Banter (ch. 1)
Series: Banter
Pairing: Roy Kent x f!Reader
Summary: You and Roy Kent do not get along. But your mysterious Bantr match on the other hand…
A/N: SEASON 3! SEASON 3! Ted Lasso is the only thing holding my sanity together so I figured I might as well write for it. Enjoy!
(Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5)
series masterlist
Shutterbug: Do you ever feel like no one really knows you?
SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes. Most of the people I interact with are fucking idiots.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Has something prompted this existential crisis?
Shutterbug: My friends. And work. Everything.
SirSwears-a-Lot: It's hard to be vulnerable with people.
SirSwears-a-Lot: In the effort to respond to honesty with honesty, I’ve recently been struggling with the question: What the hell am I doing?
Shutterbug: I’m about to start a new job and I’m questioning every decision I’ve ever made.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Same.
You were trying to navigate your way through the AFC Richmond building when you spotted a familiar blonde ponytail down the hallway.
“Keeley!”
Keeley squealed your name when she turned around to see you.
“EEEEEE! I’m so excited that you’re here!” She shouted as she ran toward you at full speed before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck tightly as you spin her in a little circle.
To this day you weren’t sure how you’d ended up being best friends with Keeley Jones.
You’d met on a commercial set when you were an assistant to the photographer and Keeley as the talent for the shoot had charmed your pants off.
Not literally. You two didn’t have that kind of relationship. No matter how often Keeley joked about wanting to shag you.
But Keeley’s uncanny ability to befriend anyone and everyone she met had worked on you. Despite being the model-slash-acress-social media star at the center of the commercial she took the time to ask you your name, understand what your job was, and pepper you with personal and ranndom questions.
And as an unmoored creative professional in London, you’d latched onto Keeley as a familiar face in the circles you both ran in (Well, circles that Keeley ran in and you sort of loitered on the outskirts of with your camera).
And when the two of you’d walked in on her boyfriend at the time shagging the executive for the brand you two were working on the shoot for, she’d slapped him clear across the face (the boyfriend, not the executive, you both wanted to continue working). And you’d let her move in with you until she could figure out what she was going to do next.
It had bonded you together for life.
Which is how she’d managed to rope you into taking AFC Richmond’s promo photos despite your strong anti-sport stance.
You were easily swayed by the Keeley Jones pout. And the promise of a well-paying job.
“Ted! Roy! This is my friend-slash-photographer-extraordinaire,” Keeley called out to two men in Richmond jackets that made their way over to you, introducing you all to each other. They both looked a little too old to be players so you assumed they were coaches. “She’s going to be the photographer for the promo shoot tomorrow.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m excited to work with the team,” You tell them as you reach out to shake their hands.
“Pleasure to meet an old pal of Keeley’s,” The one with the mustache, Ted, replies as he shakes your hand eagerly.
“Oh! You’re American!” You exclaim in surprise.
“Yes, we are,” Ted replies with a small chuckle. “But I promise we have nothing but the utmost respect for the game y’all call football.”
“I’m not really a football fan to be honest,” You admit with a shrug.
You don’t necessarily have anything against the game itself. But the fact that the world pours billions of dollars into an industry built around boys kicking balls around seems silly to you. Especially considering the way some fans of the game react – hooliganism, riots, bar fights, increased rates of domestic violence after matches – it all seems like a waste.
“Roy! this is the photographer for the shoot tomorrow,” Keeley tells a man with a head of dark curls and a deep frown etched into his stubble.
You can’t help but give him the once over. It’s part of the artistic nature of your work, you’re always scanning people for their best angles, natural beauty, etcetera, that you might want to work with when you’re shooting.
And he’s pretty. In that gruff, grumpy mountain man kind of way.
“Nice to meet you,” You greet him with a smile as you hold out your hand to him. “Are you a player?”
“Do I look like I’m a fucking player?” He grumbles at you before he pushed between you and Keeley and walks into the locker room.
“Excuse me?!” You shout after him, completely taken aback by the rudeness you’d just been faced with.
“You’ll have to excuse Roy,” Keeley tells you with an apologetic smile. “He wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, well, every morning.”
“Right,” You reply with a glance over your shoulder in the direction he stalked off to.
“Since he’s not a player at least I don’t have to work with him,” You add with a halfhearted smile. Trying to play the optimist for the sake of your professionality.
Keeley’s eyes widen slightly when you say that and what smile you had managed drops off your face completely.
“Um…” She mutters.
“What?” You groan.
“He’s one of the other coaches,” Keeley tells you apologetically as she purses her lips at you.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” You grumble.
“Fucking dick,” You mutter under your breath as Keeley leads you down the hallway, explaining what the team owner, Rebecca Welton, is looking for brand-wise from these promotional photos.
Shutterbug: Why are men such assholes?
SirSwears-a-Lot: I feel like you’re expecting me to defend my gender but I honestly can’t.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Men are pricks.
Shutterbug: Agreed. This guy I met for part of my new job was a complete and total dick to me today for absolutely no reason. If I didn’t like getting paid I would have gone full psycho bitch on his ass. See how he liked that.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I would pay good money to see that.
Shutterbug: I did meet another guy at this job today who was actually a really nice guy, like unnaturally nice.
Shutterbug: And you’re nice.
Shutterbug: So I guess #NotAllMen.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I’m not nice.
Shutterbug: Yeah, you are.
Shutterbug: You let your niece help you come up with your dating app profile.
Shutterbug: And if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t let me complain to you all the time.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I complain back to you so it’s really an even exchange. Plus most of your stories are hilarious.
Shutterbug: Well, I do usually like my work.
Shutterbug: But my pro tip of the day: don’t work with athletes.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Noted.
“Hiya,” Ted greets you as you stand in the middle of the locker room on your phone.
You’re so engrossed in your text argument with Bantr boy about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza that you jump slightly at the sudden noise.
“Ope, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Ted apologizes.
