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It started, one day, because Lewis was clumsy.
He always had been, feet tripping over nothing, losing his balance far too easily, a stark contrast to the surety and stability he exuded once inside the car, like his body had been made to drive instead of walk.
The season had just started, and Lewis was standing outside of his garage when someone rushed by him, a little too close. He blinked in surprise, left foot taking an automatic step back, but landing wrong, could feel his balance leaving his body, arms flailing as he started to tip backwards.
But then there was a hand grabbing his hip, a solid body against his back, stopping his fall.
“Watch out, bunny,” a voice breathed into his ear, like an inside joke, and Lewis whipped his head to the side to see Michael fucking Schumacher, an inch away from his face, smirking like he loved to do.
Lewis couldn’t help his sharp inhale, tips of his ears going hot, a fuzzy feeling starting to churn in his stomach. He looked at Michael, wide-eyed, breath still caught in his throat, mind going a hundred miles a minute trying to comprehend what the man just said.
“Who’re you calling bunny, man?” Lewis asked, once his brain caught up, trying to crack a smile to show that he wasn’t taking it too seriously, but he didn’t think his face was working how it was supposed to.
Michael didn’t answer, just smiled at him, humored, eyes flicking up and down Lewis so fast he almost thought he imagined it.
And then he was gone, hands leaving Lewis’ body, strutting off to, presumably, his garage.
And Lewis—Lewis didn’t like how much he liked Michael’s hands on him, the solid press of his body against his. Didn’t like how that nickname made him hot all over, how he wanted to hear it whispered into his ear again.
Christ, he barely even knew Michael, had only spoken to him a handful of times before he joined Mercedes. And if the man’s gaze on him had always been a little heated, eyes a little too knowing, if he’d always lingered when they shook hands, Lewis chalked it up to Michael’s personality. Or his own stress levels.
He tried not to think about it.
And then it happened again.
It was a month later, and Lewis had almost, almost, stopped thinking about it.
It was in China, he was stepping up into a car for the driver’s parade, when he mistepped, almost fell face-first into the seat, if it wasn’t for the arm wrapping around his upper waist.
Lewis knew, before he even looked down and saw the white of the suit. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing before turning his head and letting his gaze land on Michael.
“Better hop to it, bunny,” he said, smile on his face, and Lewis rolled his eyes, ignoring the heat starting to fog up his thoughts.
And then Michael was holding out a hand, like he expected Lewis to grab it, to hoist himself up into the car with it, to use it for balance. Like he was being courteous, chivalrous, like Lewis was a girl.
His face was on fire, a wild mix of humiliation and want making his brain feel like it was fighting a war.
“Chill, man,” he said, grabbing the sides of the car and stepping in, successfully this time, ignoring Michael’s hand, ignoring how fucking badly he wanted to take it. Michael just laughed, dropping his hand before walking away, leaving Lewis blushing and breathless, mind barely there during the parade.
Lewis didn’t talk to Michael again until the next race weekend.
It was in the Mercedes garage this time, in Spain, Lewis visiting Nico while he had a spare minute, like they tended to do. Talking about nothing, really, just content to be in each other’s company.
They were in the middle of discussing the race’s weather predictions when Nico’s eyes caught on something just behind Lewis.
“Michael,” Nico said as a greeting, grinning.
Lewis twisted around without thinking, eyes going wide as they landed on the man himself.
“Nico,” Michael smiled back, then looked down at Lewis, “and if it isn’t the little bunny.”
Lewis whipped his head back around, watched Nico pause, mouth bunny? at him, and he really wanted to disappear into the earth. God, did the guy like humiliating him?
He eyed Michael again as he finally reached the two of them, biting his lower lip, probably to stop an embarrassing noise from leaving his throat.
“Boss wants to see us,” Michael said, briefly looking at Nico before his eyes swayed back to Lewis, just watching. Lewis looked back, swallowed, fighting the heat in his face, kept his gaze steady. Didn’t want to let Michael win, or at least, know he’d won.
Him and Nico stood up, and Lewis swayed a little, and Michael reached out, putting a steadying hand on one of Lewis’ shoulders, and Lewis really wanted to die.
Nico stared, confused, eyes flickering between him and Michael, while Michael only had eyes for Lewis, grinning crookedly at how much he’d already flustered him.
Lewis froze for only a second before shaking off his hand, breaking up the moment, defensiveness crawling unpleasantly up his gut. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t gonna fall.”
“I don’t know, bunny,” Michael tutted, still grinning, amused at Lewis’ reaction, “I always seem to catch you right as you are not falling.”
