johnny, searching for the pair of blue eyes in the crowd. And he came running, from one of the gates, Johnny came running. Cheeks flushed by his fever, wearing Simon’s jacket from earlier and the brightest smile on the lips. Simon waited for him, taking him into his arms. The very impulse to kiss Johnny had to be fought off; there were cameras both didn’t need. Hans had to pull him off of Johnny for the post-race interview and awards ceremony. Questions about the mystery man that had hugged him arose, he played Johnny off as an old friend. It couldn’t go any faster and when he did finally hit the softness of the mattress that day, leaving the rest to party to tend to Johnny’s fever, he had everything he wanted. Johnny’s fever only lasted a day or two, almost back to his top form, with Simon.

“Five minutes are over, dumbass.”

Johnny lovingly cooed at him. This time Simon doesn’t resist, lets his arm to be raised by Johnny. Yeah, that was two days ago. And he was ready to climb up the very ladder that had opened the day Johnny came into his life.

“You coming, Si?”

“Course, Johnny.”

He leaves a soft kiss on Johnny’s cheek when they give back their key to the reception, where Hans had already been waiting for some time. No scolding, just an accepting pat on the shoulder. When Johnny went to get their suitcases away, Simon stands back for a while, turning to Hans.

“Thank you, for everything Hans. I can’t ever do enough to pay you back.”

“No need to, son. Just be happy. Let yourself be happy, with John. You deserve every moment of it.”

Simon smiles, nodding at his manager.

“And…uh, is it too late to register for Assen?”

It’s Hans time to smile, a proud one that said more things than words could hold.

“Never too late.”

Hans leaves them be when the ferry is back on the Irish sea while Johnny and Simon stand at the railing, watching the tides on the sunny day that decorated the sea with crepuscular rays.

“You feel all good again, yeah?”

“My fever is gone, don’t blame yourself, you idiot.”

“You’re gonna call me idiot forever, Johnny?”

“You deserve it. My idiot.”

“All yours, Johnny.”

Yeah, the sparks of Isle of Man wouldn’t leave them, if they were back home. The island would hold cherished memories, as well as not so nice ones. But when Simon looks back at the island, becoming smaller at the horizon, he knows this was far from his last time here.

The welcome back at home was immense. The whole company, or at least the racing department, had waited for the moment Simon came walking in, Hans, Johnny and Sabrina right behind them, confetti and lights had gone off, happy yells and congratulations. And Simon didn’t leave this time. He stayed, even laughed a bit, drank a little of that expensive champagne that had been in the cooler of the community break-room for months, Johnny always near him. And Johnny swore that every person that day that witnessed Simon smile had the same look of surprise on their face, as if Simon was a man changed. Hours long does the party last, until Simon rests in an empty room with Johnny, escaping the turbulence for a little with, of course, the champagne.

“What’s gotten you into the party mood, Si?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What about me? You haven’t even seen me dance before, which’s the only thing I could have done that might rile you up.”

Johnny winks, earning a raised eyebrow from Simon, who made a mental note that he had to see it one day.

“You smile when I partake in socialising. When I hang around other people there is some sense of peace in your eyes. And I’d do anything for you to be happy.”

“A romantic through and through. Should have known after you took me to dinner before we were even…mature enough to do anything about our little thing.”

“It’s not little. It’s my world, Johnny. Don’t discredit yourself now.”

“Aye, beautifully worded, Si. Love you, too.”

Simon sighs, sits up from his eat and goes where johnny had settled on the table, curiously tilting his head when Simon spreads his legs a little to make some place for himself. Face to face, Simon lets a hand wander into Johnny’s hair, adoringly staring at him. A soft, open mouthed kiss punches the air out of Johnny’s lungs, leaves him whiny.

“T-thought you would be worse at kissing the first time we did. Was mind-blowing though.”

He huffs out with a light blush, a sassy tone to his voice.

“Misbehaving now, Johnny?”

“I am curious about that though. You ever kissed another man before? Any woman? Dated any?”

The hand on his neck belonging to Simon got a little lower, juts for the blonde to feel the heat at Johnny’s neck, recognizing that Johnny was far from collected.

“Had my fair share of girls before. Maybe five. But I was younger. Never anything serious. No man, Johnny. You’re the first.”

“Yeah? I’m honoured. So you always been a good kisser, Si?”

“Define good.”

“Maybe you just have to show me again, what do you think, Si?”

A little rougher, Simon grabs Johnny’s face, forces his mouth open, before carefully pouring some champagne between the pink lips of the man he loved, until the sparkling liquid was emptied, Johnny looking up at him with surprise, when Simon catches him in another kiss just like that, immediately forcing Johnny’s lips open, sharing the last gulps of the bitter-sweet liquid, as Simon’s tongue comes in and out, swiping around to make sure there was no champagne wasted.

“Good enough of a showcase, Johnny?”

“Absolutely fucking gorgeous, Si.”

“Wanna take this back to my place, Johnny?”

He offered without any hesitation, lovingly pressing a soft kiss to Johnny’s forehead.

“If you are-“

A knock interrupts them, Sabrina’s voice sounding from outside, Simon visibly jumping away from Johnny.

“Simon? You in here? Hans needs you. Paperwork for future projects.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a min, Sabrina. Thank you!”

Simon huffs, supressing a groan.

“Yup, will do.”

Johnny laughs softly.

“Everyone has been so upbeat since you finally celebrated with them, Si. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Yeah, yeah, Johnny. Laughing on my expense?”

“Never.”

Simon rolls his eyes.

“Actually, Si, Hans told me that you decided to go back into full game. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t because you felt pressured by me or-“

“No. I want it. You were right all along, Johnny. Just showed me that I was wrong. I want to go back, to face things I’m afraid of. Because I have you now.”

Johnny chuckles, sits up form the table and hops to the ground. As he leaves he presses a quick kiss to Simon’s cheek.

“Hans is expecting you, Si. Don’t make him wait.”

And he was gone with a wink. Simon can do nothing but smile after him. Johnny was his little typhoon of emotions, chaos and strength, something he was more than grateful about. Sighing he makes his way to Hans. The Assen TT the next mile stone.

Chapter Text

Johnny waited for Simon right outside the company building, looking at the setting sun that covered him warm rays of warmth, sighing as he revelled in the nice feeling of it.
“Hey Johnny.”

Two arms closed on at his waist, pulling him against Simon.

“You finished up, Si?”

“Mhm…”

And Simon was back to being touchy, face hid in the crook of Johnny’s neck, as he started nibble around on the tender, tan skin.

“I believed you asked me something earlier when we got interrupted, Si.”

Johnny mumbles, enjoying the soft bites and licks from Simon that promised to be visible for quite some time.

“Wanna take this home, Johnny?”

Simon only halts for a moment, hands playing with Johnny’s shirt, dipping in to gently let his fingers run across the hard muscle covered with the most perfect little layer of softness.

“Of course…”

Johnny hums eagerly, turning his head a pressing a kiss onto Simon’s cheek.

“Don’t waste any more time Johnny.”

The car ride back a little nerve-wracking, Johnny licking his lips over and over, maybe caused by anticipation, maybe by Simon’s hand on his thigh that had been teasingly rubbing up and down through the thick material of his cargo pants, gripping into his flesh every now and then. Simon on the other hand held his gaze on the street, enjoying how Johnny every now and then squirmed under his touch; he could feel him blushing in the passenger seat with the purest little smile on his lips.

When both make it to the entrance, door closing behind them, they exchange a quick glance, knowing exactly the intentions of one another. Simon slowly came over, putting his jacket on some random rack and doesn’t give the brunette time to react, when he cages him against the wall, almost forcibly takes his face into his hands and plants his lips on Johnny’s. Desperate and clingy was the best way to describe it, needy with how harshly Simon was nibbling at Johnny’s lower lip, begging for entrance. And Johnny does so, follows Simon’s every move, whimpers when the other too harshly sucks on his tongue, presses them against each other, intertwines them all while Johnny’s back against the wall didn’t leave room to escape. Not that he wanted, but something about it felt perfectly good, as Simon took control.

“Ah- fuck…need air.”

Johnny gently pushes Simon away for a little, gasping as his lungs finally filled again. Simon grunts a little, but doesn’t do anything about, except staring Johnny down with a darkened gaze.

“Can’t take it, Johnny?”

“Aye, can – but won’t if you kiss me to death before that.”

While Johnny recovers, still panting Simon makes quick work of the shirt that clung nicely to Johnny’s build, exposing the beautiful torso he had seen many times before and he knew exactly would bruise easily. But there was something more intimate, even if salacious, to the way he had Johnny trapped, unable to escape his demanding grip, as his hand meet one of Johnny’s pecks, giving it a squeeze. It’s nicely plump, yet firm and maybe something about the way Johnny shuddered, when he had grazed his nipple had Simon wanting to touch them more.

“Bedroom?”

“If we make it.”

Simon’s hand slowly trickle down to Johnny’s waist, giving it a soft pinch, before lifting him over his shoulder, marching to the bed that had often spent night cuddling. Simon is gentle with it when he puts Johnny onto the soft mattress that gives little resistance to the weight.

As he leans forward, onto Johnny, his fingers find back to the other’s chest, kneading them, cupping them, pinching the buds on top of them until Johnny jumps at a particularly hard nip and moans into their shared kiss. And sure enough when Simon pressed closer to Johnny, he feels a growing bulge against his thigh.

“Eager, aren’t we, Johnny?”

“Always for you, Si.”

Johnny cheekily huffs, grinning.

Simon makes quick word of his own clothing, exposing his pale skin to johnny’s eyes. The broad shoulders that Simon used to cage him, feel protected, the bulging muscle mass that was just gorgeous – The brunette sighs at the sight, sitting up to trace the lines of rippling brawn. And when Simon gives him a small nod, he happily opens the zipper to Simon’s pants, pulls them down just a bit to see black boxers and what was growing underneath. A cute little happy trail leading to the bulge.

