#POLY LIGHTNING SALLY AND FRANCESCO FTW!

[jackalsprey]

Mi Amores

@strawberrylapin Stan I promised you some Lightnesco for your birthday and here it is! AS POLY LIGHTNING, SALLY, AND FRANCESCO! I will take this headcanon to my grave. These three are MARRIED and IN LOVE and NO ONE WILL CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE! Thank you.

Also, this is LONG. 1300 words exactly. I used it for my NaNoWriMo goal. (Yes, I'm doing NaNoWriMo, that's why I haven't posted anything in forever.)

Did Francesco expect to end up in this situation? No, he did not.

Did he anyway? Yes.

Was he the goddamn happiest man on the planet for it? Absolutely.

Falling in love with Lightning McQueen, his supposed rival, had been a surprise, one that had pained his tender Italian heart. After all, he was a magnificent man, a worthy rival, one that the Greeks and Romans would write endless poems on! (Ok, perhaps not that far, but Francesco did always have a talent for being dramatic.) But alas, he was in a happy relationship with the woman of his dreams, so even the great Francesco did not stand a chance.

Until that had changed.

It had been subtle; he and Signora Sally talking more and more often whenever he visited Radiator Springs. She was truly a wonderful woman: beautiful, fiery, but kind and gentle. She knew exactly what to say, even if it could hurt. (She was better than most racers at trash talking.) The biggest miracle of all? She’d gotten him to stop referring to himself in the third person.

And suddenly, Francesco found himself falling for her too.

He’d known he was polyamorous for some time; being with multiple partners had never disturbed him. But to be in love with both his greatest American rival and his wonderful lawyer girlfriend sounded like a plot straight out of a cheesy romance novel his mama would read.

And just like one of those romance novels, it ended up working out spectacularly, because now? Exactly one year after the World Grand Prix, Francesco Bernoulli was moving to Radiator Springs, Arizona, to live with his girlfriend and boyfriend.

“That the last of them?” Sally called from the kitchen.

Francesco set down the box, filled with his street clothes, on the coffee table. “I think so, Lightning is just checking the van to make sure.”

As if on cue, the American racer strode it empty-handed, whistling some ridiculous country music tune. What was it called, Life is a Highway?

“Movers are paid and on their way out,” he reported. “And Jesus Christ, they overcharged. 6,000 dollars for less than 40 things they carried?!”

Francesco smirked, wrapping an arm around his waist. “To be fair, mi amore, they were working for the two greatest racers in the world! And were dragging those things to the hottest place on Earth.”

“We’re on the opposite side of the state from Death Valley, idiot,” he grumbled, but still leaned into the embrace.

Sally came in and smirked at the sight of her boyfriends cuddling upright. Running her hand through her short black hair, she looked tempted to join in, but managed to hold herself back. “Alright love ducks, we’ve got unpacking to do. Make yourselves useful.”

“By making the bed?” Francesco quipped, wiggling his eyebrows seductively.

“By taking out the trash,” she corrected, grabbing the box he’d set down. “And don’t put things on the coffee table, it’ll leave marks.”

The Italian shrugged. “As you wish.” And in one swift move, he hoisted Lightning up and threw him over his shoulder, fireman style. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The American yelled. “Put me down!”

“She asked me to take out the trash, I’m just doing what she wants,” he replied innocently, while walking out to the front.

“You stupidass spaghetti man!” The insult was rather offset by the fact that in between words, Lightning was laughing up a storm. (Francesco smirked at the mental pun.) “Guess who’s not sleeping with you tonight!”

“Hm, let’s see…Sheriff, Lizzie, Fillmore, Sarge, Flo, Ramone, Red, Guido, and Luigi. I think that covers it.”

“And me, asshole! I am not sleeping with you tonight, no matter how sexy you are or how comfy the new bed is!”

Just for that, Francesco did actually set him down in the empty trash can. (Oof!) He was laughing even harder than before. The Italian racer couldn’t help but grin at the sight: the love of his goddamn life, right before him, more beautiful than he ever could’ve imagined. Yes, he was in a trash can, wearing ratty gym shorts, and his own merch tank top, but goddamn it, he was  still gorgeous.

Then a tap on the shoulder alerted him to the presence of the other love of his life. Francesco smirked as he met her sky blue eyes. More serious, and yet still sweet, pale but with a passion in her features that set his heart pounding, she was the Lucia to his Renzo, the stars to his sky. 

“You two done?” She asked.

“Si,” he chuckled.

“Uh, a little help here?” Lightning asked, struggling to flounder his way out of the garbage. 

“Only if you promise to take a shower once you’re out, you smell like crap,” Francesco stipulated.

“Oh, and who’s fault is that, Mr. Bernoulli?”

“Mr. Bernoulli is my father’s name,” he corrected. “And I don’t think it’s his.”

“Ok, ok, smart aleck,” Sally groaned, rolling her eyes. “Get him outta there and get your Italian ass in here.”

As she strode back in, he couldn’t help but give her one last snarky remark. “Only if you plan on slapping these asses later!”

“I agree!” Lightning called.

Their response was a well-manicured middle finger.

========================================================================

After the gentlemen had stopped giving Sally hell and actually started helping her out, it didn’t take very long to set everything up. They’d all decided to share the one bedroom, and Francesco hadn’t shipped much furniture with him overseas, so it was really just a matter of setting up his books, clothes, and making room for his absurd amount of plushies. (His only response to “why do you have so many” was “dopamine. Fuck off.”)

After they were done, all three laid down together on the queen-sized bed. The Italian, the lawyer, and the jerk with a heart of gold, cuddling like a bunch of kittens, before they turned into bloodthirsty devils. (Lightning had biases.)  Francesco was on the left, curled up and with his arms wrapped around Sally’s waist. Sandwiched in between them was Lightning, his fluffy brown hair a perfect little toy to play with as they relaxed.

“Y’know, this is not where I thought I’d end up in life,” he murmured.

“You wanted something else?” Sally whispered.

“Nah, not really,” he replied, chuckling almost imperceptibly. “Can’t think of anything better than this right now.”

Francesco, who was the one facing his boyfriend’s face, pressed gentle kisses to his forehead. “Good, I was about to regret moving here.”

The two Americans snuggled closer, if that was even possible. 

“Please never do that, Fran,” Sally asked. “Please, for all our sake.”

“No plans to, fiore.”

“Ah, what, do I not get cute Italian nicknames?” Lightning pouted. 

Before Francesco could answer, a stern, clipped voice cut through the peaceful vibe of the room. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, FILLMORE?”

“C’mon man, some respect for the queen!”

“And, that’s my cue,” Sally sighed, reluctantly extracting herself from the cuddle pile. “Don’t get too frisky, I just did those sheets last week.”

“Translation, you don’t want us to have too much fun without you,” Lightning quipped.

That earned him another middle finger, right before she walked out the bedroom door. It sent him into another fit of laughter. Now, it was just the boyfriends, tightly wrapped up with each other, and Francesco giving Lightning the best puppy eyes he’d ever seen.

��Sooooo?”

“So what?”

“Should we listen to her or…”

Lightning let out a brief laugh. Grabbing the Italian by the front of his black and white jacket, he rolled them over so that he was now on top of him.

“Not a chance, spaghetti head. Not a chance.” They kissed, soft and sweet, and Francesco knew that this was the best decision he’d ever made.