Bubbles

oh my god

maybe my favourite piece of alexlore (x)

i am in fact very moved by that one gabico picture (and gabico in general), so i drew it ~ ☆

My phone isn’t letting me reply with this to a post but yeah, here’s the everything but love clip but longer and you can hear Nico Rosberg speaking because he’s also next to crofty as he said that

An attempt was made

"I'm still livid," George says, as though he hasn't tucked his lips between his teeth to keep from smiling.

Alex nods with all the gravitas he can muster. George's eyes dance. "Same, of course. Blatant disregard for the rules," he adds, like he hadn't twitched in the seat when he'd realised. He's going to take the penalty. Got properly hard, uncomfortably so, when the drive through had come down and he was back in front, promised points and George's glorious, gorgeous fury.

Or something like it. "Dangerous driving," George answers. The corner of his mouth jumps before he gets it under control. "Erratic."

He doesn't sound angry, when the tiles of the Café de Tresor bathroom bounce his words around. It must be the echo, making them both sound so amused, so soft.

It's their favourite restaurant in Monaco. Not for the food - the food is meal-plan compliant, and the less said about that, the better. But there's only room for a dozen covers, so it's easy to book out for a bit of privacy. And if a gentleman over six feet puts his shoulder against the bathroom door just so, it'll jam, and provided they don't take the piss (literally), no one will ask any questions.

George is still curling his lips in, barely under control, so Alex slides his thumb between them, presses the pad into the hot wet muscle of his tongue. George's jaw opens too easily for him; he doesn't even have to dig his fingertips into the line of the bone. "Your worst race of the season," he goads, and there, finally - a flash of ire, a quick scrape of teeth around the knuckle of his thumb. Only somewhat undermined by the way George starts suckling on it, the soothing sweep of his tongue around the bite.

Fuck, but George looks good with something in his mouth. When Alex manages to get a grip on himself and extract his thumb, it's shiny wet. He presses it against George's bottom lip, gentle as a kiss.

George has gone heavy-lidded and sweet again. It's too easy to fall into well-worn grooves; Alex feels his weight sway forwards, ready to push George up against the mirror and snog him like every other time he's had a frankly disappointing Caesar salad here for the privilege of making George pick up the bill.

He just catches himself in time, avoids George's open, panting mouth and grazes his ear instead. "Twenty laps up my arse and you couldn't get past me-"

"I-” George's word is more like an exhale, shivery against Alex's neck.

"On track," Alex reminds him, and if he has to clench his fist to keep from kissing the spot where George's hairline is starting to sweat, that's his own business. George, at least, remembers the name of the game. His shoulders tighten.

"Oh, right, the track," he drawls. If they weren't honestly attempting to have much-vaunted angry sex right now, Alex would be twitterpated by it, how obviously George hates the Monaco GP and its frankly godawful layout more than he could ever actually resent Alex. All that history and glamour and prestige, nothing to a man who should've stopped seeming cooler and wiser half a decade ago at least.

But then: "I'll tell you something about the track,” George starts, and Alex has to give his waist a quick squeeze, stop him before they end up in another hour-long discussion of Mariokart innovations to prevent another insult to racing.

"George," he interrupts, too fond by half. "Be a good boy and get on your knees."

George, entirely missing the point again, does. Folds like a paper crane, right there in front of the sinks, not even trying to move them to a stall.

Alex groans as quick fingers work his belt buckle. "You really are a little exhibitionist."

George rolls his eyes. "If I had my way we'd have done this in parc ferme." He cups Alex's balls like he's assessing limes at the grocer; it is, unfortunately, effective. "Might have had a shot at getting you ruled underweight," he adds. Alex tries to focus on the cheek of it and not the heat flooding out from his pelvis. Parc ferme. Bloody hell.

"Filthy cheat." Weak, it's weak, but Alex cuts off any comeback by guiding his cock into George's mouth, a slow firm push that only just gives him time to arrange himself and open his throat. It's still ridiculous every time, to Alex, how the sharp, hard lines of George's face give way to flesh and sinew. He looks like he should be all bones, strong but light and brittle, hollow like a bird's. Instead he's warm and soft and wet, happiest choking himself on cock, heavy with wanting.

Alex has been hard, to varying degrees, for basically three hours now. What had been a dull throb for the pantomime of dinner becomes the shake of an engine now; a few seconds in the clutch of George's throat, balls still in the squeeze of his long fingers, and he's gasping. He has to get both hands on the sides of George's skull to even feign face-fucking him; even then, he's only yanking him backwards, mouth spewing nonsense like your face and close your eyes and, damningly, baby.

