#estebance

I have not picked up a clip editing app since iMovie but I’ve been craving to make an edit surrounding formula 1 for months. Seeing Esteban pull Lance into conversation after noticing him standing alone was my tipping point.

He’s already starting to tent, half hard by the time Lance pulls his freshly worn jeans down and lets it pool at his ankles. Lance grips Esteban’s thighs, his hands hot against Esteban’s skin. Esteban typically runs cold.

Lance eyes Esteban’s bare cock with some inscrutable emotion in his eyes, face carefully blank. It does nothing to deter Esteban, however, being studied like he’s being watched under a microscope.

Lance finally breaks the stalemate, leaning in to lave his tongue along Esteban’s shaft, one broad swipe of his tongue that’s too dry and rough and sends electricity zipping down Esteban’s spine. Esteban’s hands fly out to Lance’s head, slipping into his hair and gripping lightly as a way to ground himself.

Lance gives an approving hum as he gets to work, tongue wetter with each lick and working Esteban to full hardness. The walls are far too thin, and Esteban is highly conscious of it as he stifles as much of his noises by biting down on his bottom lip as he can.

Lance finally takes Esteban’s cock fully into his mouth in one obscenely smooth motion, almost down to the fucking hilt. Esteban’s not a cocky man, but he’s certainly not small, but Lance takes it like a fucking professional and Esteban throws his head back with a muffled groan, the sting in his skull from hitting the wall overshadowed by the slick sound of his cock in Lance’s sinful mouth and the pleasure building rapidly down south.

Esteban forces himself to keep his eyes open despite his body resisting the motion. He looks down, chest heaving, at Lance—his face flushed a pretty red, lips stretched obscenely around Esteban’s cock, fingers digging into Esteban’s thighs.

Lance isn’t loud in bed, his pleasure evident in the way he picks up his pace, bobbing his head faster, saliva pooling in his mouth and his movements getting sloppier.

Esteban’s the opposite; he struggles to keep quiet, fear of the paper thin walls of his driver’s room completely forgotten as a mismatch of French and English curses and praises fall out his lips, fingers tightening in Lance’s hair, tugging in time with Lance’s movements.

He comes to the sight of Lance looking up at him, eyes glazed over and pupils blown wide, cheeks ruddy red and a thin trail of drool sliding down to his chin from the corner of his lips.

Lance drinks it all in with a quiet groan, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes fall shut.

Later, when Esteban has tucked himself back into his pants and helped Lance stand up, they share a quiet kiss, close-lipped and far too chaste for what they had just done.

But Lance smiles afterward, a gentle curve of his lips that lets Esteban know that he’s alright. That this will pass and they’ll be back to talking as they usually do, and that nothing has changed.

“Lance I—” Esteban stutters. “I didn’t mean like… Sorry.”

Lance scrubs a hand over his eyes, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, Este. I know you didn’t. Sorry.” When Lance looks back at him, Esteban is chewing his lip. Lance sits on the chair in an attempt to calm him. Esteban’s shoulder relax fractionally and Lance takes it as a win. He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. Sometimes he really wishes he didn’t have to do media. 

He feels Esteban move away from his side and tries not to be bitter about it. He knows he’s not good company right now. He never is when he’s in one of these moods. But Esteban is supposed to be there for him. He’s supposed to stick with him through thick and thin. 

Lance can’t really blame him for leaving though. He squeezes his eyes closed even harder. A feeble attempt to block out the rest of the world. 

He hears the scrape of a chair beside him and pries an eye open. Esteban shuffles the chair he’s found into place, pressed against Lance’s. 

Lance lets his eye fall closed again, but it’s no longer a tight scrunch. Just gently closed, enjoying a moment of peace. 

Fingers worm their way into the space between his chest and where his arms are folded across it. They snake along his forearm until they can slip between his own fingers. Lance squeezes Esteban’s hand.

Slowly, he feels Esteban curl his larger frame into Lance’s side, head softly pillowed on Lance’s shoulder. The tension starts to drain from Lance. He’s so lucky to have Esteban in his life.