“Eager, Simon?”

It was Johnny’s turn to tease, as he leans to kiss the hardening cock right through the fabric, earning a silent groan from Simon. He doesn’t need an order or a plea, when he goes down on his knees, nudging Simon to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Suppose it’s your first time with a guy, gotta make it memorable, Si.”

“You’ve got experience, Johnny?”

There is a dark, strained tone in Simon’s voice, as his half-lidded eyes take in the glimpse of Johny kneeling between his legs, obediently looking up.

“Plenty…”

There was something wicked in the tone of his, both amused and challenging.

“So I just gotta come out on top from your previous experiences?”

Johnny doesn’t answer, as he pulls down the pants and takes the already hot cock out of the boxers, not bothering to get them off.

“Fuck’s sake…”

Johnny groans out, when he is met with the length in front of him, mouth watering in every single way. A bulbous and angry, red tip, a few veins here and there and its size.

“Made me feel like I was the desperate one, Si…but look at yourself, fucking gorgeous cock you’ve got.”

“Get to work, before I plug that little throat of yours up.”

It’s an animalistic growl from Simon, though the adoring glint in his eyes never wavered. Johnny only smirked, before licking a long stripe from the very base to the tip, where he circles the tip a few times, pressing the flat side of his tongue into the slit over and over until the salty taste of precum lingered in his mouth.

“You look like you’re gonna do good on that promise of plugging my throat up, Si, with how pent up you are.”

“I might if-“

With a smooth motion Johnny had taken the tip into his mouth, pushing down as a sudden heat met the sensitive membrane of Simon’s cock, sliding down Johnny’s lips until there was a visible bulge protruding from Johnny’s throat. And the vicious glance in Johnny’s eyes as he started bobbing up and down, deliciously tight and perfect around Simon, makes Simon chuckle darkly.

“You like it rough, Johnny? Wanted me to fuck you like that?”

There is something like a stifled moan, vibrating around Simon, when Johnny tries to answer. A hand finds its way into the dark brown mohawk, guiding through a few thrusts of his own, before Johnny gave him the clear to go rougher. And Simon did, each stroke from tip to base, thrusting right into Johnny whenever his nose was nestled right against Simon’s pubic bone, causing Johnny to whimper the cutest moans Simon had ever heard, eyes even a little glassy. And Johnny was aching for him, humping against the frame of the bed, as his mouth was fucked. Simon’s other hand comes up, wiping the tear that was dripping down the reddened cheeks of the brunette.

“You good, Johnny? Need a break?”

There is serious concern in his voice, but Johnny’s needy whines, once they stop for a moment, are everything Simon needs to continue.

“Fuck, doing such a good job for me, Johnny…gripping down on me, yeah? Like the way you can barely breath? See you trying to get off down there.”

Though his words were vulgar, downright setting Johnny’s spine ablaze, Simon was careful to not actually hurt Johnny, to softly praise him and cupping his cheek with his second hand. When Johnny changes the angle a bit, letting Simon’s tip hit a particularly spongy spot, Simon muffles a growl, as his thighs flexed . He tried to pull out, but Johnny was adamant about keeping the warm seeds that were flooding right into his deepest parts in him. Simon curses out when the last of his first load were all safely tucked away in Johnny. The trail of spit that connects Johnny to his already half-hard dick leaves strings of white-ish translucent liquid all over Johnny’s lips.

“How was that, Si?”

Johnny still had that grin on him, tilting his head as if Simon didn’t just got the best blowjob he ever had. Simon’s hand, still in his mohawk, pulls him closer, a soft kiss placed right onto the puffy lips, groaning when he states the saltiness on Johnny’s mouth.

“Makes me want to see how you look when you cum around my cock, Johnny, if you enjoyed it that much.”

Simon guides him onto the bed, pulling a bottle of lube out of the nightstand. Something he had been using more recently when he was home alone, thinking of Johnny and his own spit not sufficient to recreate the vague imagination of how sloppily he wanted to fuck load after load into Johnny’s tight ass, until it frothed everywhere and he could barely keep his dick inside, while Johnny was crying in pleasure, looking up at him with puffy eyes, begging for more. And he’d give his good boy anything.

“Tell me what feels good, Johnny. ‘M gonna need to spend some time seeing what you like.”

There was the loving, gentle tone, as Simon carefully pulled down Johnny’s pants and white boxers, discarding them to the side. Some light brown hair decorated the crown of the base, surprisingly well-groomed. Johnny notices Simon’s look.

“Hmm? Surprised? I have been preparing for this day.”

“Uh-hu…”

Simon smirks at the idea of Johnny in the shower, jerking off himself, fingers in his tight hole, wishing it was Simon.

“Tell me a little more, Johnny. What else have you been fantasising about? And what did you do about it?”

He pressed a kiss to Johnny’s abdomen, leaving hickeys all over his chest, as harshly pinched Johnny’s hardened nipples when he didn’t answer. Finally hit a spot that even made johnny shy.

“Ah- I…I got off to your shirt that you gave me…”

Johnny mumbles, voice quiet.

“Go on.”

“I humped pillows, thinking it was you stroking my dick. I- I…fucked myself, wishing it was you…”

“On what, Johnny? How did it feel?”

Simon bites down onto one of the pebbled nipples, making Johnny yelp. It would make for some pretty bite marks and bruises.

“On- on a toy. Wasn’t enough. Not good enough.”

“Good boy, Johnny.”

A rewarding kiss, sloppy and passionate, pressed onto Johnny’s lips.

“Now get on your knees and arms and spread your pretty legs properly.”

Simon may have gotten a little overboard on the amount of lube he covered his fingers in, slick, shiny and messy, but he was careful with it, so he nestled the tip of the bottle to Johnny’s hole, squeezing some of the cold lube right into him. Rewarded with a twitch of his cock and a whine, Simon sunk one of his thick fingers into the suckling heat, groaning when the walls already clamped down onto him.

“Thought you would prepare yourself, Johnny. Still tight as fuck.”

“I – ah – we were in the same room the past – ah – days…couldn’t do anything.”

So this was the little spot that felt good, Simon thought to himself as each of his presses onto a firm, yet jelly-like spot made Johnny moan cutely, hips bucking back onto the single finger. A second one bullies its way into Johnny, his walls clenching up a bit. Scissoring them, spreading them into a ‘V’ and putting them as far in as the length of his fingers allowed.

“Relax, Johnny. Feel good?”

“Y-yeah…feels perfect. Please-…more-“

Simon knows what Johnny was begging for, both fingers pushing down onto the spot not too far in. he would be able to perfectly graze it once his cock was in, maybe then even ‘accidently’ ram against it with all his strength. Johnny’s moans get cut off, replaced by needy whimpers as he has to contain himself from just starting to fuck himself on Simon perfectly long and rough fingers.

“Ah…keep still Johnny. Need to get at least another in, before I might have a chance of fitting into you.”

Johnny nods feverishly, looking back to see Simon staring at his twitching hole, trying to get another finger in. And sure enough the stretch stings, feels like it’s expanding Johnny’s tight ring of muscle, as he is split open. Slow, experimental thrusts come at first, until they lightly scratch against the gummy walls. Simon squelches a little more lube into Johnny’s clenching hole, making sure there was no inch that wasn’t slick, dripping.

“For fucks sake Johnny, you’re gorgeous. Clenching when I try to stretch you, twitching when you want more. Greedy little hole, yeah? Want me to fuck you already? To see how you cry when I get into you, stir your guts. Make you all mine?”

“Yes!- yes!…please! Need you inside of me, Si!”

A pleased hum escapes Simon.

“Want to see your fucked out face before anything, so on your back.”

Johnny scurries to lie down, spreading himself for Simon. He on the other hand drizzles some lube over Johnny’s cock, giving the pulsing length a few slow thrusts, until it’s twitching hard enough in his hand, it feels like it was going to explode. Johnny moans with each stroke, eyes clenching shut.

When Simon does press his slick tip against the slightly agape hole, Johnny starts moving his hips, in hopes it would slip in. Simon shushes him with a gentle squeeze to his balls.

Slowly, though he meets quite the resistance, Simon pushes in. The tight entrance wasn’t that much of a problem compared to how his thick shaft was almost pushed out by Johnny’s hole. Johnny’s whimpering, turned to moans when Simon brushed past the soft spot, encouraged him to keep going. Inch after inch, into the rippling heat that was tighter than anything he had fucked before, than his fist he humped into when in the shower.

“Ah- ‘s so deep in me…ah~ fuck~”

“Yeah Johnny, almost everything. Just gimme me a moment, or I’ll come immediately.”

Johnny nods, one hand clawed into the sheets, the other one to the visible bulge under his stomach. With a half-moan, half-smile, he shakily takes one of Simon’s hands and guides them to that very bulge.

“Can feel you up here, Si.”

“You’re making it impossible to be gentle, Johnny.”

“Don’t want you to be.”

With a brutal thrust he got the last inch into Johnny, only able to imagine how obscenely stretched out his ass was around his fat cock, how grotesquely his muscles were trying to contract, adjust to the penetration, twitch when it can’t close up, so instead clenching down on Simon. A high-pitched scream comes from Johnny, when Simon starts thrusting slowly, the excess lube a good idea in retrospect, as it really does get foamy, dripping, squelching around inside Johnny, not only helping with the stretch and the proper and pleasurable pummelling, but making pornographic, lewd sounds as the lube was trapped inside, plugged by Simon’s shaft, solely stirred by his cock. And Johnny seemed to feel the same about it, eyes widening at the filthy sounds that send his dick twitching again, moaning, bucking his hips.

