By the time he pushes open the door and purposefully strides into the foyer, the tears which had earlier stained his flushed cheeks have now dried to leave eyes aflame with an inner fury. The hours spent in his confidante’s arms, burning with a hopeless irate desire to lash out to relieve his anger until slowly his tears subdued his violent passion, now seem an age away and the soothing words of his companion long forgotten - swallowed up by all-encompassing rage. The violent illumination of the uncomfortably hot room immediately hits him, causing him to momentarily flinch as his eyes adjust from the darkness outside.

Intent, curious faces turn to watch his entrance but he refuses to allow their grazing stares to faze him. He laughs silently, a sardonic murmur to himself as he casually contemplates the irony of it all. Knowing what they are thinking, he certainly isn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain. Instead, he gives a flash of his playboy smile, enough to quell the inquisitive eyes straining to find an ounce of pain in his expression, a trace of emotion, a flicker of disappointment. A smile, enough to conceal the anger burning deep in the fire of his eyes.

The room is thronged with people, bathing in the heated atmosphere as the drinks flow freely and figures group and mingle - talking, laughing, living. Normally, he lives for this but now it’s unnatural to his senses - the air oppressive and the laughter alien. A feeling of loneliness suddenly sweeps over his body and he involuntarily shivers but tries to regain his confident swagger, blocking the laughter ringing out from the table of the once again champion. Not that he can hold any animosity towards the blonde man sitting with his mechanics. He isn’t the cause of his pain.

“Over here,” the words fight to be heard over the buzz of the room. Enrico is sitting in a corner, hidden away from the prying eyes of the room, arms wrapped around the waists of his female entourage - two young girls, equally beautiful.

“... but equally plain.” Eddie gives a melancholic sigh and pushes his way through the jungle of bodies which block his path.

Regardless of their beauty, their perfectly sculptured cheekbones and impossibly shapely curves, their voices are void of anything. Night presses on but the room is still as animated and intolerable as before. Alcohol now courses through his veins, intoxicating both his mind and body in an attempt to quell the fire of his anger. 

Unable to fight the effect of the champagne and whatever else Enrico has given him to drink, his head lolls gently on the shoulder of one of the young women, nuzzling the soft skin on her neck and caressing her silken hair, ignoring her bland drunken chatter. Raucous laughter still fills the air and his mind like a poison; the drink doing little to heal his wounds.

“And still the world goes on,” he whispers under his breath and allows his lips to graze the young woman’s neck. “So very easy,” he sighs again. She is still drunkenly chattering to him but he doesn’t want to listen, he just wants to block out the pain, the anger of betrayal.

He drags himself up, muttering something about going to the bar, just to get away from their company and pushes his way forward, whilst fighting the overwhelming effect that intoxication is having on his balance. He decides to get another drink. Not that he needs it. Something inside him is telling him he ought to leave, get a taxi and just make an exit but instead he slumps against the bar and stares nonchalantly at the scene around him. His thoughts are interrupted by the faint scent of aftershave and the presence of someone standing beside him, patiently waiting for his attention. Eddie glances up before turning away from his companion.

“Yeah? What d’you want?” he mutters huskily, trying to unconvincingly mask the slur in his speech.

“He, he wanted me to say, you know,” the younger man shrugs, probably in indifference, “he’s sorry about the title and everything ...”

“And so he sent you,” Eddie replies coldly, still refusing to meet his gaze, “Figures he wouldn’t tell me himself ... when has he ever.”

The younger man shakes his head, “Michael said you’d be like this. Forget it, I told him he was wasting his time but he insisted. I don’t know why he put up with you for this long.”

He turns to leave but is violently pulled back towards the bar by his arm. Regaining his balance, he flinches, expecting a punch of some kind but instead he finds his face inches from that of his rival.

“You’re pissed, you know that,” the younger man scowls and tries to draw back, a sudden feeling of uneasiness taking hold of him, but he can’t break free from the tight grip on his arm.

“Yeah, well, you can be a right bastard sometimes,” Eddie answers, drawing himself towards his company to whisper into the young man’s ear before letting go and holding his companion’s now confused gaze.

“Hey, Ralf are you gonna stand there all night or what?” shouts someone from the grouping of Williams mechanics in a corner of the crowded room, giving the young man the chance to break free from the imprisoning stare of his rival. Smirking to himself, Eddie takes another drink from his half-empty glass while he watches Ralf hastily flee his company.