“Oh, it’s fine, I just got wrapped up in a text conversation,” You tell him with a shrug as you tuck your phone back into your pocket and smile back at Ted.
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Ted asks curiously.
“Just a guy,” You tell him.
Ted nods for you to continue. Something you’ve almost never had someone, especially not a guy do to you in a professional context.
“Well, I’m on Keeley’s app. I figure at least one of us deserves to have success. Even if it’s professional and not personal.”
“You’re a good friend,” Ted interjects.
“And I have been flirting with one guy who’s actually funny. And intelligent. It probably won’t go anywhere but it’s fun to have someone to chat with who doesn’t know who I am.”
“I can’t say I understand the appeal of that sort of anonymity, what if you’re chatting with a serial killer? Or a homophobe? Or someone who hates pizza?” Ted replies. “But then again, I’m not young and hip.”
“It’s a valid perspective,” You reply with a nod. “I’m honestly not even sure if he would like me. If we ever met, I mean, I don’t know if I’m his type.”
“Well, you’re an absolute delight, I can’t imagine a single guy who wouldn’t like you, unless he hates, I don’t know, happiness and joy,” Ted tells you.
“Thanks, Ted,” You reply.
“Anything else I can help ya with?” Ted asks as he slaps his hands down on his thighs. “Got any of those big heavy lights you need moved around?”
“The lights actually aren’t that heavy,” You tell him with a burst of laughter. “I think I’m just about set up here. Just waiting on your team and then we can get started.”
Shutterbug: What’s your type?
SirSwears-a-Lot: Why do you ask?
Shutterbug: Maybe I’m getting plastic surgery so that I can look like it.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Whatever you look like, you’re my type.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Unless you’re actually my boss catfishing me.
SirSwears-a-Lot: In which case, fuck you.
Shutterbug: Damn. You’ve caught me!
You couldn’t wait for this job to be over.
The team was actually easy. Other than a few players who tried to tell you about their best angles (Jamie Tartt had insisted that you needed to only shoot him from the left and seemed unable to not smolder during the shoot which was… an interesting choice), the solo shots of the players had been a breeze.
But these coaches were a whole different beast.
Ted was happy, almost eager to take your direction.
But the other three?
Coach Beard hardly spoke during the entire interaction and refused to smile but his pictures came out fairly decent.
Nathan Shelley was so nervous and fidgety it took you ages to take the photos because he kept breaking the poses to ask you if he was doing alright.
Roy Kent was impossible.
“You have to stay in the pose,” You grumbled as you pushed past your lighting rig to re-adjust Roy for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon to.
“I feel fucking stupid in the pose,” Roy grumbled in response.
“Well, you look stupid when you don’t do it,” You shot back.
“Just listen to the nice lady, Roy,” Ted called out, causing a few of the others to chuckle.
Something of a crowd had formed to watch the entire process. Some of the players who were done with training and the rest of the coaches were standing around watching now that their photos were over and you could tell that Roy hated having an audience.
“Shut up!” Roy shouted at them.
You groaned as he broke the angle again.
“Alright, everyone out!” You shout once you’ve finally lost your patience. You shoo at the men. “Everyone!”
Once it was just you and Roy in the room you turned back to him.
“The sooner you do what I tell you to do. The sooner this is all over,” You tell him. “You’re handsome, I don’t understand why you hate getting your photo taken so much.”
Roy didn’t reply with words, he simply grunted at you as you stepped towards him and lifted your hand to gently tilt his face back to the direction you wanted him to face before stepping away.
“There,” You said a minute later once you’d gotten all the shots you would need. “That wasn’t so painful, now was it?”
“Yeah,” Roy grunted again as he pushed through your set-up and disappeared back into the coaches' office.
You watched him leave with a puff of mild annoyance before you realized that meant that today’s shoot was over and hurried to back up your things.
Shutterbug: Would you ever want to meet up?
You’d gotten to the restaurant too early. After you’d sent that message you’d thrown your phone across the room and tried not to panic.
When you’d finally built up the courage to retrieve your phone you saw that he’d already messaged you back,
SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Friday night? Bacco’s, 7 pm?
You grinned at your phone for a moment before typing your response.
Shutterbug: See you then :)
And you’d been riding on cloud nine for the last few days. You hadn’t told anyone about the date. Not even Keeley. No matter how hopeful you were about this working out, you hated the thought of getting someone else's hopes up so you decided to keep it a secret.
Just until after the date.
But it also meant that you’d finished up the day’s shoot, gone home to get ready, and somehow ended up at the restaurant thirty minutes before your reservation. So you were standing in the waiting area, trying not to look too pathetic while you scrolled through Instagram.
Every time you heard the door open your eyes would flicker up only to be met with the view of a sweet elderly couple or a group of business partners making their way through the door.
Until you heard to door open and looked up to lock eyes with Roy Kent.
Your eyes widened before you offered him a sarcastic smile.
“I’m waiting for someone,” You tell him in lieu of a greeting.
“Me too,” He replies gruffly.
“Good for you,” You reply with a furrow of your brows.
“Yeah.”
You roll your eyes and look back down at your phone, tapping out a quick message to let him know you’re here. You hit send just as your phone pings with a similar text from him.
You look up to scan the room again just as Roy’s phone buzzes and your eyes lock as you realize that you’re the only two people in the waiting area.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You groan.
“Fuck,” Roy mutters.
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chapter one — punishment
➝ request: I would really like to read again a jealous Toto for the reader.
➝ word count: 7,2k
➝ warnings: smut
➝ author’s note: this one-shot took unnecessarily long time in my head as well as my drafts. unfortunately, i don't know how to write a porn without a plot, so let's just say i got too carried away. moreover, with a beautiful inspiration that was those two laps at spa-francorchamps, i couldn't leave this request aside.
You stared at the dark sky over Stavelot in silence as your fingers clenched the blue and red foam of the Sky Sports microphone in your hands.
The memory of one particular Sunday was vivid in your mind.
The wind.
The cold.