Simon doesn’t need to hold back, relocating Johnny’s prostate and thrusting down. He doesn’t stop when cum spurts out of Johnny’s dick that softened, before hardening up again when Simon grazed the same place over and over. Johnny’s cries of pleasure and overstimulation were a harmony only to be found in paradise, enthralling, beautiful. When Simon fucks himself through his own orgasm, not caring that Johnny must be overly full with lube and now Simon’s cum, he growls, breathing ragged, hands clenching into Johnny’s thighs, leaving marks for sure. Biting, scratching, Johnny does it all, when trying to get Simon to just keep going (he wouldn’t have stopped either way). Though the first load in Johnny’s ass does overflow the bucket a little, as it’s so tight, that Johnny’s entrance does give in, letting some of the slickening mix cream around Simon’s shaft, escaping from the heat.

“You’re absolutely fucking beautiful, Johnny. Under me, taking it all like a good boy, yeah? My good boy. Feel good?”

His voice is murmurous, soft yet downright crude. And Johnny can’t help but love, even if he was incoherently babbling in pleasure, only able to nod like his life depended on it. His arching back trying to get more, feel more.

“Yeah, of course you do. You love me. And I love you, too, Johnny. My perfect mechanic, yeah? Mine, all mine.”

Those very words, a few rash bucks against Johnny’s sensitive spot, which in turn made him clench down on Simon, send both flying over the edge. Johnny cumming all over his chest and face, while Simon’s seeds were in Johnny, burning hot. As both catch their breath, Johnny’s eyes a little glassy, there is nothing but their heartbeats and the quenching sound on more slick pushing it’s way out of Johnny’s hole as Simon softened.

“Need more, Johnny? You’re still twitching.”

Simon comes down, kissing away any tear streak from earlier and now, cradling Johnny, while his dick was still in him, soft touch tracing every part of him.

“No…too sensitive… just wanna cuddle.”

Simon hums, slowly pulling out of Johnny, the thick slick immediately dripping out, flooding almost. With two fingers Simon pushed some of it back in.

“You did great for me, Johnny. Took me so well.”

Simon was back to praising, gently kissing and embracing Johnny, who was still in shambles of his own orgasm.

“Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll get us cleaned up, get you some food and we can just watch something, yeah?”

Johnny nods with his eyes closed, tugged against Simon’s warm chest. A few more minutes in which he revelled in pure ecstasy and bliss.

In the shower, Simon has to help Johnny stand properly, as they wash themselves, the few globs dripping out of Johnny making Simon groan. He could get used to it. He comes out of the shower early, lets Johnny have some privacy in cleaning himself, as he starts a late dinner for the two of them It’s done by the time Johnny comes stumbling, only in a pair of Simon’s boxers and a shirt that was too big on him.

His smile when his eyes met Simon’s was as heart-warming as ever.
Later cuddled up on the couch, Simon massaging every sore spot while some mindless action movie was on screen that no one paid any mind to, Johnny cheekily turns to Simon.

“I love you, Si.”

“I love you, too, Johnny.”

Chapter Text

Johnny scrolls through his phone, sitting on Simon’s couch, browsing through the biking news. A smile paints his face when she sees Simon’s name on the list of contenders at the Assen TT. Pictures of Simon had been all over the internet, or at least the sites Johnny had visited, and he couldn’t help but look for all of them.

“Stalking me now, Johnny?”

It sounds scarily close to his ear and he jumps.

“Fuck’s sake, Si. Don’t scare me.”

Johnny laughs, before softly nuzzling his face to Simon, who had been standing behind him for an undefined time.

“You’ve got the real deal in front of you, Johnny.”

Simon hums playfully, in the greatest mood Johnny has ever seen him.

“Just preparing in case you aren’t.”

Johnny huffs, leaning back, until his head rested on the back of the cushioned couch, looking right up to face Simon. He in return just presses a kiss down on Johnny’s lips. And doesn’t let go until Johnny tries pulling away. Simon jumps over the back and lands next to Johnny, pulling him close.

“Hmm? You don’t need to go today?”

Johnny mumbles as he was being slightly suffocated while Simon pulled him into his lap.

“Hans made me take three days off.”

“Well, you need it. And I suppose it’s no coincidence that I have three days off.”

“You do know Sabrina did that on my request?”

Simon hums, until Johnny was properly seated on his legs and he could warm his cold hands under the shirt Johnny wore, his own shirt to be exact.

“Ah- don’t put your icy fingers on me, you idiot.”

Johnny lightly slaps his shoulder, trying to pull away, but ultimately stuck.

“Planning on doing anything except sitting around and being mean today?”

“You sound cute when you try to be pouty, Johnny. But yeah, I have something in mind we could do. And don’t worry, they don’t require you to do a lot of strenuous activities. Know you are sore.”

Simon’s hand squeezes his hips in a little suggestive manner.

“Shut up. Next time I’m going to get you back.”

“Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that, Johnny?”

Johnny rolls his eyes and leans forward, biting down hard on Simon’s neck for a quick second, enough to make for a bruise, when Simon’s arms come closer to keep him there, he quickly pulls off, rolling from Simon’s lap.

“Oops, I have things to do, bye.”

And he dashes away. Simon also jumps off, heading after Johnny and tackling him to the ground after a quick chase.

“Cute you think you could get away.”

It was sunny out when Simon took Johnny out. The warmer days approaching, with summer not that far around the corner. Still the black mask covered half of Simon’s face, when both had sat in his car for a good while now, long left town, on the highway, through flecks of green fields and more rural-looking areas.

“Where we headed, Si?”

Johnny asks again, no impatience in his words, much rather curiosity for why he had been forced to pack a bag and hop into the passenger seat two hours ago, roughly headed southwest. His best guess would be south Devon.

“Surprise.”

“So I can consider it a date?”

“Sure, Johnny.”

“But if we packed clothes and whatnot, wouldn’t it be a small vacay?”

“We won’t be out for more than 48 hours, don’t know if you can call it that.”

Johnny huffs, unsatisfied with the answer, but settles when he gets free reign to raid the small stash of snacks Simon had packed and an occasional squeeze to his thighs whenever Simon senses him wanting to speak.

The streets were empty when they do come to a halt in the middle of nowhere. When Johnny gets out, Simon already had slung the three duffle bags around his shoulder and headed up the street.

“Si, what are we here for, I-“

There was sun glistening, reflecting from small waves that softly crashed against the sand. No soul near the shore, but the two of them. Johnny turns to Simon in surprise.

“Used to come here when racing was getting too exhausting after my mother and Tommy died. Missed this place, thought you might enjoy it here.”

Simon hums, waiting for Johnny to respond.

“It’s beautiful here.”

Johnny mumbles. He never lived particularly far away from beaches, but it just never crossed him to visit any growing up and even after he grew up, there had never been time, until now Simon gave him time. He presses a kiss to Simon’s cheek.

“Thank you for taking me.”

Simon grunts in response, before moving again. They stop at a small apartment just a few minutes away from the beach, find the key under the mat in front of the door and enter. It’s cozy, homey, even if they weren’t staying long.

“How’d you manage all this on such short notice?”

Johnny asks, when he jumps onto the soft double bed, while Simon was orderly putting their things away.

“Told you I came here often. Owner used to know me and arranged it.”

“So you do have friends that I don’t know about?”

“Barely a friend. Acquaintance at best. Knew my mother after all. You wanna head down now? Hungry?”

“The water is too cold for swimming, right? Well, whatever. We’re going.”

Johnny rolls out of bed, stretching his body, stiff from sitting around.

“I’m sure we find some pizza or something on the way.”

Simon hums softly, already packing the picnic blanket and a few other things, following a cheery Johnny out the door. It felt like another part of home Johnny made him rediscover. Because he saw how Johnny looked at the sea on their way back from Isle of Man, knew Johnny liked it and he’d do anything for Johnny. When he catches up to Johnny, the man already had his shoes off, feet in the water not too far off a small strip of bank; the sun painted his tan skin with soft nuances of gold and bronze, the smile on Johnny’s lips joyful and something Simon always held on to. He pulls his mask off, sets up their blanket and drinks, as he enjoyed the peace. Nothing left to worry about for now, only the sun, the shore and Johnny, who came running, pulling him to the water. It’s rare for Simon to have days like that, this might be his very first. Where no one would miss him, unlike when he ran off like his younger self did every now and then, until Hans was used to it, and no one cared for Simon Riley, but Johnny.

When his feet hit the water, it’s warmer than he thought. He looks down, faces his own reflection in the slightly foamy waves that collected around his ankles. He smiles. Three years since he had been here, the first time he didn’t come alone. On cue, Johnny had pulled at his arm harshly, making him tumble, fall back first into the deeper waters, fall cushioned by both water and two hands that hugged him, pulled him into a kiss, not caring for the salty water that were soaking their clothing; Simon had packed spares anyway.

“It’s gorgeous here, Si. How’d you even find this place?”

Johnny hums, somewhat clinging onto Simon while floating in the water that had completely embraced them from chest to toe. Cheeks a little warm, hair hanging disorderly.

“Accident. Drove my bike somewhere away from home, got lost and tried searching for the nearest places to stay. Led me here, Blackpool Sands.”

“Must have been desperate to get away if you got here.”

“I was. Looking back it still was the only thing I could find comfort in after what happened. Honestly I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life anymore, or even if I wanted. But if I went, I’d might as well have my bike with me.”

Before Johnny could answer, Simon already had his lips pressed against his. Sweetly, like he didn’t know how to say it, so he just showed Johnny: he was okay.

Not a care in the world, both swam away from shore; there was no one else on the beach on a work day before midday and they might as well have their own fun, revel in what they had; time alone, a luxury many didn’t have to this extent.

“Y’know, it might be my time to take you out sometimes. It’s getting outrageous with how much you are paying, Si. Fancy food, the beach…are you trying to get me so spoiled I won’t leave you?”
It was dark out, the moon perfectly round from the window right above the shared bed, when Johnny crawled to Simon, who had been silently reading some book and bothered him with a cheeky smile on the lips.

