#when arthur sometimes tries to play dom later on

[scuderiahalf]

middle man — arthur leclerc

pairing. arthur leclerc x ferrari driver!fem!reader

summary. you never set out to date your teammate's brother. in fact, it took arthur months just to convince you to go on a single date, but charles' opinion of you hit an all time low after he became aware of your relationship and nothing you did seemed to help mend your previously strong partnership. when charles takes it a step too far, you decide that you’ve had enough of it. 6.7k, 18+

warnings. injury, descriptions of injury, smut, dom/sub dynamic (sub!reader), fingering (fem receiving), impact play, penetrative sex, mirror sex

masterlist.

. . .

The slightest of contact was all it took. That was all it ever took. One second, you were making the overtake for P2, and the next, you were in the wall.

There was barely time to brace. Barely any time to hit the brakes. Reaction time was trained, drilled, conditioned into you until it became second nature. Thank god it was, otherwise, you might not have walked away from this one.

Your ears were ringing when you opened you eyes after impact. Your vision was swimming but you were conscious. You heard the cadence of the question in your ear more than you could actually understand the words being said.

Are you okay? Y/N, are you okay?

You weren't really sure if you were but your mind went to those that were watching the race, your fans, your team, your family, your friends. Arthur. They needed to hear you say that you were okay. The gritty details could come later.

"I'm good. We're good. That was a rough one, huh?"

You're sure that the pain was still evident in your voice. It was unavoidable after however many Gs of force you just withstood in that crash. You turned the engine off, took a moment to center yourself.

You had crashed. You were a Formula One driver. It was the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, the fourth race of your second season with Ferrari after your Haas contract expired two years ago.

Your boyfriend's name was Arthur Leclerc. Privately (and jokingly), you called him Artie because it made him cringe and you thought it was funny. He was your teammate's little brother.

He was the first person to make it to the circuit medical center after you had been loaded into the medical car. He was shaking as he hugged you, not from fear but from restraint, not wanting to hurt you by squeezing you as tightly as he wanted to.

"You are okay? Tell me you are okay."

"I'm fine, baby."

"I could strangle Max Verstappen sometimes. 'Leave the space' must only apply to others."

"Arthur, it's okay. It's just part of the sport."

He looked you over for a moment more before catching your mouth in a searing kiss. It spoke volumes, and you understood exactly what he meant by it.

I deeply respect your love of the sport but I would burn the FIA and the whole world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

"I love you," he said when he pulled back.

"Je t'aime," you returned.

That exchange of I love you's in your and Arthur's respective native languages of English and French had been a staple of your relationship since very early on. Your first "I love you" had been in each other's mother tongue. It had stuck ever since.

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes,” you insisted, “A little dizzy, but okay.”

“Dizzy? You did not say you were dizzy.” That was the doctor that had checked you for any signs of a concussion.

You turned to face her. “Yes, but I had—“

You lost your balance as you turned. Your typical coordination escaped you and Arthur had to catch you to stop you from tipping sideways.

The doctor pulled out a phone. “I’m calling an ambulance. You’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m fine—“

“Mon coeur, please sit down,” Arthur urged.

Your calm but obviously worried boyfriend refused to leave your side even when it meant leaving for the hospital before the end of the race. You tried to convince him to stay for his brother but he wasn’t having it.

In the hospital room after you had completed all the precautionary brain scans, Arthur checked his phone.

"Maman is asking about you," he said. "Lorenzo, too."

You both took note of the lack of another of his family member’s text message, but you had grown all too used to it. It was easier not to comment on it.

"Tell them I'm fine."

"I will tell them we are waiting on your test results."

"Don’t worry them. I’m fine, Arthur.”

"We will know that once they have gotten their results."

Arthur had a very convincing poker face but this needless argument showed how concerned he truly was. He kept worrying his bottom lip between his teeth whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

You tugged on your intertwined hands to pull him closer. “Hey. I’ll be fine. It’s probably just a concussion.”

“You cannot know.”

“Then, call it positive thinking.”

Before anything more could be said, the doctor returned with the results of your tests.

You were okay, only a concussion as you had thought. You had a fair amount of bruising and a bit of whiplash to commemorate one of the worst crashes of your career but other than that, you seemed fine.

They still wanted to keep you overnight for observation but you should recover in a timely fashion.

When the doctor left, you only had time to shoot Arthur an “I told you so” look before his phone started ringing. The caller ID showed his second eldest brother’s name.

He answered in French, a language you knew almost fluently after living in Monaco since your rookie season. You had really buckled down to learn the language after beginning to date Arthur.

“Hello? ... I am at the hospital with Y/N. … I know but congratulations on third. Sorry I missed the celebrations.”

You couldn’t hear what Charles was saying, only your boyfriend’s responses. It was now over two hours since the end of the race. Charles must have only just gotten time to call Arthur.

“I know I am, but Y/N was dizzy and the doctor was concerned and I couldn’t just leave her. … She is part of Ferrari, too. I have a duty to both her and the team. … I was not needed at the garage. … And I said I’m sorry I missed your podium but I wasn’t going to leave her alone. What if something happened?”