And then he and Nico were walking away, and Lewis’ heartbeat was in his ears. He risked a glance at where the two of them trailed out of the garage, only to see Michael already looking back at him, smirk as visible as if he were still a foot away.
It kept happening, he always seemed to be there when Lewis stumbled over his own feet, an arm grabbing his shoulder, snaking around his waist, lips too close to his ear calling him bunny.
And every time Michael pulled out that fucking name it had Lewis’ ears going beet-red. And he knew how much it got to Lewis, and he liked it, obviously, with the way he stared, gauging his reactions, a look in his eyes that Lewis didn’t know what to do with.
It was humiliating and frustrating and exciting, and Lewis didn’t know what to do with himself. Every time he felt Michael’s hands on his, every time he heard that name float through his ears, it brought him a step closer to insanity.
It was in Turkey, Lewis bringing home his first win of the season, the adrenaline shaking through his body, winding him up, had him feeling relieved and impossibly high strung at the same time.
It was why, he guessed, he stopped by Michael’s motorhome before he left for the night. Lewis needed to fucking know. He felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.
He knocked, bouncing up and down on his toes until he heard a faint come in through the door. He sucked in a breath and opened it, stepping in and shutting the door behind him, leaning against it as he finally looked at Michael.
He was sitting on the end of his couch, some kind of newspaper in his hand, peering up at Lewis over his reading glasses.
Lewis didn’t move. “Why bunny?”
Michael looked at him, any surprise he felt at Lewis’ questioning not showing in his face, like he was always prepared for him, always prepared for this moment.
After a beat of silence, he laughed, stood up, walked over slow and steady to where Lewis still leaned against the door, their small height difference feeling like two feet. He pushed his glasses up to the top of his head, eyes pouring into Lewis’ own.
“Well, look at you,” he said, like it was obvious, like it was all obvious, “always hopping around. Cute as one, too.”
And like most conversations with Michael went, Lewis could feel his ears heating up, knew it was giving him away.
“Cute?” He questioned, heart thumping, eyes imploring as they held Michael’s gaze.
Michael just continued to look at him for a second, assessing. The room was quiet, all Lewis could hear was his own breathing, the beat of his heart growing faster and faster.
And then Michael was lifting a hand, casual, lightly caressing Lewis’ jaw before taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Lewis couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through his whole body at the touch, eyes fluttering shut briefly before landing back on Michael, lids heavy.
“Very,” Michael responded, and the tone of his voice, the seriousness of it, the sincerity, had Lewis’ insides twisting. He wanted to run away, to lean in further, to let Michael do whatever he wanted, to never see him again.
He wanted to look down at his feet, too, but Michael’s grip on his chin was firm, so he squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself before opening them again, meeting Michael’s gaze, steady even through his burning embarrassment.
“You don’t call other people nicknames.” He said, and it came out quiet, but there was no tremble in his voice, no fear sneaking through.
Michael leaned in closer, and God, they were an inch apart, and Lewis swallowed, eyes flicking down to the man’s mouth.
“No, I do not,” Michael whispered, and Lewis was breathing heavy, want and guilt sitting like a weight in his chest, felt like it was going to explode out of him.
“I’m not—I don’t—”
He couldn’t even get the panicked words out, eyes still caught on Michael’s lips, praying to God the man would fucking do something.
Michael smirked. “You are either not as subtle as you think you are, or you are not as in control as you think you are.”
It took a second for the words to sink in, but soon enough a flash of annoyance broke through his inner turmoil, making him furrow his eyebrows, eyes finding their way back to Michael’s own.
“I’m in control,” and he knew it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Michael.
Michael just kept smirking, stepping forward once more, had Lewis’ back fully against the door before he could even blink. “Yes? Push me away, then.”
Michael’s hand was large where it moved to press against Lewis’ stomach, keeping him in place, firm and strong, and Lewis’ eyesight went blurry. This wasn’t—it wasn’t—
Lewis moaned as Michael kissed him, instinct and pleasure and shame all mixing together in the fire licking up his veins as their lips melted into each other. His hands jerked where they were still by his sides, but he couldn’t make them move, couldn’t make them push Michael away, or wrap around his shoulders like he so desperately, truly, wanted. Wanted to get closer, to touch—to feel.
And Michael must have sensed his hesitation, because he pulled back, lips spit-slick, his own hands moving to cradle Lewis’ cheeks.
“Lewis, you can. Anything you want, you can.”