The rain.
— Y/N — you heard, behind you. Turning around, you found Jules, your producer, smiling.
— Yes? — you answered.
— They cleared the track for us. Shall we record the first segment?
You looked down the pitlane, where three cars were parked side by side. There was a crowd of onlookers, photographers, and cameras around them. On the left was the Mercedes-AMG ONE, with Lewis Hamilton leaning against the bodywork, talking to Bradley, Mercedes' communications director. In the middle was the GT3 EDITION 55”, which was currently being photographed by Steve, the team photographer. On the right was the 300 SEL 6.8 AMG, the famous Rote Sau. Behind the wheel, talking to George Russell, there he was.
Toto Wolff.
You knew of the team principal's reputation long before you even thought about the possibility of stepping into the paddock. When you were still working in the Sky Sports newsroom in London, you were always amused by the behind-the-scenes motorsport gossip from your colleagues who worked at the races. The words 'beautiful', 'charming' and 'charismatic' never failed to appear in their accounts of interactions with Toto. However, it never crossed your mind that you would someday witness his charm and good looks firsthand.
The first time you stepped into a race paddock was to replace Georgina, one of the producers who worked with Ted Kravitz, producing content for the channel's website, who had contracted Covid-19 at the British Grand Prix. After some exceptional work on the two weekends you covered for your colleague, you were sent more frequently to produce on-location, helping to create stories that had a resounding impact. It didn't take long for you to reach the higher echelons of sports reporting, crafting more interesting stories and producing more daring reports.
However, your big break came when you found out that Lewis Hamilton would not race at the Sakhir Grand Prix after testing positive for Covid-19. With Ted stuck in a meeting, there was no one who could break the news live during the F1 Report. So, using all your courage — and steely nerve — you stood in front of a camera for the first time and gave the world first-hand information about the medical status of the seven-time world champion.
The following year, you were promoted to the role of being an on-camera personality, occasionally doing pit lane walks and media pen interviews. It was during one of these interviews, after qualifying for the Bahrain Grand Prix, that you had your first interview with a certain team principal.
— Hello, Toto, how are you?
— Fine — he replied, smiling. “They weren’t kidding, he does have a nice smile.”, you thought — And you?
— I’m fine as well. I would like to get your impressions of today’s qualifying session, especially considering the pace shown by Max Verstappen today.
— Well, we're very excited to have a real fight on our hands. Six teams in the top ten today and it's clear that simply being good won't be enough this year. But in this final year of the current set of regulations, we have to push the needle even further, not only to beat Red Bull, but also some of the other teams.
— Lewis and Valtteri were both unsatisfied with the reliability of the W12 during pre-season testing. Today, the car proved to be more reliable, but it still doesn't seem to be quite at the pace you’d like it to be.
— It’s true that conditions weren't favorable for us today, but we're definitely closer here than we were during the three days of pre-season testing. However, I can't say exactly what our position is in relation to Red Bull yet.
You smiled, satisfied with his answers.
— Right, Toto. Thank you very much for your insight.
He nodded, preparing to go to the next set of microphones. However, the team principal stopped, standing in front of you for a few seconds in the middle of the media pool before coming back to you.
— You're new around here, aren't you? — he asked, raising an eyebrow.
— I’m not new at Sky, no. I've been here since 2018.
— But, here, in the paddock, how long have you been here?
— Since last year.
— As a reporter?
— No. I was a producer. I started as an on-camera reporter this year.
Toto smiled.
— I understand now.
— Understand what?
— Why I don’t remember you.
— Well, with so many other media people around the paddock, it's pretty easy for us to blend in.
— Blend in? Not for someone as pretty as you are. — he replied with a mischievous smile before moving on to the next journalist who was waiting for him.
“And… He’s definitely charming”, you thought, trying to ignore the way your face was heating up, as well as the laughter from Daniel, your cameraman.
As the months passed, his compliments became more frequent. The looks you shared lingered more. His touches were no longer incidental. The tension between the two of you was palpable every time you crossed paths, whether in the paddock, the media pool, or the press conference room.
It was like a glass of water, filling drop by drop.
— We're going to do the introduction, and after they've done the laps, you're going to talk to the three of them, okay? — Jules said to you as you walked towards the three cars in the pitlane.
— Right — you confirmed. You stopped at a point just to the right of the track, so that Daniel could capture all three cars in the same frame in a diagonal shot.
— Do you think it's better to keep still or move for these introduction shots?
— Moving. It’s more dynamic.
— Okay — you smiled — Let's go.
You grabbed your cell phone and quickly reviewed the talking points for your segment. “Talk about where we are, the reason, the cars, and the drivers”, you thought, reading the email sent by the Mercedes’ press office.
— Ready? — Daniel asked.
You hesitated, taking a moment to fix your hair and smooth your hands over your skirt one last time.
— Yes — you smiled.
With a thumbs up, the cameraman signaled you to begin.
— We are here at the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, celebrating the 55th anniversary of AMG. To celebrate in style, AMG has put together four great cars, as well as four… Or, rather, three, great drivers.
Behind the camera, Jules laughed at your phrasing.
— Now, Toto will be behind the wheel of this legendary 300 SEL 6.8 AMG, better known as the Red Pig. Lewis will be behind the wheel of this spectacular Mercedes-AMG ONE and George will drive the new GT3 EDITION 55, which you can see in the middle there. We also have Formula 1 Safety Car driver Bernd Mayländer who will be driving the AMG safety car, which is a modified AMG GT Black series. Let's take a look — you added, smiling.
A few seconds later, Daniel looked up at you
— Perfect, Y/N.
— Want to try a second time?
— Do we have time, Jules? — the cameraman asked.
You saw your producer wave to Bradley, who was still standing next to Lewis, pointing to his wrist, in a way of asking how much time they had there before the cars took to the track. The communications director held up two fingers, to which Jules simply responded with a raised thumb.
— No, we don't. Daniel, can you take some more filler footage?