You sunk back into your hospital bed. They were fighting again. Because of you.

You and Charles had been rookies together back in 2018. You had started your F1 career at Williams before moving through Haas to where you were now, your second year at Ferrari.

You were a handful of years younger than Charles and he had always treated you like a little sister. When you got the Ferrari contract, Charles was over the moon. You remember him going on a half hour tangent about how much fun it would be having you as a teammate, how excited he was for the next two years.

Charles adored you. At least, he used to, before you and Arthur told him you had started seeing each other.

Since then, Ferrari has been a minefield.

Charles was distant and cold. He stopped sending TikToks and stopped laughing at your memes. He unfollowed you on Instagram for about a week before the Ferrari PR team made him follow you again.

The PR department was working well past overtime thanks to you and Charles. You had learned not to try and approach him even when there were cameras around because he would continue to ignore you and it would further fuel the drama mill.

You missed your friend. You missed the fun you two had last year as teammates.

Now, you were with Arthur. And you loved him. And he made you so happy. But you missed being able to talk to Charles without him looking at you like you were the gum on the bottom of his shoe.

Arthur’s voice had gotten sharper the longer he spoke to Charles. “Not that you bothered to ask but Y/N is fine, by the way. We had to go to the hospital to scan her brain and make sure but she would be. Not like you’d care.”

Arthur hung up and tossed his phone onto a table where he couldn’t reach it. You reached out for his hand and he took it, kissing your knuckles and sighing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Do not apologize. This is not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“It is not. It is Charles being impossible for no reason. Before we were dating, he—“

He adored you. He called you mon ange. He praised your driving any time he could. He invited you to dinners with his family, which was how you got to know Arthur outside of racing.

Now, Charles couldn’t stand the sight of you. It hurt, you weren’t going to lie. Charles was your teammate and friend, but more importantly, he was Arthur’s brother.

You didn’t feel it was your place to try and close the gap gouged between you and Charles, not when he was Arthur’s family. You didn’t want to complicate things further, didn’t want to try and repair your friendship before the bond between brothers was mended.

“Maybe…”

You lacked the confidence to continue your thought. You didn’t want to suggest what you were about to, even if it could potentially fix everything.

You were selfish when it came to Arthur. You didn’t like sharing him and you especially didn’t want to let him go.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“What? No? No. Why? No. Why would you want to—? Have I done something wrong? Why would you say that?”

You were quick to reassure him. “No, no, no, baby, it’s not that. I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to take a bit of time and come back to this in the off season. When Charles can separate me as your girlfriend from me as his teammate.”

“No,” he insisted. “No. I do not want him to ruin this any more than he already has. I do not want to take a break.”

“Okay. That’s okay. It was just a suggestion.” One that you were thankful Arthur objected to so vehemently.

“It is a dumb suggestion. I do not want a break. I will never want a break from you.”

“Okay.”

You let him lean in and kiss you. It seemed that Arthur was selfish with you, as well.

.

You were no stranger to Charles Leclerc’s yacht. You had spent many nights attending parties hosted by your friend on his impressive vessel and even more days lounging around or exploring islands along the Monaco coast.

But ever since Charles found out about you and Arthur, you hadn’t been invited back. Until the weekend between races, a week after your crash.

And you hadn’t exactly been invited, it was more that Charles had been told by his mother that you would be spending the day with the family and there was no getting out of it. Though, as the day stretched on and tensions grew higher, you were really wishing that you were the one who could have gotten out of going.

Your concussion wasn’t as severe as originally feared. Your ribs were still tender and the skin of your torso bruised but you were set to race at Miami next week as long as your checkup in a few days went well.

Arthur sat down beside you on the large daybed you had taken to reading on. It was shaded and secluded enough to be comfortable but not so far from the main seating area that you couldn’t easily rejoin the larger group. It was where you had usually set up camp whenever aboard Charles’ yacht.

Your boyfriend handed you the fizzy, non-alcoholic beverage you had requested. He accepted a kiss as gratuity.

“What are you reading?”

“One of those spicy fantasy novels you make fun of me for.”

“Oh, the porn books.”

“They’re not porn books!”

Arthur just laughed because he liked teasing you. He laid his head in your lap. You, of course, let him because you were not actually upset.

You smoothed the hair off his forehead lovingly.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not hurting?”

“No. I’ve been doing my stretches and using bruise cream. I’ll be right as rain next weekend.”

Arthur seemed pleased with that answer. “Will you read to me?”

You regarded the content on the page you were open to. “I’m not exactly at a publicly appropriate chapter.”

“Am I not a better option than ink on paper?”

“You are not always readily available.”

“You are far more busy than me. You are always away from me.”

“Exactly. I need something to do with all my free time in my hotel room. All alone. Just me. And my hands all over… my latest smutty book.”

“You kill me, woman,” Arthur groaned, sitting up to kiss you.

