daemon_angelus: (fate extra | saber nero [ fistpump ])
[personal profile] daemon_angelus
BECAUSE celticheavens (aka [personal profile] devils_solitude around here :D) AND I ARE FUCKING AU MACHINES FOR OUR OTPs, WE CAME UP WITH GRID BOYS-RACING AU IN OUR TELEGRAM MASS WALL OF TEXTS AS USUAL AND I GOT SOME OF THE SOLKY FEELS OUT and yes I skipped quite quickly to some kinda sexytiems but so what most of our OTP AUs are 99.9% indulgent smart crack anyway

The smell of burning asphalt makes him almost giddy - the atmosphere is 
electrifying (is the first time he's stepped into an actual street racing scene) - and the noise -
There was nothing really quite like the continuous, majestic roars of V12 turbo-charged engines.
(He knows a fearsome dragon awaits here - quirks the edge of thin pink lips - for him to slay - )
The DJ on duty introduces him simply as a new challenger - already more than several members of the audience mesmerised and following the sway of slender hips as he walks to the starting line (long golden blond hair striking against pale skin, vivid cerulean eyes even more so) -
- the reigning champion of the circuit is an older man, leaning against the door of his heavily modified crimson car, lazily smoking a cigarette - unruly mahogany hair tied up in a ponytail that reaches his waist, solid muscle showing through the simple wifebeater-and-sleeveless-jacket top, dark blue jeans hugging the impossible v of his hips -  stomps out his cigarette under a black combat boot and slides piercing golden eyes to him -
"Ready to get pounded, kid?"
He frowns slightly. "My name is Ky, Mr Badguy - " may or may not have flicked the end of his ponytail over his shoulder as he walked past - "I expect it's not too difficult for you to remember - "
- Only answers the stretch of a feral grin with his own polite sly smile smirk.
As Ky slips on fingerless black gloves behind the steering wheel, he notices a svelte young man step in front of and between the two cars - dressed in a shiny cropped top and vest, abs visible on top of tiny tiny shorts, amber blond hair tied back in a small ponytail, chewing bubblegum as he hypes up the crowd - with hazel brown winks, blowing kisses from plump glossy lips, smooth lean muscles contrasting with the hint of red eyeshadow (youthful radiant vitality on display) -
Seems like the crowd here prefers their grid boys over grid girls - 

Wait. Red?
"Are y'all reaadddy!" A thunderous roar and frantic whistling answers the grid boy as he places one hand on a jutted hip, another cupped to his ear - "Awwwright! Let's hear it - y'all know who I'm here to cheer for right ~ " 
Sol! Sol! Sol! Sol!! -
Ky risks a glance over to the other car - and sees Sol pulling on one of his own gloves with his teeth - flashing a highly dissatisfied scowl at the grid boy who's blowing him a kiss through his windshield coupled with a very rude finger which surely wasn't warranted (much of such antics just added to the spectacle anyhow) -
The frown Ky'd been wearing deepens. He hadn't really expected anyone holding the title of champion - even here, in dark alleys and dark nights lit up by no-holds-barred street racing - to behave in such an uncouth manner -
Perhaps it had been the right thing to come and perhaps, knock this Sol guy down a peg - 
Ky had never driven, never been pushed this hard in his life (and he'd been in professional races back in France before moving to this foreign land - )
And somehow, he'd still wound up losing. To Sol
He's still breathing heavily in the driver's seat - still trying to work out what he could have done better, where he'd lost time and angles - when the other man approaches, elbow coming to a rest on the roof of his car, a smug victorious shit-eating grin on his face as he leans down - 
Greets Sol with the slightest totally not indignant tilt of his head and purses already downturned lips (if anything, the electricity in bright cerulean eyes only seems to make Sol's grin stretch that much wider - )
"Shouldn't have wasted both our times, kid - "
Ky outright glares at the man - who does he think he is - "I won't lose next time. Not to you, especially - "
- misses how intrigued, sharp golden eyes follow after him as he disappears back into the crowd - the moment broken when the blond grid boy from before suddenly wraps his hands around Sol's forearm (growls out an annoyed Katsuya! - ) to the hoots, cheers and camera flashes of onlookers.
It's hard to forget a name like Ky Kiske, not when it came with the finest piece of ass Sol has seen in what feels like forever, and a stubborn streak that ran as deep as Ky was pretty.
In the beginning, he'd figured Ky would just be like the rest of them - countless racers who thought getting a little experience or praise meant they were probably the greatest in town - all talk, zero-to-little skill, and definitely without the determined doggedness to come back after the seventh consecutive time Sol had wiped them with the floor on the circuit. 
Tonight was probably something like their fourteenth race (eighteenth? Twentieth? Who'd bother to keep count, honestly - well, besides Ky himself - ) against each other and Ky was still sitting in the opposite lane with the most serious, and frankly, huffiest expression Sol had ever seen - or rather, bothered to notice - on someone.