— No problem — the cameraman replied, repositioning his device on his shoulder and heading toward the cars parked behind you. Meanwhile, Jules approached you, putting a hand on your shoulder.
— Shall we go to the pit lane?
You nodded, following your producer to the pit area. It was starting to become busy due to preparations for the next day, when the first free practice sessions would take place at the circuit. Leaning back against the wall, you were making a concentrated effort not to look for those familiar brown eyes in the midst of the crowd of people, so you looked up, staring at the dark clouds over the circuit.
— You think it will rain? — you asked quietly, placing the microphone on top of the concrete.
Jules looked up.
— I saw that there was a good chance of rain for this weekend.
You pursed your lips.
— That’s shit — you muttered.
— I hope you brought your raincoat this time — the producer said, nudging you with his elbow.
— I did — you said with a smirk, your memory taking you back to the year before.
It was a rainy Sunday on the same circuit, and it was the day that the metaphorical glass, filling drop by drop as you and Toto flirted and teased each other, spilled over.
You had always prided yourself on being a woman who was always prepared for any eventuality. However, on the wettest weekend of the season, on a trip to the racetrack in the Ardennes forest, an area famously prone to heavy rainstorms, you'd somehow managed the feat of forgetting your raincoat in London.
“Dumb bitch”, you thought, after you left the third official merchandise tent without finding a way to protect yourself from the storm that fell on Stavelot.
Accepting the consequences, you decided to keep working, ignoring the weather-related adversities. However, with you running up and down the paddock so much during the red flag period, with only your normal jacket to protect you from the elements, it wasn’t long before you ended up completely soaked.
At one point in the afternoon, after yet another aborted race start, you were walking back to the media center when you felt your cell phone vibrate in your coat pocket. You sought shelter to check your messages and hadn't even noticed which tent you’d stepped under until you heard a familiar male voice behind you.
— You're soaking wet.
Turning around, you saw Toto's familiar smile. The team principal was seated at one of the hospitality tables. The hospitality area was otherwise completely empty.
— I didn't bring my raincoat.
— Bad weekend to leave it at home, huh?
You nodded, chuckling before looking back at your cell phone, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You were trying to type a reply to Billy, Sky’s Formula 1 director, but your fingers didn't seem to want to respond.
— Are you cold? — Toto questioned you.
The question made you notice the chill building up in your body that you’d been ignoring until just then.
— No.
— I can see from here that you’re shivering, Y/N.
— It's nothing — you replied, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.
Toto got up from the table and approached you. He took your hands in his, the iciness of your cold, wet hands a stark contrast to the warmth of his.
— You're freezing — the team principal stated, rubbing your hands lightly, trying to impart some of his warmth.
— Seriously, it's okay — you said softly, trying to ignore the sudden wave of heat that coursed through your body, pushing away the chill you were feeling.
— No, no, you're going to get sick like this — Toto said, a worried look in his brown eyes.
— Toto, I'm fine, it's just water. I’m not going to melt.
He shook his head. He didn’t let go of your hand and took you, without a word, into the Mercedes motorhome. He led you up the spiral stairs, through the hallways, and to a frosted glass door. He opened it to reveal a small, simple office with a neat desk made of pale wood and a black office chair.
— I'll go get you a towel, don’t go anywhere — Toto said, disappearing down the hall.
Alone inside the small office, you looked at the shelves on the wall, decorated with potted plants, awards and picture frames with images of Toto at team celebrations, accompanied by his drivers. However, the photo that caught your attention the most was a photo of him with Niki Lauda. You smiled looking at it.
— Here you are — you heard him behind you. Turning around, you found the team principal holding out a rolled-up black towel to you. Taking the terry cloth in your hands, you unfurled it, noticing a logo embroidered in white thread. The logo was a pair of stylized wings that formed a shape that looked like the face of a lion.
— Is this Lewis’ towel? — you asked.
— Yes. I took it from his room.
— You don’t think he’ll get upset?
— I’m sure he won’t — Toto replied, giving you a wink. You felt your face heat up.
— I really hope so — you muttered, as you opened your wet coat.
Smiling, the team principal stepped behind you, helping you peel the soaked jacket from your body. Underneath, you wore a thin blouse that was also wet. The fabric was transparent now, and clinging to your curves. You were embarrassed as you hurried to dry yourself off, running the towel down your arms.
However, the damage was already done.
Looking up, you noticed that Toto was watching you carefully, taking in every detail that the wet shirt showed, his lips pressed together. In his brown eyes, you could see only one thing.
Desire.
— Well — you said, wrapping the towel around your shoulders — I just have to thank you for your kindness.
He blinked, as if he'd come out of a trance.
— It was no problem, Y/N. Really.
— Yes, but I appreciate it anyway. You didn't have to.
— Yes, I did. One of the best journalists in the paddock can't walk around soaking wet and risk catching pneumonia.
You felt like you could melt on the spot.
— I don't know how to repay you — you stammered.
— But I do — Toto smiled, taking a step forward.
In your chest, your heart was pounding.
— Do you want a kiss? — you asked, without hesitation.
Toto's eyes widened.
— Well — he began to stutter, his face red — I had something else in mind… I don't know, maybe a feature story about the team… Or even about me.
— Toto, I've watched enough romantic comedies to know what happens when a man and a woman are alone in a room for the first time after months of flirting and staring at each other.
— What’s that?
— They kiss. And then they have sex.
— And what do you want?
— With you? Both.
You couldn’t say anything else before Toto advanced on you, his lips on yours, releasing the tension of nearly six months of the game the two of you were playing with each other. You knew you wouldn't be leaving that office until he was fully sated, which was almost an hour later, after you'd had three orgasms on top of his desk, your moans echoing off the office walls.
You’d had many more since that day.
The sound of engines brought your focus back to the cars in front of you. With the track cleared, the two Mercedes drivers and team principal were already seated inside the vehicles for their exhibition lap, waiting for authorization to accelerate through the circuit.