And Lewis inexplicably felt tears welling up, the bigness of the words hitting him like a wave, and he couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but finally, finally reach out, grabbing the sides of Michael’s neck and pulling him down to connect their lips again.
It was frantic this time, Michael’s tongue dipping between Lewis’ lips, making Lewis whine into his mouth, hands moving down to fist into Michael’s shirt, pulling him as close as he could. Lewis felt surrounded by him, he was all Lewis could see, taste, feel, it made small noises escape his throat with every strangled breath.
Michael groaned into Lewis’ mouth in response, diving into him even deeper, one hand moving to wrap around his back, pressing them wholly together.
With a shock Lewis realized he was achingly hard already, straining against his underwear, gasped as their cocks rubbed against one another through their jeans. He was so wound up, didn’t think he’d last long at all like this, but he never wanted it to stop.
Each press of Michael’s cock against his was the sweetest pressure, hitting him just right. He got closer and closer, whining into Michael’s mouth as his body tensed, but the man pulled back before he could really get anywhere.
Lewis whined in frustration as Michael smirked down at him, eyes soaking him in, how debauched Lewis probably looked, lips red and swollen.
“Have you ever fucked yourself?” Michael asked then, and he was so casual, confident, it made Lewis’ skin heat up, made the smallest whimper leave his throat, much to Michael’s delight, if the way he stuck his face into Lewis’ neck to leave a kiss on his sweat-slick skin was anything to go by.
Lewis had never—not even with his fingers, had never done anything but play with his own dick. Was too scared, maybe. That he’d like it.
He shook his head, cheeks heating up with the embarrassment of inexperience, but if anything it made Michael’s gaze darken, made his breath quicken, and he was bending down again to kiss Lewis, deep and wet, tongue fucking into his mouth just once before he pulled back.
Before Lewis could register the movement, there was a thumb pressing into his bottom lip, Michael’s eyes watching raptly as he swiped it back and forth, slow and soft. And then it was slipping into Lewis’ mouth, easy as anything, and Lewis’ brain went kind of fuzzy.
He sucked it further in, craving the closeness, the taste of Michael’s skin.
And then the thumb slipped out, but before Lewis could whine at the loss, there were three fingers being shoved into his mouth in its stead, and oh.
He felt like he was floating, the sensation of having his mouth filled like drifting through space and time, pleasure the only thing he knew.
“Get them wet for me,” he heard Michael say distantly, and Lewis didn’t even think before he was swirling his tongue around Michael’s fingers, covering them with as much spit as he could. He could have stayed like that forever, eyes heavy, mouth stuffed full, it turned his brain off in the most inticing way.
“Perfect little bunny.” Michael whispered as his eyes roamed hungrily across Lewis’ face, stopping where his mouth still held his fingers, now covered with spit, dripping down onto his chin. It was messy and humiliating and so fucking hot, Lewis never wanted to do anything else, hear anything else, feel anything else.
He grabbed onto Michael’s hand when he finally tried to pull it out, not wanting to be empty again, and Michael just laughed, wrestled his hand out of Lewis’ grip, and then Lewis was being spun around, face against the door, moaning at the slightly rough treatment. Michael stuck his face into his neck immediately, leaving slow kisses, in contrast to the near frantic way he was pawing at Lewis’ jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them down under Lewis’ ass along with his underwear.
Lewis’ breath hitched when Michael’s dry hand grabbed a handful of his ass, spreading it so his other hand, still covered in his spit, could make its way to his hole. He rubbed over it, lightly, just a tease, but it still had Lewis’ entire body jerking, the reality of what was about to happen finally sinking in. But instead of freaking out or stumbling away, it just made Lewin moan, so loud he was sure anyone within a fifty foot radius of the motorhome could hear him.
And when one of Michael’s fingers finally sunk into him, everything went quiet. Lewis braced himself against the door, breathed out slow, eyes closed as he soaked in the feeling.
It was—not what he expected. There were no fireworks of pleasure, no shocks up his spine, but there was also no pain, no discomfort. He just felt full, like, well—like there was a finger in his ass. But he liked it, liked the weirdness of it, liked the way Michael was breathing into his neck, mouthing at his skin as he worked his way into him.
And then he added a second finger, and it was tight, the stretch burning perfectly, making him moan, sticking his ass harder into Michael’s hands.
“That feel good, bunny?” Michael asked, and Lewis just nodded, moaned again, eyebrows furrowed, breath falling out of him faster and faster. That was when Michael spread his fingers, pressed against Lewis’ walls, searching for something, and when he found it, Lewis nearly blacked out.