You let out a peel of laughter when Arthur pushed you onto your back. You two were not in the habit of making your close friends and family uncomfortable with excessive PDA, so Arthur abandoned kissing you to pin you down, gentle and conscientious of your torso.

“Okay! Okay, you’re better!”

Arthur leaned down over you. “Better than what?”

“You’re better than my books.”

“Good.”

He kissed you, then wiggled his fingers against your neck to make you shriek.

“Arthur, Y/N. Come eat!” Pascale called the two of you over to the group.

Arthur helped you sit up, then held out a hand to help you down the steps to the deck below because god forbid you take the three stairs on your own. You didn’t mind; you liked that he wanted to help you, even with things you didn’t need him for.

You smiled at Arthur, able to forget about the Leclerc civil war for a moment. Then, you turned toward where everyone else was sitting in the main seating area.

Charles was glaring daggers.

Your stomach dropped. You pulled your hand free from Arthur’s to fix your hair then didn’t take it again when you were done.

Arthur looked at you odd, noticed where you were glancing. He glared back just as hard at his older brother.

“Arthur,” you muttered in reproach.

“If maman was not here, I swear I would smack him across the face.”

“Arthur, please.”

After the race in Azerbaijan was over, after podium celebrations and post-race interviews, Charles had spoken a little too loudly about how it was your fault that you had crashed, that it was what happened when you "still drive like a rookie five years into your career."

The video that some random clubgoer had managed to capture of your teammate badmouthing you while you spent the night in the hospital for observation had gone more than a little viral.

To hear him talk about you like that just made you sad. You didn't have the energy to be mad over it.

Arthur did not share those feelings. When he first saw the video, it was everything you could do to keep Arthur from charging halfway across Monaco to kick his brother's door in. Instead, you anxiously sat on the couch in your living room as he and his brother shouted at each other over the phone.

If it wasn't for Pascale's not at all subtle attempts to get her boys to make up, you and Arthur never would have come today. But she was your boyfriend's mother. She would not accept a refusal of her invitation for today.

You ended up sat beside Arthur and about as far from Charles as possible as sandwiches and chips were passed around. You kept making eye contact with Pascale, awkwardly smiling whenever you did before glancing away.

"Charles, do you have any more wine on this boat?" Pascale asked.

Charles stood. "I'll go get some."

"Arthur, why don't you help your brother?"

You held your breath. You truly admired the balls on that woman, and the unapologetically obvious pursuit of making her sons make up. When you glanced at Arthur, almost hopeful, you saw the dark edge to his gaze as he looked at his brother; he was still too angry to be left alone with Charles.

You didn't believe Arthur would actually slap or physically harm Charles in any way but things would not be made better by Arthur confronting his brother right now.

"I'll help," you said before Arthur had to respond. "Lead the way, Charlie."

You false enthusiasm shriveled into nothingness by the time you reached the stairs down to the bar. You trailed after him below deck, staying several paces behind.

Charles was silent as he began opening cupboards. He hadn't so much as looked at you when you took his younger brother's place in assisting him.

"Charles, I—"

"I do not want to hear it, Y/N."

You swallowed around the nervousness trying to clog up your throat. "Are you ever going to let me explain?"

"There is nothing to explain. You are my teammate. Arthur is my brother. You both go behind my back to start dating each other and do not care of what it will affect."

"Believe me, we've talked about it. At length. We know it's a risk."

"And you do not care," Charles concluded, ducking down below the bar and out of view as he continued his search.

"No, we decided it was worth it." You took a breath. "I don't know how to talk about how in love with your brother I am without making you uncomfortable but if I had to choose between him and racing, I would hesitate."

That statement may not sound all that impressive but Charles had once said to you—after many, many drinks following a successful race weekend for Ferrari—that he would know he truly loved a woman if when he had to choose between her and never racing again, he hesitated.

As a fellow driver, you understood exactly what he meant. That was what you felt for Arthur. That was what the youngest Leclerc meant to you. That was how hopelessly in love you were.

"I love Arthur, I really do. And I know it's messy and complicated and whatever else but I don't care about that. At the end of the day, I am happier with Arthur than I have been in a really long time."

Charles was silent behind the bar. He was still ducked down. It felt like you were monologuing to an empty room. It made it a little easier to continue.

"While I am willing to put a little strain on my career for my relationship, what I have never wanted to put strain on is your relationship with your brother. I never wanted anything like this to happen.

“I never wanted to go behind your back. I never would have pursued my feelings for Arthur if he hadn’t been so persistent but he wore me down and I couldn’t tell him no.

“I am truly sorry for breaking your trust. But I cannot stop loving your brother. I will not let him go just because you cannot accept us, despite all the difficulties it may come with.”

Two bottles of wine appeared on the bar top just before Charles stood upright again. He still would not look at you.

"If you can't forgive me for pursuing a member of your family, that's fine. I understand. But Arthur is your little brother; do not throw that away because of me.