Soon enough, green lights lit up on the electronic panel, and the three of them shot down the main straight with the safety car behind, dozens of people in the stands and pit lane watching.
After two laps around the circuit, the four cars entered the pit area in a row, stopping in front of the Mercedes’ garage. It wasn't long before mechanics, photographers, cameramen and onlookers crowded around the vehicles, pointing and chatting about the cars.
— Shall we, Y/N? — Jules turned to you.
Picking up your mic again, you smiled.
— Yes, let’s go.
The two of you crossed the pit lane towards the point where the cars were gathered. The drivers were already outside the vehicles, their helmets abandoned on the seats, talking to each other about the laps, teasing and joking with each other. After hearing Toto's laugh after a comment from George, an involuntary smile appeared on your lips. It was your favorite sound.
— What are you smiling at? — Jules asked you, one eyebrow raised.
You blinked. The producer didn't know about your affair with Toto. Nobody did. It was a deal made by both of you, not just to protect each other’s privacy, but also to avoid any issues of you violating journalistic ethics. “You can’t sacrifice your career because of me”, you heard Toto say in your head.
— I was thinking of a question to ask Toto.
Jules looked around for the team principal.
— Then you'd better take advantage of the fact that he's free now and go ask him — he said, tilting his head in the Austrian's direction.
You saw Toto again and noticed that he was leaning against the red bodywork of the 300 SEL 6.8 AMG, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed to the ground. Before you even realized it, your feet were pulling you towards him, like a metal piece drawn to a magnet. Stopping beside him, you hesitated for a few seconds.
— Did you have fun? — you said.
— Who's asking? — he smiled, looking at the microphone in your hand.
— Toto…
— I need to know, so I know how to answer. Is it the journalist asking me, or the woman?
You leaned back against the red metal beside him.
— Both — you replied, the shadow of a smile on your lips.
— Well, to the journalist, I will say that I was looking forward to driving this car and that it was a lot of fun.
— And to the woman?
Toto brought his face close to your ear.
— I had more fun last night with you.
You looked at him, violent heat rising in your face. Noticing your flushed cheeks, Toto just smirked.
— I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that — you mumbled.
— Your face says otherwise, but that's okay.
You were silent, wondering what to say. “Didn't you have a question for him?”, you asked yourself, fiddling with the microphone awkwardly. When you were around him, it was as if your mind just went completely blank, leaving only room for the desire you felt for him.
— Do you want to record a segment with me? — Toto said, breaking the silence. Lifting your face to him, you smiled.
— Yes. We're doing a feature about AMG's anniversary and today's activities.
— What do you want me to talk about?
— I'll ask about the company and how it feels to be on the track. Nothing too difficult for you.
— Fine by me — he smiled, rising from the hood of the car. Signaling Daniel to come closer, you momentarily closed your eyes, mentally reviewing your questions for Toto. When you opened them again, you noticed he was watching you carefully, the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile.
— Can we start? — you asked him.
— Anytime, Y/N — Toto replied. Smiling, you lifted the microphone and nodded for Daniel to start recording.
— Well, Toto, what does it mean to celebrate AMG's 55th anniversary?
— AMG is synonymous with racing and high performance. For 55 years they've been at the forefront of pushing what's possible on four wheels, both on the track and on the road. And celebrating this history here, driving a car as special as the Red Pig, an icon in motorsport history, is very special.
— And what was it like to take those two laps here in Spa?
— Race drivers simply have the best job in the world. I don't spend a lot of days on the track, but even with this car, doing two laps at Spa reminds me how amazing that is — he concluded, smiling.
— Okay, thank you, Toto — you said, signaling Daniel to stop recording. When the cameraman lowered the camera, the team principal smiled back at you, leaning in closely.
— At your service, moja maleńka — he whispered, making your face heat up again at his nickname for you.The first time Toto had referred to you with those two words, you had no idea that they were even words at first.
To you, it sounded like a sneeze.
— Bless you — you said, rolling over in bed to face him.
— What?
— Didn't you sneeze?
Toto laughed.
— No, I didn't sneeze.
You blinked, confused.
— So what was that?
— What was what?
— You whispered something.
He smiled.
— Yes — Toto said, running a hand through your hair, brushing strands out of your face — I said… Moja maleńka.
— Is that German? — you asked, raising an eyebrow.
— No. Polish.
— Do you speak Polish?
— Yes. My mother is Polish.
You were silent for a few seconds.
— Aren't you going to ask what it means?
— Should I?
— I think you would find it interesting.
— And what do words that sound like a sneeze mean?
— They mean… My little one.
Heat rose in your cheeks.
You've never been called that, not even by your parents.
“He's definitely charismatic”, you thought, a smile on your lips.
— Y/N, George is free now. Should we interview him? — you heard Daniel say in your ear. Taking one last look at Toto, you smiled at your cameraman, following him towards the point where the Brit was talking to your producer.
— Good afternoon, George, how are you?
— Good, and you?
— I’m fine as well — you replied — Shall we talk about your laps with the GT3 EDITION 55?
The Brit's blue eyes lit up.
— Let's do it! — he said, smiling.
Interviewing George was never difficult. The driver, in addition to being polite and intelligent, knew how to answer with confidence, without forgetting to put a pinch of British humor in his statements. Whenever you needed soundbytes, you knew you could count on him.
However, even his charm and good press presence didn't make George your favorite driver to interview
— Lewis is free now — Jules said, jerking his thumb at the man behind him.
Talking to Lewis Hamilton was a special thrill for you. If your passion for motorsport was born from watching Damon Hill lead Williams to glory, it was with the Stevenage driver that it came to full bloom. Watching him race as just a spectator was incredible, but watching him up close as a professional was a privilege that would never feel real to you.
— Good afternoon, Lewis — you approached him, greeting him with a hug — How are you?
— Much better now — he smiled — It's wonderful to drive a good car once in a while.
