#pierestebarles

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Charles/Esteban/Pierre

nsfw: no poor substitute by @leclercenjoyer | E | 4.2k Charles and Pierre are mated. Charles goes into heat early while Pierre is out of the country. They ask Esteban to help. Esteban longs for both Pierre and Charles, but has always respected their relationship and the slightly awkward detente they’ve all achieved. He doesn’t hesitate to help when asked, but he also doesn’t dream of overstepping and treats Charles gently and with the utmost respect. The three of them (Pierre is joining in by phone) come to an understanding that they all want more of each other.

'Charles is warm all over. The skin of his back is flushed and sweaty, sticking to Esteban's chest where they’re pressed together. His heat broke earlier, so he's cooling down bit by bit as he comes back to himself, no longer feverish and searing to the touch but still not quite back to normal. His belly, under Esteban's hand where it is splayed. And the back of his neck, where Esteban has tucked his nose against his spine, hair tickling his forehead. All warm. He's warm inside, too, his slick heat a firm pressure around Esteban's swollen knot where they’re still locked together. If he concentrates, he's pretty sure he can feel Charles' heartbeat pulsing around him, slow and steady. They're both exhausted, the past three days having taken a toll, and they’re both covered in a lot more than just sweat, but cleanup will have to wait until Esteban's knot subsides. For now, he simply holds Charles close and lets his mind drift. He’s half-dozing, or something close to it, when he becomes aware of Charles’ quiet murmuring. At first, his barely-conscious mind thinks Charles is talking to himself, even though it barely makes sense. He's probably not talking to Esteban, given how quiet he is. Then a pause, and another voice filters through. It’s tinny, and probably at the lowest possible volume Charles' phone can go, but it's unmistakably Pierre. Oh. Right.'

Alex/George

nsfw: Like as a huntsman by @boxboxlewis | E | 11k

Alex and George bond to one another when they are 19 and 17. George is pressured to have the mating mark surgically removed and the bond broken and is then discouraged from seeing Alex at all. The angst in this fic is palpable. George and Alex bonded too young by society’s standards, but of course it was right for them. George’s deference to authority is very in character for him. He spends a lot of time and effort trying to suppress and ignore his emotions and physical responses, and trying to live up to what he has been told is “best” for him.

He wakes up again and realises, this time, that he must be in hospital. Presumably, this has something to do with the pain at the side of his neck. It's sickening, the pain, throbbing and ebbing in great kaleidoscopic swells that make thought very challenging. He tries to remember what happened and can't. Someone appears at his bedside: a nurse, presumably. George says "Why" and starts crying, slow hot tears leaking from his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. The nurse says, "Ah, hmm, I'll just fetch the surgeon. I won't be a minute." This is, of course, a lie. George waits in a state of confused dread. The surgeon is an alpha, which means she arrives in a choking cloud of musk that somehow makes the pain in his neck worse, brutal waves of it cascading into his skull and washing through his arms and legs. "Right, George," she says briskly. "I'm Ms Kincaid, I'm a consultant surgeon in dynamic medicine here. Do you remember why you're in hospital?" George shakes his head, which is an error. As he does, a memory comes back, and he shuts his eyes against it: Alex saying Come on, Georgie, this is for the best. Don’t make it difficult. Saying that he didn’t want to be mated to George anymore, that it had all been a mistake. "Try not to move your head," Ms Kincaid advises, cheerfully oblivious to the devastation George is reliving. "You've just had a major operation. Preliminary indications are very promising, but the healing process will take time." "What," George says. Ms Kincaid leans forward and rests a hand on George's leg, and he can't scream or say no so he just sits frozen. "We removed your mating bite," the doctor says. "We successfully severed the bond, you're back to being unmated. As if the bite never happened. A very exciting result, it's quite an experimental surgery." George needs Alex. He tries to call out through their mating bond and recoils in shock from the frightening blank nothingness that meets him. He tries again, harder, and faints.

Daniel/Max

you only have to ask by @toastandvegemite | T | 13k

After Michael can no longer be Daniel’s ‘Supervising Alpha’, he is left with just a week to find a new Alpha or risk being unable to race. Max is always there. I loved how in this work there is a balance of Omega Daniel and Alpha Max, but also confident Daniel and quiet Max. I love a/b/o set within racing environments, and this feels like a well thought out depiction of that. All of the characterisations are very fitting.

Daniel meets Max with everything he had, tried to drag him closer even when Max was holding him so hard he couldn’t barely breathe. It was like falling into the turbulent ocean, the sensations crashing into him like a breaking wave, filling his head with a roar that was nearly deafening.

Charles/Max

nsfw: like fire and powder by @grandprix-ao3 | E | 15.5k

Max and Charles are both alphas, until they both learn the myth of “bitching” is actually true when Charles becomes an omega. I love non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, and this fic is complex and thoughtful. Max in particular is beautifully characterised. You get the sense he was never all that comfortable as an alpha and he rebels against his own instincts. He is especially frustrated by the way his instincts drive him to behave differently around Charles than he did before. They both need to learn to navigate this new dynamic if they are to maintain their relationship.

“But I am an Alpha.” It’s all Max can think to say after Charles propositions him. His heart rabbits in his chest, ribs aching with it, cracking under the pressure. All of his skin burns hot, blistering, burdened by Sakhir’s heat. The thick collar of his fireproofs has never felt so stifling, wrapped hotly around his throat with a hate, easy to fiddle with when fingers tremor under the wound of Charles’s eyes, his words, the way he says it like he means it—you piss me off, you piss me off, please touch me, please touch me. Charles twitches. He stands with his feet apart, race suit loose at his hips, sleeves nearly dragging on the floor. He looks more aggressive all done up in red, framed by the closed door of Max’s driver’s room. His face is burning, too. Sweaty, wet without champagne. Max’s has it, the sweet taste of victory, bubbling and crystalline against the heat of his skin. He wonders how much of his scent is drowned out beneath it, if it’s anything like Charles’s smell now, hot and aggressive and battered by the stink of losing. He refuses to rest his weight. Charles stands like he might pounce, fists clenching and unclenching, shoulders tight. His lips are off-kilter. He has too much stubble. He looks fit to burst, steam seeping from his ears, halfway to explosive. “I know,” is what he finally answers with, and his voice is batty. It rumbles with something low, growling, straight from the chest. Max leans forward instinctively, challenging, not one to surrender without a fight. His racing boots scuff against the floor.