"Hate me. Be mad at me. Ignore me on media days. Unfollow all my socials. Make the entire world think you despise me. I don't care; just don't take it out on Arthur.

"I am not worth you two falling out."

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Charles finally looked you in the eye. You held his gaze, imploring him to listen to what you were saying.

His expression did not change the longer he surveyed you. Then, he took the bottles of wine, walked right past you without another word, and went back above deck.

.

"That is it?" Arthur asked as you recounted the events to him later that night.

He was sat on the lid of the toilet as you washed your face before you two were going to settle in to watch a movie.

"Then, I told him I'm not worth you two falling out over and he walked away. Without a word. Just back up the stairs and that was that."

"You are."

"Are what?"

"Worth falling out over."

You sighed. "Arthur—"

"You are. I am serious."

"Arthur, I'm not going anywhere. You don’t have to choose between me and Charles; I don’t want you to.”

“I am not losing you because of him.”

“I’m not asking you to compromise. I’m not letting you go because of Charles, either, but we have to try and make this work. He’s your brother. That has to mean something to you.”

“He is being unreasonable.”

“Have you even tried to talk to him about it? Or have you just been pretending nothing’s changed?”

“Nothing has changed," he said stubbornly.

“Okay, that's one of the problems."

"It should not matter that we're dating."

"No, it should. And it does. I'm dating my teammate's brother; that is going to change some things. You do recall the HR meeting all of us had to suffer through, don't you?"

Shortly after telling Charles of your relationship, you and Arthur had gone to Ferrari to make them aware as well. There had been no major backlash from the team but there had been a several-hours-long meeting with HR and PR that you, Arthur, and Charles all had to be present for.

Arthur physically shuddered at the memory. "Do not remind me."

"Us being together changes things. You cannot ignore it and hope everything will blow over."

"He hasn't even apologized to you."

"Worry about me later. Fix your relationship with your brother before it's too late."

"Y/N, you are not understanding. I cannot fix my relationship with Charles if he is going to speak of you like he did in that video. If he is going to treat you like he has been, nothing is going to be fixed."

"He's your brother—"

"And you are l'amour de ma vie. I do not care that he is my brother; I will not tolerate anyone speaking of you in such a way. I cannot remove you from the situation. I cannot make up with him until he stops treating you horrible.”

You had not realized Arthur’s view on the whole situation. You supposed it made sense now that you thought about it.

Charles was generally being mean to you, not his brother. When the two youngest Leclercs argued, it was over you. Charles seemed convinced that you would never prioritize Arthur or his career over yourself or your own.

True, you would never give up your seat for Arthur, but you wouldn’t do that for anyone. Should the time ever come where Arthur got an F1 seat, you would never give him anything; he would have to work just as hard as anyone else to race against you. That was racing.

You do not think that Charles meant anything to that extreme of a degree. He perhaps meant that Arthur would seldom be prioritized in place of a career in F1, period, but you and Arthur were on the same page about that.

You had spoken in length about it. You had laid everything on the table a few months into your relationship and spoke about it all until you reached a true and total understanding.

And Charles… Well, Charles would always see Arthur as his baby brother, as someone to protect, as someone who is young and unknowing of the world even if he was snugly into his twenties.

“You need to speak to him. Really speak to him. Talk everything through.”

“He needs to apologize, first. Then, and only then, will I talk things out.”

“You are. So. Stubborn,” you growled at him, jokingly pretending to choke him in your frustration.

“If I was not, how would I keep you in check?”

He slid his hand right up under your oversized sleep shirt to hold your core in his palm. Your freshly washed face went a little pink.

“I don’t need to be kept in check,” you said indignantly.

“Don’t you? You always seem to find some way to misbehave and then I have to punish you for it. You know how I hate to punish you.”

“Don't lie. You love my punishments as much as I do.”

He rubbed his hand over the cloth of your panties, pushed his fingers between your closed thighs to prod over the fabric at where you had already started to ache for him. It took so little to get you worked up, just a few touches and some dirty words and you were ready to melt into any mold Arthur wanted.

“Backtalk.” He clicked his tongue at you. “Already misbehaving.”

“I’m debating my point. That is not misbehaving. You’re just being mean.”

“Keep talking and I can show you how mean I can be.”

“That’s not fair—“

You didn’t get to finish your thought before Arthur stood and pushed you against the bathroom counter. Your thighs dug into the edge of the counter as Arthur pressed against your back, hips nestled into the soft curve of your ass.

“Arthur—"

"Hm?"

He slowly slid your hair out of the way. The collar of your ancient sleep shirt was easily stretched to the side so Arthur could kiss the bare skin of his shoulder. His teeth bit into the curve of your neck just enough to feel but not hurt.

You whined, pushed your hips back into him. "Don't tease."

He slid a hand up to your neck, met your eye in the mirror. "Be patient."

He held you there until you nodded your understanding. Only then did he hitch the back of your shirt up to slip his hand inside your panties from behind.

He grabbed a handful of your ass. You exhaled a soft moan.