You chuckle, feeling awkward. That season was cruel. Not just to Mercedes, but to the British driver especially. After having his eighth title snatched from his hands at the last second, he went on to deal with a brand new and terribly temperamental car, the result of a new build regulations that Mercedes missed the mark on.
But with the new spending cap rules, there was nothing they could do to salvage the season other than discuss how incomprehensible and temperamental the W13 was. It was something Toto made a point of doing every race weekend that you spent with him, as he twirled a lock of your hair around his index finger or traced the features of your face with his finger.
— I can imagine how fun it was. Can we talk about it?
— Of course — Lewis replied, putting his hands on his hips.
Signaling Daniel to stand, you quickly fixed your hair, as well as running your hand quickly over your dress, trying to smooth any creases.
— You look great, Y/N — the Brit commented, a shy smile on his lips.
Looking up at him, you smiled.
— Thank you, Lewis.
Turning to face your cameraman, you waited for his signal to start, which came seconds later, with a nod.
— So, Lewis, tell us, what was it like driving the Mercedes-AMG ONE here in Spa?
— Celebrating the 55th anniversary of AMG here in Spa is something incredible, as we are talking about an iconic brand in the world of motorsport. But to do that while driving a car like this is very special to me. We work hard all year and we don't always have time to enjoy moments like this, so it's a really fantastic thing.
— We can see how excited you and George were, even competing at one point.
— Yeah, things got hot on the track — Lewis laughed.
— Toto was pushing you too, I don't know if you could see it, but we saw it here.
— Yes, I saw. He's a real racer, like me and George, and you can see his passion for it, even though he's cut some of the curves, from what I noticed in the rearview mirror.
You couldn't help but laugh. You knew that Toto had experience in rallying, endurance racing, and racing GT cars. However, you also knew that he wasn’t able to achieve success, which explained why he turned to business.
— I haven't seen the footage yet to say — you said, trying to catch your breath.
— I bet you'll enjoy the damage he did to the grass at Turn 11.
— I'm looking forward to seeing the track remodeling work — you smiled, waving your hand for Daniel to stop recording. After receiving confirmation that the cameraman had finished the job, you continued talking to Lewis for a few more minutes, listening to his impressions of the car he had just driven, as well as more harsh words about the W13. According to him, the team couldn’t nail down the tuning or set-up for a lot of tracks.
Distracted by Lewis' monologue about the car, you didn’t as someone approached behind you both. He touched your shoulder and you can't help but be a little startled by the sudden intrusion. Turning around, you found Toto with a serious expression.
— Y/N, can I talk to you?
You blinked.
— Yes, about what?
— Privately — Toto said in a low voice. His face was completely unreadable.
Those two words made a chill build up in your belly. Looking around, you noticed Jules talking to Daniel and Steve. “They won't even notice I'm gone”, you thought, before flashing a smile to the team principal.
— Okay, let's go — you replied — See you, Lewis.
The driver nodded at you with a smile. Looking back at Toto, you saw him gesturing for you to go ahead of him into the Mercedes pit area, a quick shortcut to access their hospitality, which was just behind the entrance to the team's garage. Heading towards the access to the paddock, you waved at an engineer before turning down the hall, past the wall where the headphones were kept. One of the hooks had a red hat hanging on it. How many stories have you heard about the owner of that red hat?
Walking silently down the hall, you had just passed the door of the Petronas fluid analysis lab when you felt a hand close around your arm, pulling you back. Guiding you with little delicacy, Toto moved you into the small lab that was inside Mercedes garage, releasing you only to slide the opaque glass door closed, locking the two of you inside.
— What are you doing? — you asked in a whisper.
Toto remained silent, staring at you with those chocolate-colored eyes, until he began to approach you, slowly. Almost instinctively, you started taking steps back, trying to keep the distance between the two of you. You were succeeding until you felt your back hit the wall.
“Fuck,” you thought, watching the team principal get closer and closer to you, the shadow of a smile on his lips as he stopped in front of you, his face inches from yours.
— Y/N — he whispered, placing his hands on your waist.
— Yes? — you replied softly, lifting your face to look him in the eyes.
Silence.
“What did I do?” you asked yourself.
Suddenly, in one swift movement, you found yourself with your back to Toto, your cheek against the wall. You felt his hot breath against your ear.
— What was going through your head out there?
You swallowed hard.
— What are you talking about?
His hands went down your side, caressing you.
— Your conversation with Lewis. What were you thinking?
— I… I was just… Doing… My job — you tried to sound confident, without any success.
— Your job is to interview drivers. Not to flirt with them — he said in a low voice.
— I… Wasn’t flirting… With anyone — you gasped, your apprehension turning into curiosity. You had never seen this rough, possessive side of him before, and you couldn’t deny that you were a little turned on.
— That's not what it looked like to me — Toto growled. His fingers were already on your hips, skimming the fabric of your dress in search of your panties. “If only I had put any on”, you thought, pursing your lips. Seconds later, you felt him press his body even more firmly against yours.
— Are you not wearing any panties, maleńka? — he asked in a low voice, his lips against your ear. His breath against your skin sent a shiver through your body, your pussy getting wet. Swallowing hard, you made an affirmative sound, the words stuck in your throat.
However, it wasn't enough for Toto.
With a not-so-gentle tug, he pulled your dress up, exposing your bare ass. Toto's hand roamed over your delicate skin, as if he was confirming what he'd already felt through the fabric. Suddenly, the sound of a slap filled the small lab space, accompanied by the gasp of surprise that escaped your lips. The sensation was not unfamiliar to you, as one of the first things Toto had done when he laid you on his desk that rainy Sunday was asking to slap your ass as punishment for months of teasing.
And you found, to your surprise, that you liked it.
— Can you answer me? — Toto whispered, his fingers ghosting over the spot where his hand had landed violently against your bottom.
— Yes — you stuttered, your voice shaky — I'm not wearing any panties.
— Why, maleńka?
