Higher, Faster, Stronger - Part 1
Characters: Charles Pic, Jenson Button, Arthur Pic, Nico Rosberg, Lewis Hamilton, Emilien Colombain, Jean Eric Vergne.
Pairings: Jenson Button/Charles Pic.
Summary: Olympics AU.
Rating: Black Flag.
Sports - tennis doubles - Arthur/Charles; triathlon - Nico/Jenson; sprinting - Lewis; gymnastics - Jev.
(Hopefully part of an series of Olympics AU.)
--
Nico returns from getting them drinks to drag them back over towards the bar. (Which, Jenson opines, is hardly a proper bar because the entire Village is dry. Which is good, because drinking before an event is hardly a good idea, but still. Not a proper bar.) "Come on, we have to beat them!" He declares, stopping in front of a group of French athletes, chin tilted up as Nico is wont to do.
"Bring it on." One of them says, cheeky grin, offers a coin to toss for the first break. Nico and Lewis play, against Jean-Eric and Arthur. Charles sits next to Jenson on the nearby unused table, cross-legged and sipping at his coke, laughing at the French being flung around by his friends and brother. He smiles shyly at Jenson as Jenson watches him, offers conversation in halting English. He's nice-looking, Jenson muses, watches him blush under Jenson's measured gaze. He flirts with him, careful not to push Charles' boundaries too far, enjoying himself. He likes this, relaxing with old friends and new, a little bit of flirting, a good time.
-
"Hey!" Jenson yells, jogs over to Charles having spotted him in the bustle of the food hall, queues up next to him for pasta. They chat a little, catch up on training, the gossip. They sit together too, Jenson stealing Charles' chips. (Hey, if you didn't order it, it's not your food. At least, that's what he'll tell his trainer later.) "I love your accent." Jenson says, after Charles has enthusiastically talked about his event, watches Charles' blush spread across his cheeks. Charles shrugs, stares at his food. "It's nice, different."
"I suppose." Charles says, reaches for his drink and sips at it, lips tight around the straw, delicious contrast against its bright white and the pink of his lips. Jenson tears his gaze from them, licks his own and watches Charles' stare dart up to them.
-
Every time he sees him from then on, Jenson will go out of his way to chat with him, a little flirting, discovering that prising laughter out of him turns out to be like panning for gold and finding nuggets. They grow closer, what with spending all this time together. Jenson will tag along to watch events with him, tease him if the British beat the French, scowl playfully if its the opposite way around.
-
Jenson asks him out when they're walking back alone from an evening spent playing pool, only the two of them had stayed later while Jenson attempted to teach Charles how to play darts, pressing their bodies close together, his hand warm around Charles. He nudges him against a convenient wall, hands falling to settle on Charles' hips, nose brushing against his jaw. Charles breathes in audibly, startled, hand rising to Jenson's shoulder, just resting there while he tries to get his brain to focus on thinking and not on every part of Jenson that he can feel.
"Jenson." Charles says, frowns and pushes at Jenson's shoulder, moving him away from him and suddenly finding it easier to think when Jenson isn't overwhelming his senses. "I am not here to find a boyfriend. I am here to compete." Jenson frowns back, watches Charles eyes as they attempt to avoid Jenson's. "And I cannot have a boyfriend."
"Why not?" Jenson asks, reaching out to run fingers down Charles' arm.
"I have-" He starts, "-I have to have a family, a wife. I cannot be gay, Jenson." He finishes, pats Jenson's elbow before he runs off, although he can't hide the quiet wiping of his eyes as Jenson watches him disappear into the crowd.
-
He thinks about it all evening. Somebody wants him, for exactly what he is and he wants Jenson too, of course he does. But he can't. He can't because he has a responsibility to his family, a responsibility that means he cannot be gay, no matter how much he's beginning to realise he is. But its late at night when he finally comes to a conclusion, watching Arthur sleep because he can't. His brother's asleep with his phone still in his hand, having fallen asleep talking to his girlfriend, and Charles sighs, because he wants that. He wants someone to phone late at night and let their voice lull him to sleep. He wants someone to buy quirky little gifts for, write postcards to. He wanders into their little living room area to find Emilien's still awake, messing around on their xbox, and he glances up, frowns. "What happened with the guy?"