“Pizza ain’t fancy.”

Simon nods at three empty cartons.

“And I planned on keeping you around another way, Johnny.”

“Huh? What way?”

Simon sighs, eyes softening as a small smirk paints his face. He puts the book away.

“If my personality and whatever aren’t enough, I still had you-“

“Yeah, yeah.”

Johnny doesn’t need Simon to spell it out for him; it’s not like he wasn’t obviously in love.

“Anyway, you were not supposed to say that, Si. Just let me do something for you? Please?”

“You’ve done more for me than I could ever repay, Johnny. It’s the least I can do.”

He wiggles down, pulling Johnny close until both were comfortable in the castle of pillows and blankets.

“For example?”

The other challengingly huffs, though he lets himself be tugged against Simon’s chest and feel the steady heartbeat.

“We might be here for a while if you want me to count everything down.”

“We have all night, Si.”

Johnny’s mood is at an all-high when he wakes up in the morning. Jumping around, waking a slightly sleepy Simon and pulling him out to a walk and to search for breakfast. Some dinner they found sufficed for now. Simon’s eyes trail Johnny mumbling on about his childhood and when he wanted to visit the beach, how his sister wanted to take him, but it ultimately failed because they were caught sneaking out. A waitress comes to Johnny the moment Simon is gone for a few minutes to the restroom, asks for the blonde man’s number. Simon was just about to return, seeing them both form his peripheral.

“I’m sorry, he’s my boyfriend.”

Johnny hums without missing a beat, smiling like always. The waitress seems to apologise and run off and Simon is left frozen right around to the corner. The word echoes in his head. Boyfriend. There is something about it that felt written in stone. They were a thing, a couple. It’s the first time either acknowledged it. When Simon goes to pay at the counter, there is an awful lot of heat in his face and he quickly gets Johnny, before anyone could see him like that.

Simon only calms after he dragged Johnny right back to bed and let that phrase replay over and over in his head, while he rewarded Johnny for being such a good and sweet boyfriend to him, after Johnny was exhausted, spent, caged by Simon’s bare arms, soft whimpers escaping him. Johnny must have been confused, but didn’t reject any of it. Only pouts when he is sore after and it hurts a little when they go to the beach later, the marks littering his body prompting him to go into water with a shirt on; not even his thighs had been safe. It was Simon’s turn to feel euphoric as the idea of Johnny being his little boyfriend, until there might be something more to it, infested his mind. Softly whispers of ‘mine’ hummed right next to Johnny’s reddened ears, solidified with a soft bite to his earlobe.

“Not complaining, but what has you so clingy, Si? Ears might be blue tomorrow if you continue to bite me like that.”

Simon doesn’t let go as he hugged Johnny from behind.

“Hmm? You don’t know? You. It’s always you, Johnny?”

“How is it my fault?”

Simon doesn’t answer, only raising Johnny’s chin, so they could watch the sunset while standing in the water, see the blue ocean clash with tones of red and orange, until night hit and there were only specks of light reflecting in the water, the stars. The water was still warm, still crusting a little while it dried, leaving a few shirts to be ruined, if the wash machine back home couldn’t fix it.

One last walk through the beautiful landscapes during afternoon of the next day and another three of those pizzas that were too good for their own good is how their little alone time ends. Hand in hand and with a lot new memories to be cherished they arrive in the driveway that Johnny connected to his drunk self stumbling through each time Simon took him home, now only that it was more his home than his own apartment.

“So…how did my boyfriend enjoy his lil vacay with me?”

Johnny hums, Simon snorts a laughter.

“You figured?”

“Of course, Si. It’s my job as your boyfriend.”

His wink was only adding to the trouble he would go through later.

Chapter Text

“Heard you went on a vacation with John?”

Simon was greeted by Hans when he found his way back to the training tracks early in the morning,

“Took him to the beach, yeah.”

“Where’d you usually bailed on us?”

Hans’ laughter had no accusatory tone to it.

“Mhm, Devon. Thought it’d be time to make amends with old habits.”

“Haven’t been in what? Years?”

“Years. My mother would have loved it there.”

Hans shoots him a quick glance.

“You still think it’s your fault?”

“Not my fault, but I could have changed the outcome. But…but Johnny-…I dunno. I don’t think I’m blaming myself all that much anymore.”

“That’s a first step. That mechanic; I’m glad we hired him.”

“Me too.”

“Well, Assen this year will be your preliminary chances to qualify for the world championship. You plan on getting there?”

“Sure. Nothing keeping me from not to.”

Simon’s lips curl up a little.

“That’s great to hear. Keep doing your best, yeah?”

Hans pats his shoulder, giving him a short nod as the manager heads back into the building. Soon enough Simon saw his coach coming, eyes right back on track.

Simon finds Johnny screwing some parts onto something he identified as a roughened up engine. Shirt a little dirty, though he moved with graze, right in his element. Simon’s nose twitches when he sees the band-aids on Johnny’s ears he put on himself early in the morning, eyes gazing downwards.

“Aye, Si. How long y’ve been staring?”

“Not long enough.”

“What’cha doing here? Don’t you have some PR work to do?”

“Just finished training, thought I could drop by. Got five minutes.”

Johnny smiles, wipes his hands on some rag as he comes walking over.

“Sure, but it ain’t the cleanest place here.”

Simon shrugs, presses a kiss onto Johnny’s forehead.

“We met here after all.”

“Can’t deny that. The first time I saw you, you were quite different, eh?”

Simon chuckles softly, recalling his confusion he only now could identify as affection at how charming Johnny had been.

“Yeah. You changed me a lot in the few months we’ve known each other. Not complaining, though.”

“Think so, Si? Personally thought you are still one and the same. A handsome guy that’d look even better with me.”

He winks.

“I owe you, Johnny.”

“Nah. You don’t owe me anything.”

Johnny’s eyes crinkle a little as he smiles, looks ap at Simon.

“Whatever you say, Johnny.”

“Si, you’re the only one that still beats yourself up for what you did before the TT. It’s fine. We’re fine, yeah? Now get outta here before someone finds you in the arms of your mechanic, hm?”

Time flies by, racing, learning, rebuilding his old life – Simon found himself like a fish that’s been finally released into the waters it came from. He slips right back into the racing scene with a straight record and with two months until the Superbike Championship, he had enough time to prepare. Working day in and out, sparing a few minutes couple times a day to visit Johnny, only to join him back in bed in the evening.

“Do you want to just move in?”

Johnny freezes, toothbrush in his hand stopping mid-motion. He turns to Simon, eyes wide. He spits out the toothpaste foam.

“What?”

“Asked if you don’t wanna just move in with me? It’s been weeks since you’ve been sleeping at your own place and I’d much rather have you here anyways.”

“Wait? You’re serious? Just like that?”

“What do you mean, Johnny?”

Johnny puts his toothbrush away, quickly wipes any excess of his mouth and just starts beaming.

“You want me to officially move in with you?”

“That was the question.”

Simon cant help but smiling at Johnny’s excitement.

“I mean, you’ve been living here. Why not just get all your stuff? Don’t need to pay the extra rent.”

“You can’t just ask me to move in like it is nothing, Si! Yes! I want to.”

Like a small child he jumps around, pressing kisses all over him.

“Okay, so, when? Before or after Assen? I’d have to get my car here. Do we need a second fridge? I-“

“We’ll get it all arranged, Johnny. ‘m glad you said yes.”

“I still want to pay rent though.”

“No.”

“But-“

“No.”

“Si! We talked about this, you can’t just-“

“I can, Johnny. Now finish up. Need to get out early today.”

Johnny’s there when Simon’s bike needs some tweaking and he comes reeling in his bike that was worn out from a few sessions too rough, when Simon has bad days and stares off into the dark clouds on the horizon, letting Johnny silently comfort him – a remedy he now had grown used to. And of course when they catch their next flight to the Netherlands. It’s an unusually empty plane, Hans and Sabrina sitting a few rows away. Simon had fallen asleep with his head drooping low, Johnny’s adoring eyes glued to the blonde hair that framed a face he could stare at all day. The bare thought of accompanying his boyfriend to the championship had something still unused to it in the best way possible. Hours passing in a blink of an eye, the dark sky greeting them.

The hotel has nicely sized rooms, on which’s soft mattresses Johnny sunk right in with a groan.

“Tired, Johnny?”

“Kinda. But it’s manageable. Got anything in mind?”

“Wanna go for a ride? It’s pretty nice out today.”

“You do realise it’s almost twelve pm?”

“Scared of ghosts, Johnny?”

“Just gimme five minutes, yeah? These beds are fucking great.”

Gripping into Simon’s waist, Johnny just lets the quiet of the city brush past him. It’s not particularly cold, the streets devoid of any life. Maybe it wasn’t all that good of an idea to take the bike Simon would compete on for a few trips deep into the night, but it didn’t stop the both of them the last time. The engine’s revving and the warmth Simon provided were just the most perfect things to make Johnny’s brain shut off for a while, enjoy and appreciate what he had. He doesn’t want it to end, face pressed into the soft leatherjacket that was shielding most of the wind anyways. When they do stop it’s near some river, bike leaning against a bench.

“Got an affinity for waters, Si?”

Johnny chuckles as he sits down, hums when Simon’s jacket gets slung over his shoulders with no further comment.

“Always liked them. And you do, too.”

“Know me too well, eh? Excited? Got six days left.”

Simon settles next to him, pulling him a little closer.

“Not excited. Just glad I am back.”

“This time I’ll be right at the finish, ‘kay? Have some fun out there, make yourself happy.”

Simon’s jaw clenches unwillingly. It’s still like he can’t just relax. He might be on a steady path back and enjoys what he does, but happy? Could he really still call this happiness? Freedom, yes. But happiness? Not when it was automatically linked to some unpleasant memories. Johnny grips his thigh, makes him flinch.