“Serves him right,” he sneers to no-one in particular.

Jubilation fills the air and champagne soaks those unfortunate to be stood directly beneath the podium. Not that they care. Their exultation is out-done only by that of the man standing on that privileged top step. The third race of the season, the third win.

Third time lucky, perhaps?

He hardly dares to look out into the crowd for fear of waking from this incredible dream, for fear of breaking his good fortune. But look he does, to the faces of those he had known for so long now, sharing in his joy. Except ...

He shakes his head as something disturbs him momentarily. Something preying at the back of his mind. But he dismisses it and continues to revel in the glorious atmosphere of an Imola drowned by the scarlet masses.

Cameras flash and bodies crowd around parc fermé as the procession of cars crawl in and come to a standstill. There’s no personal celebration so he slips out of the car and quickly makes his way inside, away from prying eyes, into the weighing area. Of course, he hadn’t expected big things at the start, not with a developing team, and hell, seventh is better than another non-finish. But seeing him win yet again is a bitter pill to swallow, no matter how much he pretends otherwise. All the talk of a closed championship for 2000, of yet another accolade, hurts badly.

He looks at the red-overalled crowd embracing their star, their god, their dream, and feels a pang of jealousy as he recalls how not so long ago they were embracing him for restoring their hope. But now he’s just a forgotten shadow to them.

To him.

The object of his gaze must feel him watching, glaring, as Michael briefly breaks from his mechanics to turn around. Eddie can’t see Michael’s expression for his helmet but he doesn’t have to. He can guess from the way he moves, the way he stands, all those little things he’s gotten to know over the years.

And he’s nervous.

Of him.

Turning around, Eddie smiles at that thought and makes his way inside, footsteps behind him alerting him to someone following.

“I think perhaps we need to talk,” the voice has a passive tone, almost sincere, but it’s more an order than a suggestion.

“I don’t think we do. I’ve said all I’m gonna say,” is the blunt reply Michael receives: cold and indifferent.

“Suit yourself,” is the equally indifferent reply; a touch of arrogance highlights his voice in an attempt to diffuse his strange feeling of uneasiness before being accosted by marshals and directed to the weigh bridge.

By the time Michael takes to the podium, Eddie is long gone from the mêlée of the pit lane. But the celebrations which echo through the paddock and to where the fleets of motorhomes stand merely serve to cement his determination. And when he and Heinz had passed each other moments earlier, he could not even bring himself to look at his once confidante. He felt his gaze though; those serene eyes clouded with a slight sadness. He can’t pretend with him, Heinz knew something was wrong. He always does. But he won’t stop me, Eddie thinks, only try to reason or silently plead with those beautiful eyes of his.

Breaking from his reverie, a grand motorhome now stands before him, moreorless empty as the team begin to haul their equipment away for the cross-country trek. But there are some people still around; the rest, those of importance, in the hospitality suite drinking their champagne, oblivious to any reality behind the spectacle, glamour and publicity.

Its white livery is in stark contrast to the often garish colours of its neighbours, flaming reds and glistening silvers demanding attention and oozing expense.

For the first time, he stops to think, trying to escape the over-powering want of retribution with some form of reason. He hadn’t even realised where he was heading but subconsciously he knew where his path would lead. The celebrations can now no longer be heard, most probably the drivers have gone off to face the world’s press. However, there’s little time for reflection as before he knows it, he marches into the motorhome, relatively unnoticed by the few people around, and pushes open a small door to his left, allowing it to shut behind him with a click.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” a young man mutters, his back to the door as he slips on a plain white t-shirt, obviously just changed out of his race overalls. Eddie stays silent and waits for the young man to turn around. When he does, it’s with a mixture of surprise and agitation that the young man says, “What do you want?” But before the Irishman can answer, he turns away dismissively.

“Look, if you’re after Michael, he’s not here. He’s probably still in the press conference,” Ralf says with an air of intolerance. “You know, that’s what you do when you keep winning, but then I don’t suppose you’ll remember,” he adds, maliciously.

To Ralf’s surprise, his insult doesn’t get the reply he expects. Instead the other driver simply shrugs. The younger man suddenly feels too uneasy. There is none of the anger in the Irishman’s demeanour that Michael had described to him at length. But there is something vaguely threatening about this calm, even poignant, visage that sparks warning lights to flash in Ralf’s mind.

