Page 41 of Dirty Air
“Um, no, thank you.” Fritz clutches his hand-warmed champagne bottle. He doesn’t need anything else for the rest of his life.
Henry and Fritz take the elevator alone. They haven’t been alone since lunchtime before the race. So much has changed since then.
They’ve fought since then. Shared a podium, even.
Henry presses the button for the twelfth floor, Fritz the fifteenth. The doors slide shut with a soft beep.
“I was really impressed with you today,” Henry says, breaking the silence. “Despite the yelling, turn sixteen was still a gamble. But you saw an opening and took it. We couldn’t predict something like that—that was all you.”
“Not all me. I was happy to be towed across the line.” The elevator is too slow, just crawling between floors. He watches the floor numbers as his heart pounds faster. “Lucas gave me some good advice.”
“Win the race?”
“Ask someone to wash the champagne off.” The elevator doors open on the twelfth floor with a ping, but neither of the passengers acknowledge it. They stare at each other instead. “Will you help me?”
Henry’s throat rolls with a swallow, but he makes no move towards the empty hallway. “Yeah. Yeah, I can help with that.”
The door slides close again, but Henry turns back to the panel and presses the close button repeatedly, as if to usher them along.
When Fritz unlocks his room, Henry stops just inside.
“I expected a suite.”
Fritz scoffs as he pushes his race engineer further in and closes the door. “I am sorry if it is not up to your high standards, but I work for VFIBR, the same as you.”
Fritz finally sets his prized bottle down on the first available flat surface and tries to look at his room through new eyes.
It’s just a normal hotel room—a desk, a king bed, a tv. It’s cleaner than how he left it, which is a relief. Housekeeping makes him look like a responsible adult instead of whatever rolled out of the bed this morning.
There’s a palpable uncertainty hanging in the air as the men size each other up. What are they supposed to do now?
They’ve heard each other climax, but do they kiss? Should they discuss safe words, or is Henry only here to loofah his driver up and leave? What happens next?
Discomfort wins.
“I need to get this off of me.” Fritz’s Nomex is plastered to his skin.
He pulls at the shirt from the bottom edge, but the fabric leaves his skin bright red. The sound is like pulling duct tape from a roll, and Fritz hisses with the sting of it.
“Let me help.” Henry stretches the shirt downwards, unsticking the fabric first before attempting to pull it away from the skin. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
“I cannot tell if they were happy for me or upset.”
“Probably both.”
Henry gets the shirt released from Fritz’s midsection and helps guide it up and over his head.
Fritz sighs with relief. His chest expands as far as it can withevery inhale—something he hasn’t been able to do for hours. “That is so much better.”
The shirt is still rolled up just past his head, pulling his shoulders closer together. His arms are stuck at a strange angle out in front of him, and he feels a bit silly, but at least he can breathe.
Henry stops rolling the shirt and hums low, scheming. His hands wander from the stiffened fabric bunched around Fritz’s neck down his naked back.
“This is a nice look, actually.” Henry’s fingertips dance over the bumps of Fritz’s spine, fluttering away before trailing underneath where his race suit still hangs. “Maybe we could try this one day—keep your arms bound. What do you think?”
Fritz shivers as he nods. Is it the bondage that’s exciting? Or is it the prospect of having Henry againone day? “I like that idea.”
“Thought you might.”