“Hey, don’t panic, yeah? Jut do what you’re good at. Don’t care for results, ‘m gonna wait at the end of the line either way.”

He can’t quite meet Johnny’s eyes when he tries to answer. He loved Johnny, that was no question. But there was an underlying inhibition to talking about this; his feelings. If he deserved this.

“Been thinking about that, Johnny. What…what if you’re not gonna be there one day? I know, everything will be alright. Chances are that they will be, but what if?”

The innuendo in Simon’s voice was obvious. Johnny takes his time to carefully answer.

“I’ll always will be, promise. I love you, Simon. And I don’t ever plan on breaking that promise.”

“I-…I love you, too, Johnny. Love you.”

Johnny softly laughs.

“I know you do, handsome. Don’t overthink it. I’m here to stay.”

“C’mon! Get the lights rolling!”

It was an ungodly hour to be awake, watching pre-race preparations being made and staff hurrying around to find the two missing contestants that needed to be there for the prerecorded, unofficial, televisional sign up. Johnny could have stayed in the hotel, especially after being out until almost two am just holding hands with Simon as they shared stupid stories and comfortable silence. Seeing Simon standing there in his new racing suit made it worth it though.

“And, action!”

A female voice shouts and the set just silences.

“Five days until the well-awaited Superbike Championship, carried out in Assen…”

Johnny doesn’t listen to much of the introduction, standing in the shadows of the rather dark room, keeping an eye out for Simon. He only pays attention when Simon speaks up, answering a few questions. His own glance always comes back to Johnny though, as he talks in the same short sentences, goes straight to the point. When his turn was finished, he comes right back to Hans and Johnny, heading for his morning run on the circuit.

“Coach’s waiting for you, Simon.”

“Thank you, Hans. Eight on my way.”

Simon puts an arm around Johnny and pulls him right with himself as he heads from the studio right to the arena.

“Hmm? Need me for anything, Si?”

“Thought you might wanna sit don somewhere. Look like you’re gonna fall over and pass out any moment now.”

Johnny ignores how a few people curiously look over, Simon’s bare face somehow still just as much of an attraction as the man in his arms.

“Yeah, probably need a seat.”

“Just gimme some company while I get my laps in, yeah?”

“Alright. I need a coffee before that.”

“Already got that done. Sabrina brought you some. She’s sitting somewhere near the starting line.”

“Great. We’d be dead without her.”

“Hey, John!”

Johnny gets greeted by a steaming cup of saviour-like coffee and a well-rested Sabrina that was taking notes about something and diligently collecting footage of Simon.

“Hey, Sab. Slept well? Barely saw you on the plane last night.”

“Ah, everything’s fine. Slept through most the flight anyways. Here, Simon asked me for a small favour to you. Never thought you’d like caramel in your coffee though.”

“He told you what to order?”

“Uh, yeah? The biggest size, something with caramel and steaming hot were his exact instructions.”

“Damn…why does he know?”

Sabrina chuckles, putting aside her camera for a little.

“Hope I’m not getting too invasive, but anything going on between the two of you? Uh…been seeing you only come to work with him and so.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought of that before. Of what other people might think of him and Simon. Of if this relationship was to be opened into this side of their worlds.

“No…just friends and I live pretty close by.”

The smile he shoots her feels like gummy. Forcibly stretched out.

“Okay. Seen the new promotional material? By the way, great job on fixing those two bikes couple days ago. Heard pretty impressed fellow PR members telling me about them.”

“Oh- uh, thanks. And I saw Simon’s new stuff.”

“Great, than you know what they are going for. Mind helping me with recording?”

“Not at all.”

“Saw Sabrina chatting you up, hmm? Got you to record me?”

It was late, evening transitioning to night when Simon had Johnny lying next to him on the bed, buzzling his face into his chest.

“Don’t worry, got all the right angles.”

“How’d you know where I look my best from?”

“Had time to study from the best angles myself, y’know?”

“Fucks sake, Johnny.”

Simon laughs, pulling him even closer.

The days just pass, with no visible impact on either Simon nor Johnny. Just another race that couldn’t be more mentally challenging than the one on the Isle of Man. It doesn’t stop Johnny from restlessly pacing around in the morning of the race. Seven, six, five hours; time just passes, Simon gets pushed around and undergoes standard procedure. And even with how nerve-wrecking it gets, the inevitable start of the race comes eventually, announced by the moderators which’s voices were transmitted throughout the arena already filled with an audience roaring in anticipation.

“Good luck, Si. You got it from here.”

Johnny stood in the changing room, arms around Simon.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Simon presses one last kiss to the bridge of his nose, before putting on the helmet, eyes barely visible under the darkened eye visor.

“Do your best.”

“Always for you.”

Johnny settles on a rink-side seat, close to Hans and Sabrina. He’s gotten used to races in the passing months after Simon had come back into this league, but the gut churning excitement wouldn’t disappear, hasn’t wavered one bit.

“He’s got this.”

Sarbina cheerily hummed, though her knuckles where a little white from digging into her purse. At least he wasn’t alone in his giddiness. The racers get called into position, slowly entering the starting line as yells erupt. Only eyes on the number seven, Simon Riley, Johnny doesn’t dare breathe as the countdown starts.

“3!”

Eyes focused on the track, Simon leans downwards, like he always did.

“2!”

Johnny and everything they’ve worked for plays in his head.

“1!”

And then it’s blank. It’s just him and his bike.

“Go!”

Simon zooms right from the white stripe of colour on the ground, let the feeling take over. But something doesn’t feel right. He frowns, keeps up his pace through the first laps, knowing that if he let his mind wander, he’d already have lost. Mind on the race, the ground and its bumps, the feeling of his bike under him coming to life. However, he doesn’t get faster. There is something keeping him from performing his best. Like his bike wouldn’t drive smoothly, jamming and resisting his steering. He falls back, sees someone else taking over with a confused frown.

Johnny freezes. The moment Simon had taken off, there had been this weird itch in his eye. Like looking at something so familiar knowing something wasn’t as usual, though it was meant to be. But he couldn’t spot it until now.

“Hans?”

“Hmm?”

“His hind tire. Are you seeing it, too?”

Hans furrows his brows, before his lips open, eyes darting over to Johnny.

“Shit. How-“

“Everything was just fine when I checked it. The tire is fucking swerving. It’s loosened.”

“What is going on?”

Sabrina worriedly comes in between the two men.

“Simon’s hind tire is loose.”

Hans silently huffs.

“It can’t go loose just like that, Hans!”

Johnny starts panicking. It couldn’t be. It was just fine before he went to see Simon.

“I know, John.”

“We have to tell someone!”

“We can’t put the race on halt when we have a suspicion of something happening. And even if, his bike can’t brake like that.”

“He is in danger! When he crashes…”

“I’m talking to the overseers. Sabrina, keep an eye out for Simon. John, search for the on-sight mechanics and ask who was the last one to touch Simon’s bike.”

Johnny jumps up as Hans runs right the other way.

Simon feels it. There was additional friction where there shouldn’t be. His tire. He has no power thinking about who exactly had touched it when, still going at high speed. He needs to react quickly. His break most likely wouldn’t work, only sending him flying or worse. There is cold sweat on his back, a dangerous kind of adrenaline mixing with the ones already in his veins. Under pressure, he only saw one single option; keep going. He was too fast to brake now. If he did, the ones behind him would come crashing into him and he was too close to the audience at this part of the race. If he couldn’t slow now, he could at least win this goddamn race. He accelerates despite hearing the scraping noises that called for disaster, takes the next curve as tight as possible, slowly gaining on the first in placement.

“Any of you touched number seven’s bike?”

Johnny is breathless, running around.

“Uh…none of us. But met a guy earlier, told us he was seven’s mechanic and lingered around that white Yamaha. I-“

“I am number seven’s mechanic! How did that guy look like?”

“Ah, shit, a blue cap and some pretty casual black clothing.”

“Where’d you seen him?!”

“Chill out man! Right at C-16.”

“That fucker-“

“What is going on?”

A second man asks, forehead wrinkling.

“That guy tampered with Simon’s bike!”

Johnny was right out the door again, running to the gate the others had mentioned.

Simon feels his tire loosening more with each bump, head to head with racer number two. Breathe, he reminds himself. Breathe, concentrate and go faster. That’s how he always did it. Just a man on a bike going well over two-hundred miles per hour.

“Number seven’s hind tire is loose! He can’t brake!”

Hans was trying to stay calm, talking to one of the organisers that had been called upon his request.

“We- I am sure he will be okay. He is still on the track, alright?”

“No! If he tries to brake without realising this, he will get hurt if not worse!”

“Hans!”

Johnny interrupts the two men.

“There was some dude, blue cap, black clothes tampering with Simon’s bike!”

Both men turn to Johnny, eyes wide.

Simon sees the finishing line, lets go. He is convinced he could smell burnt rubber if he tried to. He cant turn to look, can only feel how the layers of his tire were being rubbed off by the intensity. But he just clenches his jaw, keeps pushing forwards.

Johnny runs back to C-16, the hallways to where Simon had emerged into the race. Hans and the organiser right behind him. And sure enough he sees someone standing there, in the authorized-only zone. A man with a blue cap. The man gets startled as he hears noise, turns, almost dashes away immediately. Hans is right after him, tackling him to the ground. Johnny lets Hans to it, runs to the gate to see Simon approaching the last stretch.

He wants to yell, that Simon can’t just stop once he reaches the finish line, but even when he does so, it goes down in the overwhelming noise. His heart feels like it might jump out his chest, only able to watch in horror as Simon comes closer and closer. He raises his arms, screams again, but to no avail.

The arena starts chanting when Simon crosses the line, Johnny clenches his eyes shut, not daring to move a single muscle. Scared that if he looked there would be no good. He just buries his arms into his hands, telling him it couldn’t be. The arena suddenly gets quiet, Johnny looking up carefully, trembling. His mouth opens, no noise comes out.