“Look, I, err, sorry about that. It was uncalled for, I didn’t mean ...” the younger man apologises, feeling uncomfortable and flustered as the room begins to feel more claustrophobic; a feeling not helped by the lulling gaze of the room’s other occupant.

Eddie can see Ralf’s nervousness etched in his face as the young man tries desperately to avoid meeting his gaze. A slight smile, which can only be described as conspiratorial, graces his lips. Michael, you’re gonna be sorry you ever hurt me, he thinks to himself as he takes a few steps forward, taking sadistic pleasure in watching the confusion and vulnerability of his prey, profoundly evident on the young man’s face.

This is gonna be so easy.

His thoughts of revenge completely numb any pleas of conscience and before Ralf can offer up any sort of resistance, the two are only inches apart, breathing in the same warm air and holding each other’s gaze intensely.

Between shallower breaths, Ralf whispers something in German under his breath, which Eddie doesn’t understand and enquires about with a quizzical expression, but Ralf doesn’t respond.

The room is suddenly hot and oppressive but unlike that night in Japan, this time Eddie knows he’s the one with the power. He lifts his arm to softly caress the side of the young man’s face and smiles cruelly to himself when Ralf doesn’t flinch away from his touch.

Easier than I thought, the older man thinks to himself as he allows his hand to stroke the younger man’s flushed cheeks then lips before letting his hand drop back to his side. Still maintaining those tormenting few inches distance between their bodies, he leans forward and whispered huskily into Ralf’s ear.

“I don’t give a fuck about your brother. Not now, not ever.”

All of a sudden, panic seizes him and a feeling of nervousness grips him. Perhaps it’s too soon to be trying a stunt like this. Perhaps Michael, knowing him far too well, has warned his brother against some sort of revenge and that Ralf is expecting this. It’s possible. After all, Ralf hasn’t turned him away, hasn’t pushed him back as much as he would have expected. Sure, he wants Ralf to start it, for him to be as dependent and powerless as he felt with Michael. But this is too easy.

Shit, what the hell am I doing?

Ashamedly, he panics but fights to keep his external composure. This is wrong, it’s not going to work.

Thoughts that this is just another set-up, another humiliation, cross his mind but any doubts and fears are erased by his lips being engulfed in a searing kiss, shocking his senses temporarily. Gaining control of his actions once again, he begins to return the kiss, roughly pushing the younger man against the wall and deepening the embrace. Teeth bite into Ralf’s lips, almost drawing blood as he demandingly claims his prey relentlessly.

With a moan, Ralf breaks from the kiss, his head falling back against the wall on its on accord as he struggles to catch his breath. Seeing his moment, Eddie catches his gaze and softly lets one of his hands work up the inside of the younger man’s t-shirt, caressing his chest.

“Look,” Eddie whispers, lowing his voice to little more than a murmur, “I wanted to apologise, you know, about what I said to you that time in Japan,” He sees Ralf swallow hard as he allows his hand to work its way down before resting on his hips, “I was bang out of order, pissed off. I shouldn’t have taken in out on you like that. It was the last thing I wanted to say to you, believe me.” 

Eddie surprises himself at the sincerity of his voice and he begins to run a hand through the young man’s hair. Pressed closed to each other, he can feel the younger man’s arousal grow, despite his obvious nervousness, and he is all too aware at his own body reacting to the hands which are tentatively stroking his chest.

“What do you want from me, Eddie?” Hardly a question, Ralf’s voice is little more than a whisper but any attempt at a fight-back is engulfed by another, more demanding, kiss, Ralf welcoming Eddie’s tongue down this throat, occasionally groaning as their groins press and move against each other. “Just you,” he replies, in-between shallow breaths.

Unable to offer any resistance, Ralf sinks back further against the wall as the older man’s lips leave his own to kiss his neck. He cries out, half in surprise, half in longing, as Eddie slips a hand further down his chest until he reaches his clothed erection, roughly caressing it and eliciting moans of approval.

Catching his lips again, the two momentarily entwine themselves until Eddie pulls himself away, reluctant to stop. The two stare at each other, panting and gasping for breath, Eddie trying to force his racing heartbeat down. “Not yet,” he says, struggling with an overwhelming urge to fulfil this aroused hunger eating away at him from the inside, “come back with me. You know where I’m staying tonight.”