You hadn't been intimate since the Monday before the Azerbaijan GP, meaning it was pushing two weeks since Arthur had touched you. You were ready to fall apart and he hadn't even really touched you yet.

"Arthur, s'il te plaît."

In the mirror, you could see him smirk at your French. He had told you before that he liked when you spoke to him in French, that he thought your accent was cute.

You knew it was a totally indulgent way to get what you wanted but you didn't care; it worked. His fingers slid between your folds, feeling how slick and ready you were for him.

He cursed into your shoulder, slipping into French to say, "So wet for me—fuck, Y/N."

"Want you, baby. Please."

"Want me? Want me where?"

"Inside me."

"So lewd, mon coeur," he teased. "You're so needy tonight."

"You started it."

"And I will stop it if you are not grateful for what I am giving you."

He pulled his hand out of your underwear and you whined. You reached back to slide a hand into his hair.

"No, please, I'm sorry. Please, don't stop."

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "I will take care of you. You do not need to beg."

He pulled your panties down until you could kick them off to the side. He gently ran a hand over your stomach and ribs. Arthur was always conscientious of you, especially when you were injured.

"Can you bend over for me?"

You did so immediately, elbows coming to rest on the sink counter. Your shirt slid up off your hips to hang loosely around your waist. You felt your arousal hit the air in the bathroom, the chill making you shift your hips.

"So good for me. My good girl."

You could cry from the praise and the fact that his fingers still were not inside of you that exact second. You were embarrassingly worked up.

Arthur seemed to take pity on you, circling his thumb on your clit a few times before slipping a finger into you. Just one was nowhere near enough to fill you up but you dropped your head onto your arms and moaned.

He kissed your backside, knelt down behind you. "So noisy, amour."

Any snarky response you may have had died in your throat when he pressed a second finger into you. That was enough for a bit of a stretch that had you pushing your hips back against his hand.

"Stay still," Arthur warned.

You really did try to listen to him but after slowly scissoring you open with two fingers, he introduced a third and started really finger fucking you. You pressed your forehead against the counter, not able to stop yourself from pushing back into him again, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, searching for something that would stretch you further, reach deeper into you.

He pulled his fingers out of you. Your whine was cut short when he slapped your bared cunt with the same soaked fingers that were just inside of you.

"You are so fucking impatient."

"Just want you."

"Yeah? You want me so bad you cannot even stay still and let me stretch you out? You want to be torn open by my cock?"

You whimpered. That was exactly what you wanted.

He slapped your pussy again. "Huh? Is that what you want?"

You raised your head just enough to be able to watch as Arthur pushed his shorts down. You couldn't see as he pulled his cock free with him stood behind you but you definitely felt it when he pressed his tip against your prepped entrance.

"Oh, fuck—"

He entered you in a swift motion. You choked around a moan.

He was gentle with his arms as he pulled you back against him but ruthless with his hips as he fucked into you without relent. He didn’t press on your bruised torso but he did get a hand around your throat to make you watch yourself in the mirror.

Your dynamic was like this. He was in charge and you loved that. He could hit you, fuck you hard, have you screaming, begging, crying, but where it truly mattered, he would always be gentle with you. His dominance was not just for him; he was always cognizant of your current state and how you were feeling in the moment.

“Arthur.” You breathed his name like a moan, like a prayer.

He kissed your neck, then your cheek. “So good for me.”

Arthur set the pace slow and deep. You could feel him nudging your cervix, stretching you open, the tug of your walls against his cock making you ache for him even more. You were a moaning mess for him in mere moments.

He coaxed you through your first orgasm like that, fucking you slowly from behind as you watched yourselves in the bathroom mirror, his hand between your thighs to push you along. Your legs shook and Arthur held you upright as he kept the torturous pace all the way through your climax.

“You have a bit more in you, amour. Yes?” he asked, still moving his hips as the continued stimulation was making you squirm.

You felt you could barely catch your breath but you nodded anyway. “Yes.”

Arthur hummed, pleased. “Good girl. Bend over.”

If your first orgasm was for you, the second was surely for Arthur. Sex was always a game of give and take with him. Though, even when he was taking, you were always being given so much.

As soon as he had you bent over again, he gripped your hips, adjusted his own, then started fucking into you fast and hard. You grabbed onto the counter to steady yourself, let your head drop onto the quartz as you went pliant and easy.

You were shaking from the overstimulation, from not getting a break between your first high and the second that Arthur was making you chase.

“Come on, amour. Come on.”

His pace was just uneven enough for you to become aware that he was definitely close. He was waiting for you.

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing out another wave of pleasure that had you trembling against the counter. Your head felt light, legs literally giving out and you would have fallen to your knees if Arthur wasn’t still gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, strong arming you into staying on your feet.

You cried his name and your body went slack. Arthur fucked you through your second high and past it, stroked himself out with your body and buried himself deep inside of you as he came.

You mewled at the feeling, at the depth and the spurting warmth. Arthur smoothed a hand up your spine to soothe you. He whispered praises and pressed kisses into your skin until you came back to Earth, getting your legs back underneath you.