There was the shock up his spine, hitting him like a lightning bolt, pleasure so thick and consuming Lewis almost screamed.
“Oh, fuck,” he whined, and Michael just laughed into his neck, moved his finger away from that spot, letting Lewis breath for just a second before finding it again.
Lewis’ body jerked, every muscle dancing under his skin at the intensity of it. He could barely stay standing, Michael’s unoccupied hand wrapping around his waist to keep him upright. He heard Michael spit, felt it land on the skin of his ass, and then his hand was popping out of Lewis’ hole, wiping up the saliva and entering him again. He added a third finger this time, the stretch made easier by the additional moisture, and Lewis felt like he was going to melt.
He felt impossible, this all felt impossible, the enormity of his want exploding behind his eyes, making his brain numb, his body oversensitive.
Michael finally began to really move, fingers thrusting in and out of Lewis, slow but firm, rubbing against his sweet spot every time, sending little zaps of overwhelming pleasure through him with every movement.
And then his other hand was moving again, snaking back down to his jeans, palming Lewis’ cock through the fabric, squeezing, and before Lewis could even breathe he was coming, cum spurting out of him and making a mess of his underwear.
He moaned, high and broken as his orgasm washed over him, breathing in sharp gasps. He hadn’t even realized he was close.
“Let’s get these off you,” Michael said after a few moments, finally removing his fingers from Lewis’ ass so he could grab his jeans and underwead and start pulling them off. Lewis was basically no help, jelly in Michael’s hands as he continued to come down from his high.
Once he stepped out of his pants, Michael twisted him around, moving him in the direction of the tiny bedroom in the back of the motorhome.
He went easy, eyes heavy, could barely even think, just let Michael lead him until the man was gently pushing him onto the bed. He leaned down to kiss Lewis, chaste, considering everything they had just done, but it worked to bring him back a little, made his brain click back on.
Before he knew it Michael was flipping him again, Lewis letting out a little yelp as he manhandled his legs so his knees were bent, ass up in the air, sticking his face into the pillows. And any embarrassment Lewis was feeling at being so exposed was quickly replaced by lightning firing up his spine as Michael licked a stripe right over his hole.
“Michael!” He practically screamed as his back arched, desperately oversensitive, fighting every bone in his body telling him to push back into it. “W—what?”
“Relax, bunny,” he said, confident as always, like it was no big deal. It helped Lewis calm down a little, that Michael knew so much more than him, that he knew how to give Lewis pleasure in ways he’d never even thought about. He slowly worked to loosen his muscles, arching his back and letting his head sink into the pillow, letting himself trust.
“Very good,” Michael said, and Lewis didn’t even have time to keen over the praise before Michael was licking him again, right over his hole. Lewis jerked, gasped, the sensation so foreign but so good.
And then Michael was gripping his hips, hard, tongue breaking through that still tight ring of muscle and licking right into him, and Lewis screamed.
Whatever he had felt when Michael just licked across him was nothing compared to this, Lewis’ muscles twitched wildly as he frantically tried to shove his ass back against Michael, practically wailing when the man’s grip on his hips prevented him from doing anything.
One of Michael’s hands traveled up Lewis’ spine then, pressed into the space between Lewis’ shoulder blades, holding him down, making him arch his back even harder. He thrust his tongue in, swirled it around, pressed further, licking into him. Pulled back out with a pop, a breath, then dove back in, all the while Lewis could barely even breathe, eyes squeezed shut, broken gasps and whines falling out of his mouth with every movement of Michael’s tongue.
It felt like the most heavenly torture, like nothing he’d ever experienced, and he realized with a jolt that he was horribly close to coming. Again.
“Oh fuck, M—Michael, Michael!” He shouted, one arm reaching back to desperately try to grab something, anything, to warn him, to pull him closer, Lewis didn’t know.
And then Michael was backing away, and Lewis thought that might be the worst thing in the world, so close to tumbling over the edge and then being ripped away from it. He nearly wailed at the loss, body trembling and cock pulsing between his legs.
“It’s okay, bunny,” Michael whispered, kissing the dimples right above his ass, hand caressing his skin like he hadn’t just turned Lewis into a puddle, “you will get what you need.”
And then Lewis was being flipped over, again, back against the sheets, shyness crawling up his skin at the way he probably looked, could feel the wetness in his eyes, the spit drying on his chin. But Michael just looked at him like he always did, hungry and knowing.
“And, I must confess,” Michael started again, head tilting, “I want to see you come while I fuck you.”