You blinked. The reason you'd gone without underwear had been solely because of the unsightly panty lines that were visible in the dress you were wearing, which fit snugly against your body. However, seeing Toto's reaction, you couldn't help but wonder what he would have done if you’d gone without for any other reason. And with the opportunity to find out on the tip of your tongue, you decided not to waste it.
— Because I didn’t want to wear any — you replied, your voice firm and challenging.
Another slap, this time on the opposite side of the first.
This time, the sound that left your lips was nothing like a gasp. It was a moan of pleasure.
— Do you like it? — Toto's hand went back to massaging your butt, which was probably starting to turn red from the impact of his fingers against your buttock.
You muttered something that sounded like yes, nodding. It wasn't enough for Toto. In a split second, you felt his free hand go to your jaw, tilting your face back. Your gaze met his, his brown eyes tinged with a darkness you knew well.
— Words. I want to hear you.
The tone of his voice sent a wave of arousal through your body, your core pulsing. The hand that was on your face slid down, wrapping around your neck in a gentle grip, but enough so that the sensation went straight to your pussy, the wetness building more and more.
— Yes, I like it — your voice was barely audible.
— You're a bad girl, Y/N.
— Then… You should punish me — you replied, a teasing tone in your voice.
One more slap. One more groan.
You had never felt as aroused as you did at that moment.
— You talk too much for such a bad girl — he muttered, his hand caressing your aching skin.
— And you act too little for someone who wants to discipline me.
Another slap. Another moan.
However, this time, Toto didn't massage your ass as affectionately as you'd expected him to. You felt the team principal release your neck and bring both hands to your waist, turning your body so that you were facing him. There was nothing gentle about his movements now.
— So, you want to be punished? — Toto asked, leaning his forehead against yours.
— Yes, I do — you replied, whispering.
Smiling, he took your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue unceremoniously invading your mouth. As one hand caressed the back of your head, guiding it subtly, the other moved down your spine, pulling your body against his, the fabric of his black race suit rubbing against your exposed skin.
You were so immersed in that kiss that you hardly noticed when Toto pushed you away from the wall, leading you through the cramped room to one of the lab benches, where Petronas engineers performed tests during the sessions. Pulling his face away from yours momentarily, the team principal's hands wrapped around your waist, boosting you up and placing you on the white countertop, your legs spread wide enough for him to position himself between them. With the bottom of your dress still rucked up around your hips, you were completely exposed to him. Something told you that was exactly how he wanted you.
Toto didn't need to say a word to tell you what the next step was. Bringing your fingers to the collar of the black and red jumpsuit, you opened it, revealing the zipper, pulling it down desperately, clumsily. Biting your bottom lip, with one quick movement, you peeled the overalls from his shoulders, allowing Toto to pull his arms through the sleeves, leaving only the white fireproof undershirt he was wearing. With his hands free, he lowered the overalls even lower, exposing his fireproof underwear, the outline of his erection evident beneath the thin fabric.
Looking up at you, Toto gave you a devilish grin before pulling the last layer down, exposing his cock. The sight sent a wave of arousal through your skin that felt like an electric shock. He knew the power he had over you and your body, and he was eager to use it.
— Do you like what you see? — the team principal whispered, while his fingers wrapped around his own dick, pumping slowly.
— Yes — you said, your voice shaky.
— Do you want this? — he asked you. The light glistened on the pre-cum spread along his length — Do you want my cock, maleńka?
— Yes — you replied, pleadingly. You could feel anticipation building up in your core to the point where it was almost painful. You needed it the same way you needed air to breathe. However, Toto wasn’t making any effort to approach you, to enter you, to make you moan his name with your nails digging into his shoulders.
Instead, he remained standing in front of you, one hand stroking his cock and the other squeezing one of your thighs, keeping your legs spread and still, your pussy completely exposed to him, wetness almost oozing out of you.
In the fog of your desire, you finally realized his intentions.
Denial. This was your punishment.
— Toto…
— What do you want, maleńka? — he asked softly, his thumb circling the head of his cock — Tell me what you want.
— You…
Toto looked at you with a devilish expression.
— But, you have me. I’m right here.
— I want you inside me, fucking me like the bad girl I am.
— After what you did today, do you think you deserve my dick?
— I was working, Toto — you whimpered, almost like a child who didn’t get any dessert — I just want you. I only think about you. There is only you.
— Do you only want me? — he moved toward you now.
— Yes, yes, yes — you gasped, your muscles tensing in anticipation.
With a smile on his lips, Toto moved even closer, positioning his cock at your entrance. His lips found your jaw, placing gentle kisses going up towards your ear. You felt a shiver of anticipation run through your body. “Finally, finally, finally,” you mentally repeated, your fingers finding the back of his neck, playing with his dark hair.
But instead of the pleasure you were desperate for, you felt his tip brush against your clit, your sensitivity making you nearly sob at his subtle movements. The sound made Toto smile against your skin.
— You look so pretty like this — he murmured, nibbling at a spot below your earlobe — Completely desperate for me.
His cock continued to brush through your folds, pressing lightly against your hole. You could feel the tears of agony building up in your eyes.
— Please, please, please — you moaned, squirming at the subtle touch.
— I'll give you what you want — Toto whispered — But you have to ask for it.
— Please, I want to feel you inside me — you gasped — I need to feel you. Please please. Let me feel you.
— Fine — he said.
Slowly, you felt Toto sliding inside you with no resistance. You were beyond soaked and ready for him. However, instead of penetrating you completely, he sank just the head of his cock in and retreated almost immediately. You searched his face and found a mischievous smile.
— Toto — you stammered.
He laughed.
— You asked me to feel my cock inside you. You felt it.
Something between an incredulous laugh and an agonized groan left your lips.
“Son of a bitch”, you thought.
— You're ridiculous, Wolff — you managed to say.
— And you're not being clear about what you want.
You rolled your eyes. However, instead of slapping you again for your insolence, Toto just leaned his forehead against yours, his brown eyes glued to yours.