Simon crossed right through the finish line. The sense of victory wasn’t complete though. He can’t stop, keeps on going into another lap. Slowly, carefully placed presses onto his brake system, even if they almost send him flying. He tries to deaccelerate a little, wait for the right moment and pushed himself off his bike, just like every lesson had taught him. Arms around his head, curling up as he slams into the softer grass, his bike starting to tumble with no one to steer it, a loud crash to be heard, followed by a small explosion. He doesn’t know if it is the adrenaline, but he stumbles around, barely registers when people come running.

Johnny runs right over to where he had seen the medics carry Simon off. He just had seen how Simon threw himself off his bike, landing in what seemed to be a safe position, or at least Johnny hopes so. He ignores the many people behind him, runs away from Hans.

Simon feels dizzy when his eyes open. He is in his suit, some people around him. No hospital. And he remembers what happened. He groans in pain.

“Mister Riley? Can you hear us?”

He nods, feeling his whole body throbbing in pain.

“We just carried you off race. We have called an ambulance. You were out cold for a few minutes and we suspect a concussion.”

Simon barely registers the exact meaning behind those words. The door barges open.

“Si!”

Johnny. He immediately knows. Someone tries to push Johnny out. Simon can hear him protesting and through his roaring headache he somehow tries to stand.

“Let him be here.”

He groans, as someone immediately keeps him in position. Sure enough he can see Johnny’s face, distorted in terror and worry, as he leans over him. There are tears in his eyes. Simon tries to say something, but it slips. His eyes close, Johnny’s cry echoing in his head.

Chapter Text

Simon knows the sound of beeping. All kinds of them and especially this one had etched into his head, engrained in the deepest parts of his mind. The sounds of hospital. Of death. And it’s cold. Did Tommy feel like this? In the last moments of his life? Did he feel anything when the plug was pulled? And Simon floats.

His eyes won’t open, the occasional moment of clearness in his head immediately disrupted as he gets pulled back into the dark. Yeah, he heard the beeping every now and then, doesn’t wake up, caught in a web of dreams, of chaotic memories that replay in the wrongest orders.

He doesn’t know anything. Like a blind man led by a single line his whole life, until one day that line snaps and he stands there. All he had ever known somewhere out there in the dark and until he found back he was lost. That’s how he felt. In some state of restless sleep. And the machine keeps beeping, his eyes closed.

Lost. He was lost, right? That’s why he had no control over what happened in his dreams. Just a huge fucking mess.

It’s like at times, he could tell even after having no conception of time anymore, he is back at the flat in Manchester, curled up in a ball, tuning out the screaming downstairs, the cries. It just blends into the background. And all he had was his bed.

Sometimes he sits at the rink, watching the people he wanted to be like. Cool guys on the track with nothing but winning on their minds. Freedom, forgetting anything else. And when he broke into a garage left open, trying to take a good look at the red bike that had been there, almost left flaunting by the owners. He got scared when he heard rustling, ran away.

Then he is on his first bike. Recklessly driving away from home after a huge fight with Tommy, who wouldn’t stop hanging out with the sketchy guys that gave him pills. Tommy ran away, his mom passed out on the couch herself, his father gone for more than a week now. He drove, even if he promised Hans to take care of the bike. Somewhere, just away. And it was well into the early morning, it had been raining all night, when Hans picked his shivering body up from some empty Parkhouse at least two hundred miles away from home. And he didn’t even yell.

And amidst all these non-stop repeating memories, replaying again and again like an infinite flipbook that got more detailed with the run-through, he saw a face. A soft laughter to be heard. A warm hand on his skin, a pair of blue eyes looking at him. The name just won’t come back. But each time he tried to grasp it, it got away. When he reached out he fell back. Back into the dark void, until it started again, all back in Manchester, in a flat too small, reeking of mould and booze, of impending death.

Simon opens his eyes on a sunny day. He is alone in the white room, the curtains of the window pulled in a certain manner, so some sun could come in. It has something thoughtful about it, like the curtains had been put into this particular way. Johnny. Yeah, it was Johnny. His eyes close again.

“What do you mean he opened his eyes? Is he awake?”

Three nurses surrounded the roughened up Scot on the hallway, eyes puffy from crying, eye bags dark, pitiful to look at.

“Mister MacTavish, please calm down. He opened his eyes for a few moments, but slipped back into his coma. He is still non respondent and even if, there will be major setbacks.”

“B-but how? It’s been three weeks! Will he even-…”

His voice breaks.

“I am sorry, but there had been massive trauma to his frontal lobe. We are surprised he is even alive. But this is a good sign. We’ll keep you updated.”

A doctor had come, hand firm on Johnny’s shoulder.

“We are doing our best.”

“He- Simon- he can’t…”

His voice is barely audible, a ghastly whisper that went down in the clamour of the world keeping on spinning. He is left alone on that hallway.

Hesitantly he opens the door, enters the room where he knows he’d be met with a pure nightmare. Simon’s body rising and falling with each breath, so at peace Johnny is convinced he’d just sit up. But he doesn’t. Instead he lies there, bandages around his head. And Johnny cries, asks himself what would be worse; Simon never waking up or waking up with no recollection of Johnny. He punishes himself for thinking that immediately. He’d settle for anything, as long as Simon would wake up, as long he could catch another glimpse of those hazel eyes filled with life, not dependent on the beeping metal boxes that showed what was nothing but an enigma for Johnny; lines, numbers…

Sometimes Simon felt rain. On his skin. Not the one that soaked him to his bones, left him trembling, though he does remind himself that it had been ages since he actually was freezing. But it doesn’t matter because at times he felt warm rain on his skin. Like an upcoming summer storm, where the air was suddenly all thick and heavy as it sat on his skin like a layer, a blanket. The birds flew low, the people started to go inside, away from their gardens that would be soaked in mere minutes, the storm going as fast as it rolled in and the world continues like always. Only that there only was warm rain and nothing more.

“They’ve got evidence. That guy’s behind bars. Only a question of time.”

Hans mumbles when he settles next to Johnny.

“How long for?”

“It’s still difficult to say. They…if Simon isn’t awake in a few days, he’ll probably get a longer sentence. But attempted murder, reckless and intentional endangerment…he won’t be getting off light.”

Johnny doesn’t know why he even asked that. He really hoped that it would make him feel better, but it didn’t. It was naïve to think that the pleasure of knowing the man would be locked up would ease any of the pain he was in. His jaw clenches.

“So, who really was he?”

“From what I could take someone that had rivalled Simon in his rookie years. Fell off with time, until two years ago, where he found his way back into the scene. Still investigating his exact motivations and if he did this alone. A no name, really.”

“Fucking jealousy? Fucking-!?”

“I know, John. But there is nothing we can do, but hope for Simon. I saw the medical reports. We really are lucky he is even breathing. Jumping off that bike was the best option, but-“

“Not good enough. I should have taken a look at his bike before he went out, Hans. I could have prevented that.”

“Do not do this, John. No what ifs. You’re just like Simon. What if he did this, that. There is no what if, you don’t carry any fault, we just can’t change the past, son. It’s how it is. And honestly, I am convinced he’ll pull through. Believe in him.”

Johnny really wants to, talks to Simon when he visits. Keeps him updated about the things, about the fact he theoretically qualified for the world championship, about Johnny missing him so badly. It always ended with him spilling warm tears onto Simon’s skin.

“He’s awake.”

That’s all Johnny needs when he picks up the call from the hospital, speeding to the hospital, leaving his car somewhere and sprinting up the stairs. He doesn’t care for running into people, panting when he arrives at the door. With the press of a handle, it goes open. He darts around for Simon, sees him. Time slows, as Johnny waits for some kind of recognition on Simon’s eyes. For some sign that Simon was in this body. With weak knees he comes closer, opening his lips to say something as the nurse heads out the door.

“Si-“

“Johnny.”

Simon cuts him off. And Johnny swears he’d do anything, everything to thank the gods for this.

“Yeah…”

He comes closer, just taking Simon into his arms as he starts falling apart. This sort of otherworldly relief washed over him like tidal waves took apart a tiny ship made out of fragile woods. He grips Simon’s face softly, needing to be sure he was in front of him. That he was flesh and blood, that he was there. And Simon’s smile gave him everything he needed to know, before burying his face back into the gown that smelled like disinfectant.

“F-fuck…fucking missed you, Si. So fucking much- fuck.”

His sobs felt freeing alas. Instead of the ones that clogged up his lungs for the past weeks, they seemed to carry away the pent up agony and stress. Like Simon supplied him with the oxygen he needed. Simon hums softly, takes Johnny into his arms as well as he could. Johnny doesn’t even know how much time passes like that until Hans comes barging in, right from the airport.

“Simon…”

He was smiling.

“Good to have you back, son.”

Johnny feels Simon nodding, doesn’t pull back.

“How long was I out for, Hans?”

“Four weeks.”

“God…’m sorry Johnny.”

“Not your fucking fault, you idiot.”

There is something healing in Johnny’s desperate sobs, something finally clicking back into place, like a dislocated shoulder, popping back in. It hurts like hell, but it healed.

Johnny doesn’t leave the room. No one can get him even a foot apart from Simon, even when a physical evaluates him as having retained all of his brain function. Johnny kept it together in front of Simon, excused himself for a bathroom break to go cry. Just letting it all out. Simon was back. His Simon, somewhat healthy and he was his.

“Thought you would die for four weeks.”

Johnny mumbles, sitting next to Simon’s bed.

“I thought I’d lose you. And I asked myself what would happen. What would happen if you’d die. If you’d wake up and not be yourself again. I think I get it now. How you felt with Tommy. How you looked like you could just sit up, laugh into my face. But when I touch you, there is no life in your body. I am just so goddamn glad you’re here, Si. I am so fucking happy. Thank you for coming back, you hear me? Thank you.”