"Jenson." Charles says, sits down and sighs. "He asked me out."
"Oh." Emilien pauses his game properly, setting it to save while he turns to Charles and pats his knee. "And?"
"I said no."
"Why? He's not bad looking." Emilien winks, laughs as Charles screws up his face at the idea of Emilien finding Jenson attractive too. "Go for it, its the Olympics, not going to happen again, is it?"
"Yeah." Charles sighs again.
"And besides, if you're getting the family business, I'm sure Arthur could provide the heirs. Pretty sure that nobody will really care as long as you're doing your job and playing well. And besides, he might not even want this after the Games are over."
"So go for it?"
"Your choice." Emilien points out. "But go for it." He turns off the TV and xbox and heads to bed, leaving Charles sat up to stare at his phone.
-
Jenson wakes to find Charles has texted him, unknown number flashing up on his phone because while Charles has his number scribbled onto a napkin, he doesn't have his in return. Well, now he does. And a badly worded apology, a date offer and an explanation. But its cute, Jenson smiles, firing a text back and suggesting they meet after one of Charles' matches, because then they're already out in London, and a date in London is better than one in the Village, even if barely anyone will notice them in the Village.
-
“Nice one.” Jenson whoops, peering around the changing room door. Charles shrieks, one hand curling over his chest where his heart stammers with the shock of Jenson appearing suddenly.
“Don’t-” He starts, points a finger at Jenson as the Brit flops against the wall lazily, openly admiring Charles in just his boxers, hair still damp from his shower. He’s quick to wriggle into his jeans, t-shirt pulled over his head while Jenson gazes at the play of muscles in his stomach when he lift his arms over his head to pull on the faded shirt. He messes with his phone, sat cross-legged on the floor while the three talk tactics (presumably), in French, plans for the quarter final the day after tomorrow. “Hey.” Charles says, some time later, stood over him and smiling down at him, only the two of them left in the room.
“Where-”
“They have gone back to the Village.” Charles explains. “I thought-”
“Date?” Jenson guesses, grins as Charles nods shyly. “Give us a hand up then.” He groans, lets Charles drag him up off the floor. “Where to, seen as you must know Wimbledon better than me.”
“Italian?” Charles suggests, keeps his hand in Jenson’s and leads the way out, easily finding their way out (Jenson had got lost no less than three times on his way in, but then Charles has played here a few times already, he’s learnt his way around.) and into the streets of Wimbledon itself.
The restaurant, when they eventually find it, is a small family-run affair, where Jenson pulls out Charles’ chair for him and nudges a socked foot against his ankle just after he’s sat down opposite. “What’s good then?” He inquires, smiling behind the swiftly delivered menu as Charles blushes again, struggling to focus on anything other than Jenson’s toe drawing faint circles around the jut of his ankle bone. Charles hums in reply, glances up at him before he returns his attention to the mention, nudging Jenson’s foot to one side to toe off his trainers too before he tangles their feet together again.
“The lasagne is very nice.” He answers,
“In that case, lasagne.” Jenson nods, putting down the rich menu before he completely overloads on food. Ignoring the McDonalds in the food hall is hard enough, he’s already planned his post-event feast.
“Erm-” Charles frowns. “The Bolognaise.” He decides, settling on his usual favourite and handing the menus back to the waiter as Jenson orders them both water.
“Good game.” Jenson starts, watches Charles play with his glass of water, fingers doodling patterns in the condensation.
“Yeah.” Charles agrees, smiles at Jenson. And their conversation spirals from there, easily interwoven with a delicious meal, and Jenson can’t help but notice how much more confident Charles seems with English at the end of the night, leant into the warmth of Jenson’s touch as they wait for their taxi, laughing over Jenson’s sarcastic comments about the passers-by, whispered into his ear. It’s cute though, the little crease that appears between his eyebrows when he tries to think of the word he wants, and his accent sometimes sends Jenson’s knees wobbling.