"Welcome back, mon coeur."

You could hear the proud grin in his words but could only give a weak groan in response as you pushed yourself upright. Arthur helped you up, then sat you on the bathroom counter and kissed you sweetly before setting to cleaning you up.

He scooped you up into his arms once you were clean and dressed to carry you out to the living room.

"I can still walk," you told him but still happily wrapped your arms around his neck anyway, leaning against his chest.

"I'll have to do better next time, then."

Arthur set you on the couch. He told you to stay as he bustled around getting popcorn and drinks ready.

"What do you want to watch?" you asked.

"Whatever you want."

"Don't give me that kind of power," you mumbled to yourself.

You didn't giving in to the temptation to queue up some cringeworthy romcom you know Arthur would hate. He had given you enough tonight. You could be nice about the movie choice.

You made it through maybe half of the movie (some new Netflix film you thought looked decent) when there was a knock at the door. It was a soft noise, almost hesitant.

You shared a look with your boyfriend before you both checked your phones to make sure you hadn't missed a text from someone letting you know they were on their way over. You both came up blank.

Despite it being your apartment, Arthur pushed you down when you went to stand and ran to answer the door himself. You couldn't quite see the door from the couch, so you strained your ears to listen.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked, not quite unkindly but certainly not happy.

"I went to maman's. You were not there."

Charles. Why had he showed up at your door unannounced this late in the evening?

"I've been staying with Y/N most of the time."

Silence followed. It was painful just eavesdropping on the two brothers. You nearly got to your feet to approach them and attempt to mediate but Arthur beat you to it.

"What do you want, Charles?"

More silence. You don't think you were breathing, scared if you made yourself known it would ruin whatever was about to happen.

"I wanted to apologize," Charles eventually said.

"Apologize?"

You bit your cheek to stop from screeching with joy. Finally��finally! You were so ready for this whole thing to be over with. Even if it took some subtle guilt tripping on your part, you were more than pleased at the outcome.

"For how I've been treating you since you told me about you and Y/N. Is she here?"

"Yes."

"Yes, well, it is her apartment, no?" Charles tried for a weak laugh but Arthur did not take mercy and join him. "Er, well... I—I shouldn't have been so quick to judge you two. I was upset, at first, that you had hidden it from me.

"I forget that you are an adult and you have pursued your own career and you do not need protecting from people who might try to take advantage of you—not that I believe Y/N would do such a thing!"

You cringed. This could go downhill really fast considering Arthur's protective streak over you.

"Yes, I am an adult. How you feel will not dictate my relationship. But how you treat Y/N will dictate my relationship with you. How can you speak of her like you have? She has been your friend for so long."

"I know what it has been like for you to constantly be compared to me. I know it has been difficult for you and I have become paranoid in my fame that someone will use the people I care about to get to me."

"That is ridiculous. Y/N is just as well-known as you, if not more. And she knew you before she knew me—how does any of this make sense, Charles?"

Arthur had a point but you could understand where Charles was coming from. It was always a fear in your own mind that something may happen to or someone might try to take advantage of your family or your friends because they were in connection with you.

"It doesn't," Charles admitted. "It doesn't make any sense. I was being stupid. I assumed the worst—thought Y/N was using you to mess with my head—and refused to see it any other way and I never should have treated Y/N as I have been or said what I have about her.

"She is one of the most talented drivers I have ever driven alongside. She is the kindest person I know. She has been my friend for years longer than she has been dating you. I should not have let my judgement be so clouded by my own fear.

"I am sorry, Arthur. And if Y/N is here, I would like to apologize to her, as well."

It was quiet for several moments. You waited in silence, still holding your breath. Had you breathed at all since Charles started apologizing? Was Arthur going to say anything? Was he just standing there?

There was the rustle of fabric followed by the telltale sighs of relief that accompanied a much needed hug. You exhaled and slumped back against the couch. Thank God.

It was long overdue that the youngest Leclercs made up. Thankfully, Charles knew his brother well enough to know that you must also be apologized to if things were ever going to get better.

"Y/N?" Arthur called.

You suddenly remembered that you had been eavesdropping the whole time. Charles had no idea you were just around the corner in your living room. You had heard the entirety of Charles' apology, even the things not meant for your ears.

You cleared your throat. "Yes?"

"Do you think Charles should be forgiven?"

You laughed and went to join the brothers in the foyer. "I absolutely do. Do I get a hug, too?"

Charles' face was red but he seemed to find the humor in the situation, too. He opened his arms for you and wrapped you in a tight embrace.

"I am sorry, Y/N. I know you would never purposefully try to hurt me or my brother. I was rash in my understanding of the situation."

"It's okay, Charlie. I just missed my friend."

"I'm sorry." Charles squeezed you tight once more before letting you go.

When you stepped back into Arthur, he let his arm slip around your waist. He kissed the side of your head. You leaned into him, too pleased with the outcome of tonight to fret much over PDA in front of Charles.