Johnny tries to keep his tears at bay, fails nonetheless. And Simon pulls him closer, a soft smile on his lips.

“I owe you too much to go, Johnny. I love you.”

“Love you more, idiot.”

“I doubt that.”

Simon gets home a few weeks later, gets driven by Johnny who had pretty much nested himself in Simon’s apartment, holding onto what they had left together when he was scared to death Simon wouldn’t return. It feels weird, but Simon had been in physical therapy, regained pretty much all his abilities – there wasn’t lost much anyways – and he was perfectly able to return.

“I can hear you thinking, Si. Got anything you wanna tell me?”

Johnny hums, glued to Simon the moment they stepped through the swell of the doorframe.

“Not much. I’m still kinda confused. I mean, four weeks in coma were disorienting, I guess. And…well, I can return to racing. I-…it just feels a lot. Are you okay, Johnny?”

“I-…I am fine, Si. Why’d you ask?”

Johnny flinches as his voice abruptly breaks, crumbling.

“Because you aren’t. Have been looking at me the same way I looked at Tommy. You’re scared.”

Johnny chuckles nervously.

“Course I am. I- I am fine now. You’re here, you’re alive, everything can move on, yeah? Just go on.”

“No, Johnny. You’re not fine. You know it’s okay to cry in front of me.”

“What are you talking about, Si? I don’t hold back, just because-“

Simon grabs his arm, placing it right on his own chest until Johnny feels the thumping of his heart right under his palm.

“Tell me with a straight face you’re okay, Johnny.”

He can’t. His face just peels off, leaves Simon to see the weeks of sleep deprivation and worry that carried most of the colour from Johnny’s face,

“I’m sorry. I won’t ever leave you, Johnny. ‘m sorry.”

And Johnny doesn’t protest this time, cries into Simon as he just lifts Johnny up and soothingly holds him until he had no tears left to cry.

“You’re real, Simon, yeah? You’re mine?”

Johnny desperately moans out, hands locked behind Simon’s neck as to pull him closer, feeling how Simon doesn’t hesitate a bit in rutting in and out of him.

“Fucking yours, Johnny. ‘m here ‘n only yours. Hear me, Johnny? Fucking mine.”

Johnny nods feverishly, lets Simon fuck into him, melting away Johnny’s ability to think so he could just feel Simon in his hands, know he was at home, brought back by some miracle.

“Y-yeah, only yours.”

“Fuck, yeah. No way in hell I’m leaving you behind, Johnny, hear me? It’s a promise.”

Johnny can’t properly answer, brain turned into sticky goo of an emotional slurry as Simon was taking him apart, reassuring Johnny in his own existence as he makes him feel good over and over. Because ghost’s couldn’t do that.

Simon has Johnny in his arms when it’s dark out, already lightly snoring in what seemed to be the first night of good sleep in ages. He lovingly strokes Johnny’s cheek, kisses all the bite marks better. He was home and would take of Johnny, make sure their bed would never be cold. It’s more than just a promise he mumbles into the dark room, only heard by himself and the spirits that may linger around.

Chapter Text

Time heals wounds. There is nothing more bittersweet than this saying, but it is true. You just get carried with time, have to accept how things go. John MacTavish has no difficulties with this fact though, especially when it meant he could find comfort in his old routine.

“Si?”

“Yeah?”

He hears Simon answer from down the hallway, just coming home. Alone this time. He had no difficulties driving a car anymore and he was easing himself back onto the bike the past week or two, taking it slow.

Johnny jumps up from the bed, rushing to Simon.

“How was it today?”

“Good. Feels weird though. Old machine’s broken and new one needs some tweaking. I hoped-“

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it, Si.”

Simon smiles, holding Johnny in his arms.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, you idiot. Don’t need to ask for something like that.”

Simon hums softly, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Johnny’s grown out mohawk nuzzling against his nose as he leans down. It smells like petrichor, still damp from a shower Johnny had taken, soft from whatever product he put on it.

“Been thinking, Johnny.”

“’bout what?”

Johnny’s curious gaze, as he looks up to Simon. The resemblance to a puppy quickly brushes past Simon’s mind.

“Us.”

Johnny takes his hand, gives it a gentle squeeze.

“What about us, Si?”

“I-…what are we Johnny?”

It was evident Simon had troubles voicing what he wanted to say, eyes not meeting Johnny’s.

“Boyfriends? Dating? What do you mean?”

“I know, but aren’t we more than that?”

Johnny freezes for a moment, laughs after processing his words, hand teasingly running down Simon’s back.

“If you wanna marry me, you’ll need to wait a little longer, Si.”

Simon’s mouth opens, eyes widen.

“Not what I meant, Johnny.”

“I know, Si. Just kidding, yeah? Don’t rush to find some title for us. I’m okay with being your boyfriend.”

“But…what will the world know you as?”

It catches Johnny off-guard, reminds him of what Sabrina had asked him, forgotten between the bypassing of way too many things that had completely taken his attention off of it.

“The world doesn’t need to know anything, Si.”

“Not the world, our world. I wanted to know if you were okay things staying as they are. Hans knows, that’s it. I never asked you officially. I just assumed, but…”

But the last months had been too nerve-wracking, too intense, too chaotic that the loose hold Simon had on the bond between himself and Johnny wasn’t enough, that he needed the feeling of something more in his hands. That he had this weird itch in his arms that made him want to scratch his skin right off because what if Johnny slipped one day? It’s been on his mind since he woke up in a haze, only to be met by medical staff, as completely disoriented he asked for Johnny. How he slowly blinked, only for the beeping to still accompany him and how he panicked when he didn’t see Johnny. Johnny hadn’t seen when he stormed in, but Simon had cried right before he arrived.

“You need more, hmm?”

Johnny tilts his head, a smile on his lips. Simon nods.

“So just make it official? Well, Simon Riley. Do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

Simon is only able to stare at Johnny, mouth agape. But all the worry just melts like that. The anxiousness he carried home, home to Johnny, gone like that. It was almost scary what a hold Johnny had over him, like knowing he’d do anything for the man and yet he’d never abuse that power. He was unused to this, but could fall right into its comfortability.

“Yes, I want to be.”

“Now that we’ve got that settled, you need to shower and I’ll get some dinner ready, yeah?”

“Mhm, ‘course Johnny. Just gimme a min like this, yeah?”

It’s more than a minute that they stand at the hallway, Simon burying his face into Johnny’s neck, arms holding the man tight.

“He’s right back to health, hm?”

Hans happily sighs as he settles next to Johnny on the railing, watching Simon doing his laps as ‘usual’, if that term still applied.

“He is.”

“He’s changed a lot. If that happened a year ago, any kind of accident, he might have quit, you know? He might not have shown it, but he always had been sensitive. He could have fallen back into old habits.”

“He has, at least since I was lucky enough to get to know him.”

“And now he’s shattered any expectations, right back onto the road.”

Johnny nods. The Simon he saw in the man never backed down, maybe pulled away for a little to figure things out, but he did not quit.

“Si told me he’d want to take part in next year’s worlds. I mean, he has the qualification. Think he has a good shot?”

“He always has. Told him to focus on the smaller races, to get himself used to the competition again. It’s like he even forgot he was in a coma. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he thinks he owes it to you. But I do, so I know he does it for himself, too. Needs the road as much as he needed you.”

“Think he is happy, Hans?”

The older man turns to Johnny, slightly wrinkly face furrowing.

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Not reason. I just hope this isn’t some kind of dream I’ll wake from any moment.”

“It’s not, John. You worked for this, he did, too.”

Johnny looks over to Simon, stopping, taking off his helmet and immediately glancing over to him. There is a smile on his face. He looks better smiling, that Johnny had to admit.

Chapter Text

Life goes by quickly. That’s what Johnny thinks when he looks out the plane window, sees nothing but skies covered in golden lights of the setting sun. It would soon be evening, even later when they landed in Osaka. It was beautiful though. How the clouds were painted in the softest tones of caramel ranging to strawberry. And it didn’t matter that he had been flying around since he started to work with a certain motorsport managing company one and a half years ago – it would always be a sight he enjoyed. The feeling of take-off, the slightest bit of anticipation when he glanced over to Simon’s relaxed figure in the seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

It’s like Simon can feel Johnny’ gaze, opening his eyes, the cerulean ones met his whiskey coloured ones.

“Got some sixth sense now, huh?”

“Always did for you, Johnny.”

“Why don’t you ever take the window seat, Si?”

Simon stretches a little, pulling up the arm rest that separated both seats to pull Johnny into his arms.

“I’ve travelled for more than you did. Don’t need to see the sky again and again.”

He doesn’t say that he wanted Johnny to be always in his reach, to feel like Johnny was protected, that his heart warmed as he peeked at Johnny, whose eyes were glued onto the glass, childlike excitement as he could see the first silhouettes of the city they’d land in.

“Sure about it? I don’t mind, you know?”

“Mhm, I know.”

Johnny sinks into Simon’s touch, let the rougher palms pinch at his cheek.

“My second time in Osaka now, Si. Also second time with you.”

“You like Osaka?”

“Yeah.”

“More than anywhere else?”

“Dunno about that part.”

“What do you have on your mind, Johnny?”

“You think we could come one day? Just for vacation. No rush, visiting the beach, have some fun.”

“If you want to.”

“Do you want to?”

“I want anything as long as it’s with you.”

Johnny smiles like an idiot after hearing that, still as giddy as when he just fell in love.

“Four days, Simon. How are you feeling? Ever since your bike had been sabotaged more than half a year ago, people all over the world had been worried for your life and now you are in Osaka, competing in the World Rider’s Grand Prix for the world title.”

Johnny hears the woman’s voice right from where he stood, in the studio. Typical pre-race recording, with people laying it on thick to generate attention. It didn’t matter though, because Simon had his eyes right at Johnny, ignoring the cameras.