-
Jenson is content to wander up to Charles’ room with him, content to cuddle entirely innocently on the sofa while the others play a racing game, completely unable to understand anything that’s going on, not when they’re speaking in French, but it’s nice. Having a boyfriend to curl up with on a sofa, and he’s missed this while he was single. He still heads back to Team GB for the night to find Lewis is sat up with Nico, teaching him to play guitar, and the soft sounds of them playing lull Jenson to a sleep filled with soft, curious touches from a blue eyed Frenchman.
-
They kiss for the first time after Charles' final. Charles is shaking with the adrenaline rush, legs wobbly underneath him and he collapses against Jenson with a delighted giggle, arms wrapping around Jenson's neck. Jenson brushes a kiss over his temple, pulls him close with hands splayed over the small of his back, grinning at Arthur and Emilien as they celebrate too, with a bottle of champagne brought in from somewhere. Jenson though has to leave the celebrations early, although he has fun dancing around a nightclub for a few hours with an increasingly tipsy Charles.
Tipsy Charles turns into a hungover Charles the next day, knocking on his apartment door with DVDs and easily cured of his hangover with a cup of tea and a video game, which is where they spend their afternoon and evening until the door bangs open and then slams shut, Lewis stomping in.
“You alright?” Jenson asks, frowns at the evidently upset Lewis when the sprinter storms in, face black as thunder. “Lew?”
“I’m fricking fine, man.” Lewis snaps, slams the bathroom door shut behind him. Jenson raises an eyebrow and then turns back to the game, and Lewis still is in the bathroom when they return from dinner, so they snuggle up together with Jenson’s laptop and Charles' DVDs, completely losing track of the plot during a lazy make out session but it doesn't matter because Charles' soft lips move easily against Jenson’s and his warm body is pressed close, no end goal to the kissing but to just enjoy it. It’s nice, Jenson muses, curiously drizzling kisses underneath Charles’ ear and enjoying his reactions, just kissing for kissing’s sake. They watch the epic battle scene out of the corner of their eyes, too interested in each other to care about it. It wasn’t that epic anyway, Jenson muses later, carefully putting the laptop out of the way and looking away while Charles changes into a spare pair of Jenson’s pyjamas, unwilling to get nude in front of him and unable to go in the bathroom because Lewis is still in there, probably sulking or something.
“You staying here, then, presumably?” Jenson asks him while he’s changing himself, stripping confidently while Charles blushes but nods, glancing away with apparently difficulty until Jenson is dressed in a pair of tartan pants. He looks so adorable, too-long pant legs that tangle around his toes and a t-shirt that hangs baggily around his lithe frame, and he fits perfectly into Jenson’s arms when Jenson pulls him close and tucks the covers around him, turning off the lights and breathing in his scent. “I like this. Just sleeping together.” He murmurs, Charles humming a reply as he snuggles into Jenson’s hold, relaxing, no longer as tense as he used to be when Jenson touched him. He likes that change, he decides, before the warmth of another body and the feeling of genuine love surrounding him has him in some of the most restful sleep he’s had in years.
Charles wakes unusually warm, begins to squirm to get away from the nearly unbearable heat before he realises he can’t, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, and realises that Jenson is spooned around him, snoring into his shoulder. It’s still too warm though, and he wriggles an arm free to push the cover off them, freezes when he realises that Lewis is now sleeping across the room from them, but then calms again when Lewis rolls over onto his back and starts snoring too, harmonising with Jenson’s quieter snuffles. And with that, he drowses contently, watching the dust swirl in the thin ray of light that pours in from the mostly-closed curtain.
It’s a undetermined time later when Jenson wakes, snuffles turning to sleepy murmurs before he properly wakes, and groans unhappily. “You OK?” Charles frowns, rolls over now Jenson has sat up after nuzzling at his neck, leaving a couple of delicate kisses there.
“Nervous.” Jenson laughs weakly, glances over at the still sleeping Lewis, frowns. “Didn’t hear him come to bed.”