For the first time, Charles didn't seem deeply disturbed by your affection. However, he did sigh faux irritably.

"You two are way too cute together. It was so difficult to be mad at you sometimes."

You and Arthur laughed.

"I am serious! You should see yourselves."

Despite knowing it was an inappropriate train of thought to entertain in front of your boyfriend's brother, you couldn't help but think back to just about an hour ago and how you had watched yourselves through the bathroom mirror.

"Oh, we have," Arthur said, innuendo lost on his brother but not on you.

You smacked him in the chest. Arthur just laughed. Luckily, Charles seemed none the wiser.

[thatgaywizardoverthere]

Arthur about to start a full on market brawl with the new hot and homicidal wizard in town

[bestillmyslashyheart]

(not) just a dream

Happy Birthday @jumbled-nonsense!!! I hope you are having the most wonderful day. Enjoy some malex/inception goodness!

They were a mess, all of them. It had been four days. Four days since Caulfield, four days since Max, since Rosa, and none of them were functioning well at all.

Alex and Michael were reeling from their last confrontation, Maria was half in denial about the alien secret she’d finally been let in on, Liz, Isobel, and Michael were in complete denial about Max’s death, Rosa was trying to come to grips with having missed ten years of her life, and the rest of them were just trying to process the fact that Rosa was alive again. 

And in the midst of all of that, there was Jesse Manes.

It was a good thing Kyle had wrangled him his own room at the hospital or this would have been very suspicious. The whole group of them were gathered around his bed, his father still deep in his medically induced coma, as they tried to figure out just what the hell to do about him. Maria, Kyle, and even Alex were against anything drastic. The idea of murdering his own father just a step too far for Alex, not unless it was absolutely necessary. Isobel and Michael were on board for any plan that would permanently remove him as a threat to their survival, which Alex understood, while Liz and Rosa were just bouncing around ideas. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t just make him leave,” Kyle said for the fourth time.

Isobel glared at him, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I can’t make someone do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“Is there anything we can blackmail him with?” Rosa asked as she settled into a chair, her legs kicked over one of the arms. “Make him leave town and never return?”

“Tried that already,” Alex told her. “Didn’t work for very long.”

“I still say we just k-”

“No,” Maria cut Michael off with a glare. “We are not killing anyone.”

“He deserves it,” Michael countered with a shrug.

“He does,” Kyle agreed. “But we’re not going to do it.”

“Can you just keep him in a coma?” Rosa asked.

Kyle shook his head. “Not for much longer without causing permanent damage.” Everyone ignored Michael’s muttered “pity.”

“Besides,” Alex continued, “the second one of my brother’s finds out he’s here, they’re gonna want answers as to why he’s in a coma and we don’t have any.”

“Isobel,” Liz piped up. “Is there any way to manipulate him? I know you can’t make him leave if he doesn’t want to but can you like, I don’t know, find something he wants more and make him do that instead?”

Isobel pursed her lips. “Hypothetically? It’s possible, I guess. I don’t really know. But that wouldn’t stop him from coming back or hunting us from afar.”

“We need some way to make him forget about you,” Maria waved a hand at Michael and Isobel. “Make him forget about aliens and make him want to be anywhere else in the world but Roswell.”

Someone replied to her but Alex didn’t hear it. There was a pounding in his ears as Maria’s words echoed in his head. Make him forget. Make him want to be anywhere else in the world. The answer was obvious, if you had all of the pieces as Alex did. Because there was a way. A way to change what it was that Jesse Manes wanted, what he knew. 

Unbidden to him, Alex’s eyes rose to meet Michael’s. The other man met his gaze evenly, the same thoughts clearly running through his head. They could do it. If they worked together, hell if Alex just gave Michael access to his father Michael could probably pull it off himself. But-

“No.” The room fell silent as Alex cut somebody off. He didn’t pay attention, his eyes never leaving Michael’s.

“Alex-” Michael took a half step forward. 

“No.” A year ago, hell two months ago, Alex would’ve been on board. But that was then. That was before he knew-  He shook his head. “No,” he said again. He turned sharply and fled the room before anyone could say anything. 

---

Sometimes, Alex thought, the military could be incredibly short sighted. They recruited him for their Special Ops program specifically because he thought for himself and didn’t just take orders so they really couldn’t object when Alex disobeyed direct orders. He’d been a good little soldier for two years before branching out and he thought he deserved some credit for that. The civilian work opportunities were far more lucrative and imaginative than the military’s and even if he hadn’t wanted the money he’d have done it just for the variety.

That didn’t mean he appreciated being blindsided with a job. If it hadn’t been Arthur himself who called him in, Alex would’ve told them all to fuck off. But as it was Arthur, and no one told Arthur no, Alex drove out to some podunk town in western Texas to step into the middle of a job. The former point man had been involved in some unfortunate accident and they needed someone in to fill the gaps right away. Alex didn’t know much more than that, further details promised upon arrival.