“I’m glad I am here and very thankful for my team to support me through everything.”

“The world wants to know. How did you recover? Many news outlets reported that you were actually severely injured in your accident and it’s still a miracle that you are here today.”

Johnny swears that Simon frowns a little at the question. It was no wonder though; he had been asked the same ones for months, even if Hans damage controlled and kept the media out of it as well as he could, which was hard when Simon had been in the hospital for two months.

“Uh…good doctors?”

“And? Do you expect your first world title in less than a week?”

“Not…really? I guess I’m happy with whatever.”

His eyes dart back on Johnny. ‘Whatever’ as long as Johnny was there.

“Well, that is a very relaxed manner you’re approaching this with. You are in your late twenties, yeah? There is still time to pursue what you dropped all those years ago. You think that in a decade there might be a few more international trophies decorating your home?”

“Could be. I don’t plan on jumping off a bike anytime soon, so I guess maybe.”

Simon is dead serious, Johnny knows, hears him growing a little antsy with each question.

“That is a quite positive way to express yourself. As always, we are rooting for you!”

Simon is sitting in the bathtub of the hotel as he lazily opened his eyes, hearing Johnny come back from some work back at the track after Sabrina had carried him off. The door closes, Johnny takes off his shoes, comes walking into the bathroom.

“Wan’ join me, Johnny?”

He mumbles before Johnny can remark anything.

“Yeah. Felt like a bath?”

“Mhm. Thought we could relax before we go out.”

“It’s already eleven.”

“And?”

Johnny laughs softly, putting his clothing away on a neat pile as he slowly sits down in the tub, right between Simon’s legs.

“So you’ll always sneak out with me couple days before some race to roam a city on the bike we are supposed to keep in top shape?”

“Know me too well.”

“That I do.”

He cuddles up against Simon’s chest, lets the warm water spill over the edges of the creamy white, ceramic bathtub with no care in the world.

“Osaka’s pretty.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, playfully pats at Simon’s shoulder.

“Thought it was clear enough, Si.”

The same thing, on the island, in Assen and pretty much everywhere they had been the past five months. Just letting Simon carry them over the streets, through the districts that changed from dark and quiet to neon lights and music. Johnny doesn’t know where they are headed, never does, because he didn’t need to. They brush past groups of people, see some rowdy clubs and drive away from the city.

Simon’s bike, a black, matte one Johnny had the pleasure of personally put together, rested at the side of a lonesome road, away from the turmoil. It was pitch black, yet the moon reflected in the far waters, the ocean bordering to Osaka. The sand still has some warmth to it, or maybe the days just got less cold – Johnny doesn’t care when he pulls off his shoes and steps closer to where soft waves met his feet.

“How do you keep finding all these places, Si? Always bringing me to the prettiest ones.”

Johnny hums as he feels Simon’s arms cradling him from behind.

“Just do. You make it a lot prettier though.”

Maybe a little cheesy, Johnny thinks, but not when it’s Simon whispering it near his ear, his bigger hands resting on his waist, hot breath on his skin; it had him blushing.

“You’re not half-bad yourself.”

“Don’t care.”

“You’re gorgeous, Si.”

“Whatever you say, Johnny.”

He draws out his name, the heavy accent seeping into the cracks of each letter, painting it in a new light. Makes it a little harder to breath in the sweetest ways.

“Worlds, huh? You’ve got far.”

“Changing topics? I can feel your ears burning up.”

“Idiot.”

Simon chuckles, presses a kiss to Johnny’s earlobe, leaving with a soft bite.

“Yes, Johnny, we’re at the worlds now. We’ve gotten far.”

“Are you happy about it?”

“Yes. I am. Think my mother would be happy for me. Tommy even more so.”

“They are, Si. And me, too.”

“Thank you, Johnny.”

“For?”

“Everything. Finding me, bringing me back, loving me.”

“Could say the same thing about you.”

“Don’t care. I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“This isn’t a competition, Johnny.”

“But I’d win.”

“You wouldn’t know what I’d do for you.”

“Same goes for me. But let’s settle on equally, yeah? Otherwise we ain’t making it back to the hotel and you need your sleep.”

That idea gets scrapped when Johnny just falls asleep in Simon’s arm by the beach and the hours pass, until the light blue of morning with the orange stripes rose upon the sky, Johnny slowly blinking as he opens his eyes, laid out on a picnic blanket, some covers on top of him, Simon’s arm draped around his torso.

“Morning, Johnny. Let’s head back, yeah?”

It’s liberating, a firework inside of his heart when Simon rolls his bike out on the track. He looks into the audience, sees the sheer amount of people that filled every seat. The kiss Johnny pressed onto his cheek just seconds ago still damp on his skin and he knows that if he turned, Johnny would stand there, under the gate, the proudest smile on his lips. So he doesn’t need to, knows.

Number two was his lane. Two like Johnny and him – he was not one to be sentimental, yet he can’t help but carefully stroke over the number on his chest.

The voices, yells and noise don’t go under in his mind this time. He embraces it, appreciates how fast his heart was beating, his forehead sweaty – the adrenaline that built up a knot in his throat that only waited, tensed for the starting beep to sound so it could snap and there would be peace. He knows Hans is watching, more excited than he’d ever show, thinking he had to be a pillar for everyone around him, that Sabrina was probably hyperventilating as she still pulled through to get footage, trying to drown her own nervousness in videos that later on would show just how shaky her hands had been. That Johnny loves him, roots for him, always provided a warm home to return to when things went wrong. It’s enough.

One last time for the season. One last time, as he bid farewell to something he could finally bury after years. And one more time to do what he loves, a chance of not only making himself, but the ones around him, happy. One more chance in life, he didn’t know was slipping until Johnny handed it right back to him.

“3!”

He sat, felt his arms a little numb, but he had a good grip anyways, always did.

“2!”

His body was tense, eyes focused in a straight line, breathing stabilized.

“1!”

Yes, just like that, smoothly gliding over into the flow of competition. Like he jumped into water, the surface tension seemingly disappearing and letting him phase through.

“GOOO!”

He zooms off. His lungs cleared, mind sharp. He doesn’t need to look, knows he was fast, feels it. Takes the corners as tight as possible, wants to feel his bike being pushed to what it was made for – to adapt to Simon, to make him whole on the track, like Johnny did.

It’s joy, utter bliss, when he feels like he was getting high on serotonin, heartbeat melting over into the thumping of his mind. Just a perfect tidal wave that he had under control. It crashed everything in its sight, left nothing. He wants to show Johnny how good he was, wants him to see and feel that this was devoted to him and no one else. And so he did. Lap after lap, like he was floating on the softest clouds.

“This one’s f’you, Johnny.”

He thinks to himself. He would never say it for the world to hear, just an echo in his head.

“Because you mean more to me than anything and I love you. Because I know how you’re adoring eyes are trailing me now, know that you are giddy and nervous for me, probably can’t even sit still. Because you care.”

The wind against his chest vanishes, no resistance left. Not like he needed it, but it surely was welcome. Too fast for the wind to touch, too swift for the past to catch. He was free.

The finish line so close, like a hushed promise of eternity and he flies right through it. Takes his sweet time braking, pulls off his mask to get his breathing under control, chest heaving so hard he think he would have collapsed otherwise. He searches, finds the pair of blue eyes right there. Runs over, doesn’t even feel how hard he was crushing Johnny when he takes him into his own arms.

“Fucking hell- you- You did it, Si! Shit- do you know how incredible this was? You were flying! You-“

Johnny gets cuts off when Simon presses a kiss against his lips, eyes widening as Simon didn’t care for bystanders, a few ones that could actually see them only Hans and Sabrina, the media team, too if they were unlucky.

“We did it, Johnny. We.”

He was breathless himself, gasping for air, hands clawing right into Johnny.

“We, Simon.”

Johnny hums, lets him stay hidden in the crook of his neck until he was inevitably pulled back to meet public’s eye.

The days after are foggy, going over like a dream. One Simon tunes out by running away from press with Johnny, hidden away in the hotel, caught between celebration and quiet nights together. The feeling of victory was one to linger long in one’s veins, the realisation of what he had done only underlined by just how often he’d see his own face. Rushing from here to there, newfound serenity amidst the chaos. He wished he could stay forever like this.

“Wake up, my world champ. It’s already 6 pm. The team’s waiting.”

Simon groans as he hears Johnny call, rolls over from his side of the bed, facing Johnny’s smile that couldn’t be wiped for the past days. He smiles back.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, Si, you coming?”

Simon nods, jumping from the bed to put some boxers on along a suit, one that Johnny had bought in a hurry after noticing Simon didn’t really pack any formal clothing.

A quick peck to Johnny’s lips is all the intimacy he gets, before he was swarmed by people in the hotel’s lobby. Johnny pushes him right in, winks as he stays in reach. Some speeches are held, old sentiments shared with the not too many people and Simon being the star of the show. Hours go by, alcohol running, music playing, Simon thoroughly roughened up after his one too many drinks he let himself have. Johnny finds him like that in the quiet hallway, cheeks flushed.

“Enjoying the night, Si? Or is it already morning?”

“Morning and it’s alright.”

“Oh! I got you to finally enjoy socialising? I think I deserve something for that.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, sees that Johnny was just as drunk.

“No, still not a fan of ‘socialising’ but I think a certain blue-eyed Scot once gave me a promise of dancing for me.”

Johnny stocks for a second, starting to laugh uncontrollably.

“How many drinks did you have, Si?”

He wheezes out, Simon’s face heating up as he tried to keep the stoic act that was utterly ruined by way too sweet cocktails he had ordered at the bar.

“Too many to care for whatever nonsense I’m spouting. We taking this upstairs?”

“Fuck yeah, Si.”

Looking back, everything has its time, its meaning even if so small it was barely a speck of dust in the universe. To the long gone past, the inevitable present and the possible futures of a biker and his mechanic.