“No.” Charles agrees, but stretches out his stiff body, hauls himself off the bed.
“Go on, first shower’s yours.” Jenson offers, smiles up at him, scratches his bare stomach, ignoring his morning wood to avoid completely spooking Charles. “I’ll find you some clean underwear to borrow.”
“Thank you.” Charles kisses him chastely, darts off into the bathroom, but not before Jenson notices the tent in his pants, smirks to himself before he drags himself out of bed too, tiptoeing around to avoid waking Lewis.
-
Jenson’s unusually quiet at breakfast, sat with the German Nico Rosberg (and god, Charles has heard some stories of their drunken escapades at the end of a season), who’s cheerfully nattering away about the latest gossip from the Daily Mail that‘s open on the table next to him. Charles tunes out of the drivel, fed up of hearing about whatever the Kardashians are doing now, people watching instead while Jenson rubs socked toes against his ankle, yawning every now and then. The food hall is, as usual, busy with athletes preparing for the day of competition ahead, some just returning from the night before and others lazing around with their work over, getting ready to go out and enjoy the more relaxed feel of the Olympics post-event. All too soon for Jenson though, and how odd, that he’s been so excited about this yet so terrified of this (and he’s done two Olympics now, he shouldn’t still be like this), it’s time for him to leave, Charles giving him a all-too-sweet good luck kiss and already heading off to find a good spot to watch the event with his brother and Emilien. He’s always been secure in his talent and ability, now he’s got someone to show it off to.
-
When Jenson finally, finally sees Charles again, the young Frenchman flings himself at Jenson, taking them both down with how wobbly Jenson’s legs are, muscles exhausted from the race. “Congratulations.” Charles gasps out, voice hoarse with the amount of screaming he’d done as the competitors passed him on the course. Jenson laughs, sits them up and grins innocently at Arthur, who’s still thankful he’d thought ahead enough to buy earplugs, what with how deafening Charles’ yells had been. And that was with only one can of Red Bull as well.
“Yeah, can’t have you beating me on the medal count.” Jenson laughs. “You up for a party later?”
“Oui!” Charles chirps, giggling against Jenson’s shoulder.
“We’re just gonna-” Emilien mutters, already walking off, though they both give him their congratulations before they do so. Jenson chuckles, pokes Charles and makes him stand up again.
“Come on then. Me and Nico are out on the town.” He explains, nods at the German emerging from his accommodation block.
-
Charles is a giggly drunk, plastered to Jenson’s side, tottering around as if he’s wearing heels. They’re both pretty drunk, but Charles is far less used to it than Jenson, and its gone straight to his head. Not that Jenson had minded, not when there had been progressively dirtier dancing before it had nearly gone too far, because alcohol definitely lowers your inhibitions, Charles had proved that alright. The cool air of the London night is more than enough to bring them both round a little by the time they’ve walked back from the taxi ranks to the village, but Jenson still has to manhandle his boyfriend up the stairs and ends up waking Arthur to get Charles into bed because Lewis will kill him if he gets woken up by Charles' drunken giggles, hasty apologies as he beats a swift retreat before Arthur’s serial killer face makes an appearance past the face of sleepy grumpiness. Charles does a similar but much more adorable face, Jenson muses, laughing delightedly as he makes his way back to his own room, somehow doesn’t wake Lewis in his attempts to get into his bed without his jeans but also manages to find his medal, tucked under his pillow, sleeps with it securely in his hand, not planning on letting it go now he’s finally got his hands on one.
-
“Hey.” Jenson grins, startles Charles when he appears behind him one of the lawns in the Village, arms wrapping around him, chin resting on his shoulder. “How’s the hangover?”
“Horrible.” Charles groans, eyes half closed even behind his sunglasses, but smiles anyway, leans back into Jenson’s warmth, laughing as Emilien gets smacked in the face with the swing ball, complaining of an unfair disadvantage, playing against an Olympic tennis gold medallist.
“Coffee?” Jenson proffers the cup, Charles grabbing it with a look of bliss when he sticks it under his nose. “Hi guys. Congratulations, by the way, I don’t think I saw you after I sort of stole Charles off you yesterday.”