— Tell me what you want — Toto whispered, brushing his nose against yours — And you'll have it.
You blinked, your breath caught in your throat.
— Fuck me. Just fuck me. Please.
He smiled. Not in a mischievous or provocative way, but sincerely.
Toto had finally heard what he wanted to hear.
Positioning yourself again at your entrance, you turned your head to the side, muscles tensing. However, holding your chin, he made you look at him again.
— I'm going to fuck you like you want. But… You will have to be quiet.
A nod of your head was the signal for Toto to penetrate you immediately. Stifling a cry at the sudden sensation of him inside of you, you felt pain and pleasure mingling in your belly.
It was everything you wanted.
It didn't take long for Toto to set a delicious rhythm, causing you to dig your nails into the muscles of his shoulders beneath the fireproof shirt. You strained to keep your mouth shut, trying not to make a sound, just as he had asked. However, when he found the right spot inside you, you couldn't resist emitting low grunts and moans.
— Yes, yes, yes — you muttered, as Toto attacked your neck, biting your skin with little delicacy. There would probably be marks. There would certainly be marks. But, you couldn't care less right now. This moment was worth every extra minute you'd have to spend hiding the evidence of your affair with him.
Focused on the sensation building in your abdomen, you received a new rush of pleasure as Toto's hand left your thigh and snaked between your legs. Finding your clit, his fingers began to draw quick, indelicate circles, making you expend a Herculean effort not to scream at the top of your lungs.
— You… Aren't… That bad… Maleńka — Toto gasped, quickening the movement of his hips against yours. With your heart racing, you didn't know what to say because of the fog of pleasure that clouded your mind, making you completely lose the power of language. You pulled him by the back of his neck towards your lips, in a deep kiss, backed by the wet sound of his cock against your pussy.
Your legs contracted, as did your abdomen.
You were close.
Very close.
Too close.
Until, suddenly, Toto stopped, causing a frustrated groan to escape your lips. Pulling his face slightly away from yours, he studied your face.
— Y/N, look at me — the team principal asked, his thumb stroking your cheek.
Your eyelids fluttered, the effort to open your eyes was almost unreal.
— Who makes you feel good?
— You — you gasped, the painful sensation of your aborted orgasm coursing through your body — Only you.
Toto smiled, bringing his hand to your neck. His fingers pressed lightly against your skin, just enough pressure to let you know he was there. “As if I needed a reminder,” you thought, your fingers moving up to his wrist, begging him not to let you go.
— Good girl.
Using your neck for support, he moved roughly inside you again, his cock touching the spot you needed most with each thrust. Parting your lips in a silent scream, you felt the pressure in your abdomen start to build again, making your legs shake and your spine arch.
— Yes, yes, yes, yes — you repeated, in a thin voice, almost desperately.
Somewhere, you heard Toto grunt, pulling one of your legs to his hip. The other followed, imprisoning him against you. The hand that was on your neck went down to your core, massaging your clit again.
— I… Ah… Yes… I will — you stuttered, your nails sinking deeper and deeper into Toto's shoulders.
— This, this, this — he muttered. And it was the last thing you heard before the pressure in your abdomen exploded.
Biting your bottom lip hard to keep from screaming, you felt a tsunami of pleasure relentlessly sweep through your body. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, your chest rising and falling with your labored breathing. Not seeing, hearing or feeling anything around you, you were completely numb.
So numb that you didn't notice Toto continuing to move inside you, the contractions of your pussy pulling him along into his own climax. He released himself inside you, the sensation of his hot cum going unnoticed as you had still not yet returned to Earth. Then, he rested his palms on the countertop on either side of your thighs, resting his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily, completely exhausted.
For a few minutes, what you could hear inside the small laboratory was the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breath. It was definitely the craziest thing you had ever done in your life, but never had something so wrong felt so right.
— That was amazing — you mumbled, eyes half closed.
— Thanks, we're always working to provide the best experience — you heard Toto say, his voice muffled by your shoulder, making you giggle weakly.
Lifting his face to you, he brushed his nose lightly against yours. It was gentle and affectionate.
— Can I clean you up?
— Yes — you smiled.
Toto pulled out of you and the small sink that was in the corner of the lab room. Taking a handful of paper towels from the dispenser mounted on the wall, he walked over to you and began to gently wipe you down. Then he helped you down from the counter and helped you pull your dress down again, trying to smooth out the various wrinkles. Then it was his turn to clean up and get dressed again, pulling the pants and overalls back up again.
— Come here — you said, signaling him to turn around. Holding the rough fabric in your hands, you helped him put his arms through the sleeves of the racing suit, fitting it around his shoulders. Turning back to face you, Toto smiled.
— Can you help me with the zipper?
— Sure — you replied, finding the tab and zipping the jumpsuit again, finishing with the collar embroidered with the AMG logo.
— Dziękuję, moja maleńka.
You smiled, guessing what he had said to you.
— I don't know how to say 'you’re welcome' in Polish.
— Well, you could say… Nie mogę się doczekać, aż znowu mnie przelecisz.
You blinked, confused
— Something tells me that wasn’t just ‘you’re welcome’.
Toto pursed his lips, trying to contain a smile.
— It may be. Polish is complicated.
— Torger — you scolded him.
— Okay, Y/N, nie ma za co is fine.
You tried to reproduce the words, the phonemes unfamiliar on your tongue. Your pronunciation was heavily accented and unclear, and it made Toto laugh.
— Close enough — Toto said, kissing you on the forehead.
Once you both were cleaned up and put back together, you started thinking about how to leave the lab room and the Mercedes garage unnoticed. After a few minutes of discussing a plan, you concluded that the best thing would be for you to return to the pit lane, while Toto would go to the motorhome. Taking a deep breath and running your fingers through his hair one last time, you were about to open the door when you felt his fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you into a kiss.
— See you tonight?
— Yes — you smiled, giving him one last peck on the lips before opening the door and disappearing down the hall.
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