The thing was, it'd been years since anyone pushed Sol beyond using something like forty percent of his brain-instinct-reflexes capacity to win a race. There wasn't a need to go all-out even against Ky but there were still some seriously close shaves where just the slightest error or misjudgement would have cost him the win. The same tricks never worked twice on Ky - sharp, agile, precise mind and always quick on his feet - like his driving - and Sol thinks it's infectious - whatever lightning and thunder was running through, humming innate in Ky's blood - 
It went beyond any old adrenaline rush from loud noise, fast cars, mass excitement and group highs - Sol really didn't know how to explain it, doesn't care to -
(Is sometimes left with the disturbing thought of what lay beyond victory; would Ky cease coming to the circuit - get out of his life - if there ever came the day when he finally beat Sol?)
Half a year on, and the question has fizzled to nothing in the back of Sol's mind. Ky still hadn't won against him, but they'd grown close enough (past the almighty, bitter, asinine arguments) that they would work on each other's cars in the nearby workshop and even attend some of the after-parties together once their races ended.
Sol hadn't thought they'd grown that close that Ky would invite him back to his apartment (technically, they'd been on the way back to their respective homes at something like two in the morning but Sol somehow wound up following Ky the whole way and Ky hadn't exactly expressed any displeasure) but Ky had always been full of surprises - tiny, utterly curious quirks and incongruences with how Sol first imagined Ky to be.
Perhaps it was a good thing as well - Ky looked more than a little worse for wear, cerulean eyes glazed over with fatigue, Sol having stopped counting after the sixth time he'd yawned into his hand within the past hour - 
- watches bemusedly as Ky fumbles slightly with his keys before getting the door open - has to end up snapping out an irritated it's fine to the fourth time Ky offers him something to drink - before the Frenchman all but collapses onto his bed. 
Ky mutters out something unintelligible that's muffled by his face being planted in the mattress - probably some polite nonsense like him not being a good host - when Sol saunters into the bedroom. 
And Sol can't help but wonder if any of this was a good idea (has no real clue what to do next, still caught between bemusement and outright confusion as to what exactly Ky was thinking - )
Ky's hair gleams silvery blond in the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, his frame lean and willowly, outstretched arms hiding a wiry strength and beauty - 
"Aren't you tired too?"
Sol shrugs, deliberately keeping some distance away. "Maybe. What, are you seriously suggesting I sleep with you now?" Cracks a teasing grin that he's sure Ky can't see, but can probably hear in the innuendo of his words - 
A pause. And then (so soft, he almost misses it) - 
Sol lets out an amused snort - still unwilling to suspend his disbelief - takes two strides to where Ky is still lying face-down on the bed - decides ah, what the hell it's not like he had anything to lose - places both palms on the mattress just shy of either side of Ky's hips as he leans down to whisper lowly -
"You don't mean that."
He doesn't push for an answer straight away, just takes in the way Ky slowly draws his elbows in, blond head pressing deeper into where his arms intersect - a smirk at the hitched breath when a warm puff of air passes over the shell of Ky's ear - this close, Sol can feel the flush no doubt dusting Ky's cheeks on his own skin - is itching to just press his tongue down and along the tantalising length of the nape of Ky's neck, exposed by his signature high ponytail -
Caught up in his own musings, Sol only manages to catch the snap of cerulean eyes (silver-navy blue in the darkness of night) before Ky is kissing him, soft lips smooth and warm against his, even touches slender fingers to the side of his face, torso twisted up under the cage of Sol's arms -
When they part, Sol sucks in a shuddering breath as Ky traces light, almost teasing kisses all the way up to his ear - "Still think I don't mean it?" 
- A breathless laugh escapes Sol's throat as he snakes his arm tight around the other man's waist - considers that, yes, perhaps yet another re-evaluation of Ky Kiske was in dire order.


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July 2017


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