“Yes, you did.” Arthur accuses. “But you did return him. Even if he woke me up.”
“Sorry.” Charles mutters around the rim of the cardboard cup, slips into French so his brain hurts less and complains, “if it’s any consolation, my head is killing me.”
“I do love it when you speak French.” Jenson whispers in his ear, smiles against his ear when Charles shivers lightly. “Even if I have no idea what you are saying.”
“I will teach you.” Charles offers.
“Oui.” Jenson grins. “See, look, I already know one word!”
“Well done.” Charles mutters, sarcasm leaching into his voice already.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Jenson says, kisses his cheek. “I’m taking you out, meet you at one-ish?”
“Yeah.” Charles calls after him, smile turning the corners of his lips up, even through the ceaseless mocking he’s just let himself in for.
-
“You ready?” Jenson asks, nods at one of the French team who recognises him by now as they let him in to wait at the bottom of the staircase as Charles thuds down it.
“Hi.” Charles gasps, jumps the last three stairs, collides into Jenson. “You always take me out on dates.”
“I want to spoil you.” Jenson murmurs, tilts his chin up to kiss him. “Let me spoil you.” He brushes his thumb over Charles’ bottom lip, “And besides, you can show me around Montelimar later.”
“You’d come visit?”
“Yeah?” Jenson sounds stunned Charles would think otherwise, stares down at him until Charles blushes and looks away. “Come on. Let’s go wander around London. You can spoil me and buy me a present if you’d like.”
“Shopping?”
“Why not? Let’s pretend to be posh in Harrods. Or Selfridges.” Jenson practically bounces out of the door, pulling Charles along in his wake.
-
The advantages of getting public transport there are that it’s free and they end up pressed together in the crush of people flooding the train from the park. “You know where we are going?” Charles asks Jenson’s chest, squeaks when the train pulls away from the station as he nearly falls over, saved by the arm Jenson flings around his back to pull him back upright and the masses of people around them.
“Careful.” Jenson warns, words rumbling through his chest as Charles rests his head on it, still tired from the night before even with the numerous cups of coffee he’s consumed today. “Yeah, I do. Don’t worry, I won’t let you get lost.”
“Good.” Charles nods, smiles at the light kiss Jenson drops to the top of his head, stares curiously around the train, nearly dozes off and startles awake when the train comes to a halt in St Pancreas.
“Come on.” Jenson calls over the crowd, tugs Charles after him, down into the bowels of the London Underground. “Be tourists, or be posh tourists?”
“What is the difference?”
“Oxford Street or Harrods.” Charles shrugs in response. “Oxford Street, I can’t be bothered to do Harrods, I can’t afford anything anyway. And Hamleys, Charles, Hamleys.”
“What?” Charles demands, following him in the crowds.
“A massive toy store.”
“You are a child.” He marvels, Jenson laughs and shrugs, and lets him have the one seat free on the tube.
-
Jenson’s even more of a child in Hamleys, giggling and everything, delighted by the collection of stuffed toys and forces a massive stuffed lion on Charles as a gift. Charles buys them coffee and cakes in a tiny café where the lion takes up a whole bench seat, and Jenson practically orgasms over his cake, and Charles spends the entire time blushing with the noises Jenson’s making.
-
"So, you enjoy London?" Jenson asks, when they're wandering back through the park as the evening kicks off, the park busying up as people here for the afternoon head home and those heading to watch the evening arrive. The lion makes them stand out, but it does give them room to manoeuvre, people moving out of their way. Jenson had been prepared to use his elbows but no need for such measures.
"Yes, it was amazing!" Charles yells over the noise, following Jenson the best he can, glad of the crowd around them because even though they're given space to move, there's still lots of people and its pushing them closer to each other, and Charles likes that.
"I can't believe I bought a lion." Jenson says, once they're free of the mass of the crowd, heading towards the slightly quieter area of the Athlete's Village. "Why?"
"It was a present, for me. You said." Charles points out.
"Hamleys." Jenson sighs. "I always go mental in that shop."