“I ... I ...” begins Ralf, stumbling over his words as his brain struggles to come to terms with the sensations his senses relay back.

“Please,” Eddie’s voice sounds little more than a plead as his gaze locks to Ralf’s, “Christ, I want you, Ralf, it’s as simple as that. I’ve had these feelings for longer than I want to remember. There’s just always been ...,” The sentimental lies slip easily from his lips and he doesn’t have to finish his sentence as Ralf breaks their gaze.

“I guess,” his voice sounds faraway, still confused but now he nods.

“And don’t worry,” Eddie curves a hand softly around the younger man’s face, “I’ll be gentle.”

“Please, oh fuck yes!” Ralf cries out, anticipating Eddie’s fingers probing his tight entrance, roughly opening him wider, and sliding further and further inside.

“Relax, lover,” Eddie coaxes, letting his mouth temporarily release the young man’s swollen organ, “you’ll enjoy it more.”

Ralf’s eyes flutter closed, his head lolling gently against the pillow and unable to look at his brother’s former lover now on his knees, swallowing his erection, driving fingers deeper inside him. A million thoughts rush through his mind but all he can concentrate on is the pressure of his lover’s fingers and the sensation of his tongue sliding up and down his cock. Resignedly, he feels his body become heavily and, surrendering completely to the older man’s designs, his muscle relax, allowing Eddie to push deeper inside.

“Mm like that,” Eddie murmurs, lifting off the young man and leaning across his chest to reach his lips. Leaning to meet him, Ralf returns the kiss, desperately trying to pull him closer but falls back, shouting out in pleasure as Eddie widens him further. The momentary pain as he feels the older man’s cock sharply enters him passes into exquisite pleasure and he’s hardly conscious of his cries echoing through the hotel room, begging for more, screaming for Eddie to thrust harder, faster, deeper.

“Do you want the whole hotel to hear us?” he murmurs, straining to repress his own urge to cry out with pleasure, each of his senses being filled by his young lover lying pressed against his bed, writhing in ecstasy against his taut body.

A momentary shot of guilt hits him as he sinks in deeper, slower, and his stomach flips with sudden pain as the reality of his deception hits hard. He won’t deny, that in different circumstances, this could still have happened. Christ, he’s god damn beautiful, none more so that now, his torso gleaming with sweat, his now unruly hair tousled and damp, full bruised lips demanding to be taken. But that’s not why I’m doing it – the words echo in his head like a poisoned chant, only interrupted by Ralf’s husky voice.

“What are you gonna do about it then?”

In a slow move, Eddie draws himself up to claim Ralf’s lips, swallowing the moans of lust before they can leave the young man’s throat. The noise of the sheets quietly rustling as the pair lock themselves in a embrace is soon the only sound in the room, the lovers moving to a silent rhythm, less urgent than before but equally powerful. Orgasm sweeps over the entwined pair as they come together, each refusing to relinquish the other’s kiss until Ralf is forced to break away, breathless, his eyes tightly closed as he falls against the pillow. Allowing the last flickers of pleasure to coarse through his body first, Eddie then pulls himself up and, resting his head inches from Ralf’s, pulls his young lover on to his side to meet his gaze.

Gingerly, he outstretches a hand to caress his face, gently arching around the contours of his jaw and smiling an uncertain smile when Ralf’s eyes open to meet his. His sparkling eyes seem to radiate an innocence which sends another shot of sickness, of pain, of guilt through Eddie, his young lover’s look of happiness, of love maybe, like a dagger through the heart.

His throat tightens, he can almost feel the scream form in the back of his throat fighting to get out. But still he doesn’t resist when the younger man draws him closer, he merely yields and lets Ralf rest his head against his torso, a hand wrapped around his body as the young man drifts of into a blissfully ignorant sleep.

He closes the hotel door room behind him with a click that seems to echo through the corridor almost louder than the thuds of his heart. But there’s no noise from behind the door as the figure still sleeps soundly, caught up in dreams.

He had been right after all. It was easy, so very easy.

Eddie chokes back the tears he never thought would be possible as he waits outside for a few moments, staring at the door before turning despondently and heading off down the corridor.

“I’m sorry.”

~ The End.