His aim's a little off. The first splash of cum gets George's curls where they fall over his forehead. Serves him right for keeping his hairline, Alex thinks, before he's distracted by the stripes of white across his cheeks, his mouth, his tongue. The orgasm keeps shuddering through him, on and on and on, and George doesn't even twitch, face upturned and smooth and dripping with it.

His breaths rattle off the tiles. Slowly the noise of the restaurant starts filtering back in; an ostentatious clang of pots and pans. George swallows; opens his mouth-

"If you say anything about another three second performance," Alex warns. The corner of George's mouth twitches under the stroke of his thumb.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He eases up off his knees in one sinuous, practiced movement. "But I'd like to table revisiting twenty laps up your arse."

Alex must do a poor job of keeping his face steady; the fact that the bathroom and George's smug face disappear for a second and he has to pry his eyes back open is fairly conclusive evidence. He has to play dirty to make up lost ground and drag the back of his knuckles against where George is straining the front of yet another pair of white linen trousers. "I don't think you've got two laps left in you. You look just about ready to come in your knickers."

George mewls. He shakes his head; the tracks of cum across his face veer back and forth across his skin. "Can't. M'not-”

Alex comes dangerously close to tearing fabric as he jerks George's trousers - and just his trousers - open and down to his knees. His cock is blushing red against his stomach; Alex has to ruck the thin material of George's shirt up out of the way to avoid an incriminating stain. George's abs jump under his hot palm. Looks like two laps was optimistic.

"You absolute whore," Alex murmurs. He's not even trying to be mean now; it's awe that drops his voice half an octave. George tries to cant his hips into Alex's grip.

"Wait." He grabs George's shoulder, spins him round to tuck himself up against his back. His dick's still soft and spent, but it makes his lungs warm to feel how snug he fits up against the swell of George's bare arse. They're opposite the full length mirror, so he can look past the line of George's panting profile and see all of him on display, tan skin and red tongue and white knuckles all together.

George doesn't try to fight him on the move, pliant and desperate in his hands. Alex will have to try harder at home if he wants to get the grappling and biting he hoped for. Say something about Carmen, perhaps.

He can't blame George entirely for it. Even as he gets his hand around him and squeezes, he can't find it in him to make it hurt. His other hand tracks up George's chest, over a hard nipple and up to his neck. Featherlight.

At least in the mirror they look cruel to each other, Alex's big palm wrapped around his throat. Their reflections look fevered, unhinged. More normal than they've ever managed to be. The love beating a hole in Alex's chest - that can't be seen.

He refocuses on where George's cock slides on his grip, slippery with need. George's head drops back to his shoulder. There's a line of cum, Alex's cum, sliding over one of his cliff-edge cheekbones; Alex licks it up, heedless of the bitterness. It might be that more than the loose strokes that sends George over. His cum pulses weakly over Alex's knuckles.

For a moment the frame of the mirror captures them like a portrait: George, wrecked. Alex behind, holding him like a saint cradles a martyr. And then they meet each others' eyes and Alex couldn't say who grins first, only that neither of them can stop.

They lurch towards the sinks in perfect lockstep. George has to duck his whole face down, scrub at his hairline. Alex takes the opportunity while he's distracted to lick two fingers clean, before shoving his hands under the tap.

When George looks up again, his curls are damp and his eyes are bright. Alex catches his eye and he makes a face, absurd eyebrows raised, mouth pouting, conveying absolutely nothing except the general ridiculousness of George William Russell. There is no excuse for Alex laughing so hard he ends double, except that George follows him over, and it's as they're straightening up that Alex decides, sod it, and kisses him, open and soft and long, catching George's laughter like sunlight on his tongue.

It's a pathetic attempt at hatesex, to be honest, 0 out of 10, and Alex is going to be embarrassed when Carlos asks about it, given his effusive recommendations. But he can't bring himself to care.

Besides. It's a triple header. There's always next time.

Why am i thirdwheeling gabi complimenting nico

Actually insane

f1rpf race roll

roll two 20-sided dice 🎲

watch the race (and the grid positions that match your rolls) 👀

the drivers who place as your numbers are your ship 💋

write a ficlet, sketch something, weave a web, make a gif, etc ✨