Lewis’ cheeks grew hotter, silently chastising himself that he was still letting the man embarrass him so easily.
He tilted his chin up, defiant despite his insides telling him to hide. “Well fuck me, then.”
Michael just smirked down at him, then he was scrambling for his own jeans, shucking them off with his underwear, throwing his shirt off, too. Lewis breathed sharp through his nose as he took in the sight, eyes not knowing where to land, flicking over his toned body, from his pecs to his stomach, down to his cock, heavy and red and big. Lewis’ eyes went a little wide, lips falling open, could feel saliva gathering in his mouth.
Michael started moving toward him, dick swinging, and it took a second for Lewis to tear his gaze away, looking back up at Michael’s face, expecting the smirk he saw.
He covered Lewis with his body, leaning down to kiss him again, licking into him, making him moan. Lewis’ hands wrapped around his back as they kissed, one gripping the man’s shoulders and the other falling into his hair.
Michael maneuvered Lewis’ legs again, folding his knees up so they were by his shoulders, and then Lewis felt something rubbing against his hole, and he whined at the sensation, wiggling his ass to try and make Michael move faster.
But Michael just pulled back, held out his hand palm-up in front of Lewis, told him to spit, and Lewis did. He watched as Michael rubbed it on his cock, thanking God Michael knew what he was doing because Lewis would have just let him shove it in with nothing, and then—
Lewis threw his head back into the pillows as Michael pushed in, the man’s fingers and tongue from earlier making the slide easy, but he still felt so fucking full. He had always tried his best not to imagine how it would feel, but all of his miniscule expectations were thrown out of the window in that moment. It felt divine, right, like he was made for it, like Michael was made to be inside of him.
He slowly pressed deeper and deeper, eyes watching Lewis for any signs of discomfort as he sunk in. And Lewis could only make small, wrecked noises as Michael began to speed up, his hands wrapping around the man’s neck, using him as an anchorpoint.
Michael kept going, let his thrusts get faster, harder, slamming into Lewis over and over, broken gasps falling out of Lewis with every movement.
And then, he shifted his hips, pushed back in, and hit that spot inside Lewis that had his eyes squeezing shut, head thrown back as he moaned, hands scrambling to find purchase on anything they could. He dug his fingernails into Michael’s back, making the man groan, hips speeding up, pounding into him even harder.
Michael leaned down, then, pressed his forehead against Lewis’, not slowing down, every thrust making pleasure-filled whines escape Lewis’ throat.
“Do you want to be as good as me, bunny?” He asked, panting into Lewis’ mouth, voice hoarse and hungry. “Do you want to be as good as me?”
And he wasn’t talking about sex, he was talking about driving, which might as well be sex, and Lewis didn’t hesitate, this was the one thing in his life he had always been sure of. He grabbed the sides of Michael’s face, pulled him into another heated, messy kiss, moaned into it, then pushed back, eyes intent where they bore into Michael’s.
“I’m gonna be better,” he said, wrecked and breathless but sure.
And Michael laughed, an airy, joyful thing, not at Lewis, no, but like it’s exactly what he wanted him to say, what he needed him to say. Like their minds were connected as much as their bodies.
Lewis watched his face, watched it shift from laughter to blissed-out pleasure, and then he was coming, hips pistoning into Lewis one, two, three times before stopping as deep inside of him as he could. He fell back down, connecting their mouths again, hard, and Lewis could feel the warmth of his come spilling inside him, the heat of his mouth, his tongue, and he was so close.
“Call me it again,” Lewis said, begged, though he’d never admit it, “say it back to me.”
Michael looked down at him in awe, hips fucking tiny little circles into Lewis as he came down. He just needed—
“You,” he started, thrusting into him hard even through the overstimulation he was clearly feeling, even though his cock was softening, “are going to be,” he thrust again, “better,” he leaned down, whispered the last word into Lewis’ ear, “bunny.”
And Lewis was coming, untouched, just from the words, from Michael’s spent cock rubbing inside of him just right. His whole world narrowed down to the two of them, could only see Michael’s face as the man rapidly took in Lewis, watching the way his face looked when he came, like he never wanted to look anywhere else.
Michael dropped down to kiss him again, softer this time, and Lewis moaned into it. He felt fucked out in every sense of the word, but also cared for, seen, praised, every good thing he could think of.
He expected to start to freak out a little, to feel the shame and guilt he had felt earlier creep back into him, but when Michael laid down beside him, scooping him up into his arms and pressing a kiss onto his forehead, Lewis felt anything but.