"I couldn't tell." Charles sniggers, grinning widely before he gets the lion dumped into his arms again as Jenson types in the door code for his building.
"I have so much random stuff I've bought in there. I went a bit crazy after last year's London Marathon, I've got a massive tiger too."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'll have to show you it, you need to come round or something."
"Later." Charles decides, abandons the lion on the sofa in the living room of the little apartment that Jenson shares with Lewis and two other British triathletes, wraps his arms around Jenson's waist and smiles against Jenson's hoodie when Jenson pulls him close, nuzzles at his hair. He pulls back then, looking up at Jenson and then leans up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders instead, taking Jenson's tiny gasp as a hint and pushing his hips forward too, rubs himself against Jenson's thigh and mewls at the sensation, because even through two layers of denim and the thin cotton layer of his boxers, it's delicious friction, and so new, large hands cradling his face while they kiss, stubble rubbing against his own, and Jenson's cock rubbing against his hip, hardening nearly as rapidly as Charles is.
"Charles?" Jenson asks, pulling back and laughing as Charles pouts.
"Why are you laughing?" Charles demands, frowning.
"Your pout's adorable." Jenson says, running his thumb over it and swallowing his moan when Charles absently darts his tongue out to lick over his bottom lip after Jenson's thumb passes over it. He can't help but kiss him again, pressing against him again, hands sliding down Charles' back to curve around his arse and the groan that drags out of Charles is more than worth the risks of his action.
"Please." Charles gasps, breaks the kiss to pant against Jenson's shoulder, following Jenson's encouragement and rocking his hips forwards to rub their bodies together, provide them both with friction.
"Come on." Jenson encourages Charles to follow him, gently pushes him on his bed and kneels over him. "Are you OK with this? Because I'm going to suck you off. If you don't mind." Charles closes his eyes, takes a couple of deep breaths and opens them open. They've darkened, pupils widening and Jenson falls in love with how he looks like this, dark eyes and flushed cheeks, open mouth and red, bitten lips; and when Charles nods, one hand reaching up to play with the short hairs at the nape of Jenson's neck, Jenson's quick to act, desperate to get his mouth on Charles, to pleasure him. Charles is shy when Jenson strips him, but arousal has given him a desperation that is enough to overcome that shyness, that lingering fear over his sexuality and the groan he gives when Jenson takes his cock into his mouth is enough to have Jenson leaking already. Charles is quiet, but his murmurs of French that Jenson barely understands and the little mewls and whimpers when Jenson does something he likes are so utterly arousing that when Charles tumbles over the edge, Jenson barely manages to swallow before he comes sticky into his own palm, lifts his hand to lick at his own come and bites gently at Charles' navel to catch his attention, smirking around his fingers as Charles moans, eyes barely open with how sleepy and relaxed his orgasm has made him. He's utterly boneless when Jenson curls up next to him after turning off the light and finding a clean sheet to sleep under, because even when he opens the window it's too warm to be comfortable under the wonderful souvenir duvets, and Jenson smiles into Charles' bare shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Are you alright?" Jenson asks, drizzles kisses across Charles' shoulder and the nape of his neck, sniffing at his hair and enjoying his scent, letting their breathing slow and fall into rhythm.
"Je t'aime." Charles whispers, squirms around in Jenson's arms and rolls over, snuggles up with his head tucked under Jenson's chin and falls asleep before Jenson can say 'I love you' back. But that's ok, he can say it in the morning, Jenson thinks, before he falls asleep too.
-
"I thought maybe we could get a hotel, seen as we're never going to find a free room again, are we?" Jenson says quietly to Charles, careful to keep his voice low to avoid being heard by Arthur, sat the other side of Charles. Mexico score then, and the stadium rises to its feet in disbelief and delight, Jenson's question forgotten until Charles sits back down, looks over at him.
"I-yes." He replies. "To both questions."
"Alright, I'll get on it." Jenson smiles at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and offering him his beer, laughing as Charles scrunches his nose up, definitely not a fan of the mass-produced drink Jenson has.
--
Part 2
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