As soon as he stepped into the dingy warehouse, Alex knew he should’ve pushed Arthur for more information up front. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so blindsided by the sight of Michael Guerin crouched over a table.

“Hey, you must be the new point,” a woman greeted. “Alex, right?”

Alex nodded but didn’t look at her. Michael had looked up at him when the woman started talking and now they were just staring at each other across the warehouse. After a moment, Alex tore his gaze away and introduced himself properly to the woman, Ariadne, their architect, and William, the chemist. “And this,” Ariadne waved a hand at Michael, “is Michael, our extractor.” Michael frowned and Ariadne rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like the term extractor, says it doesn’t fit with inception because we’re not taking anything out but it’s as good a term as any.” She raised her voice towards the end as she blatantly called him out. Michael honest to god stuck his tongue out at her before dropping the pencil he’d been playing with.

“I need coffee.” He grabbed his jacket and rounded the table. “Come on new guy, you can buy.” His hand twitched like he was going to grab Alex’s arm but he curled it into a fist as he pushed past. Alex paused only a second before following.

“What are you doing here?” Michael whirled on him when they’d walked a block. He pulled Alex into a side street and stared at him, his eyes raking over Alex’s face and body as if trying to assure himself that it was really Alex. Alex would have made a comment about it if he wasn’t doing the exact same thing.

“I’m the new point man,” Alex reminded him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the extractor.”

“How the hell do you know anything about dreamshare?”

“Met Eames in a bar,” Michael shrugged. “He introduced me. You?”

Alex stared at him dumbly. “You’ve met Eames? In a bar?”

“Yeah, that’s probably how most people meet Eames. How do you know about dreamshare?”

“The military,” Alex answered honestly. 

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you doing pulling a job like this? This isn’t military sanctioned.”

Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Military pay is crap. And the jobs get monotonous after a while. Always the same damn thing.” He paused. “Never get to do inception either.”

Michael smiled a wicked grin. “Pity. Inception’s where the fun’s at.”

All at once, Alex put together the pieces. He’d heard rumors of an extractor named Michael, an extractor who almost only performed inceptions. He’d only been in the game for a few years but he was so good at inception that he’d essentially cornered the market on it. Alex couldn’t remember the last time he heard of a team pulling off inception without Michael. 

And to think it was Michael Guerin all along.

Alex kissed him without thought. Michael stilled under him for half a breath before kissing him back, his hands gripping the sides of Alex’s face and holding him close.

“I’ve missed you,” he exhaled when Alex pulled away.

“Me too,” Alex barely got the words out before they crashed together again.

Three weeks later, Alex knew two things to be true: one, Michael was under his skin in a way that Alex knew would never come out, and two, Michael was even better at inception than the rumors had promised. The second they entered a dream, Michael became almost like a god, able to twist the subject’s mind in new and inventive ways with the person never the wiser.

---

“Alex,” Michael grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty room before Alex could pull away. “Hear me out.”

“We are not performing inception on my father,” Alex spat out.

Michael clenched his teeth. “Why not? It’s the best solution and you know it.”

“N-”

“I can make him forget all of this! Forget about Project Shepherd, about aliens, about wanting to hunt us down, about wanting to hunt you down! I can make him leave Roswell and never return, no matter what.” He paused. “You know I can.”

Alex worked his jaw and stared at him, the last puzzle piece clicking into place. “You use your powers.” Michael blinked. “That’s how you’re so good. No one, not even Dom Cobb, could pull all of that off but I have no doubt you can. And it’s because you’re using Isobel’s powers,” Alex realized. “You said you didn’t have any other powers but your telekinesis,” he accused.

“I don’t,” Michael protested. 

“Bullsh-”

“Not in the real world,” Michael continued. “The rules are different in a dream. In a dream, I can do anything I want. Including, yes, using Isobel’s powers of influence.” He shrugged. “It works. Way better than when Izzy tries it in the waking world.”

Alex knew that to be true. How many times had Michael pulled off the impossible when it came to inception? How had Alex missed it all of those years? That Michael was something other, that he was doing things in dreams no one else could because no one else literally could?

“We can do it, Alex,” Michael urged when Alex didn’t say anything. “I have a PASIV, I just need Somnacin.”

“I have some,” Alex replied absently, his mind still whirring. 

“Then let’s do this.” Michael stepped in close. “We can get rid of your father forever. He can never hurt either one of us again.”

Alex knew it was the smart thing to do, knew that Michael could do as he promised, and yet-

---

“Wanna go for a ride?” Michael nodded his head at his truck with a wry grin. Alex barely registered the invitation, his mind trying to argue against what he already knew.

“This isn’t going to work out, Guerin.”

Michael nodded slowly before taking a step towards him. “Why not?”

“I talked to my dad earlier.” Alex wasn’t sure why he started with that.

Michael scoffed. “Who cares what he thinks?”

“He mentioned how nice it was to see me acting myself again. Commended me even on working past my childish behavior after the accident.” Alex watched Michael closely as he spoke and so he didn’t miss it when Michael’s shoulders tensed imperceptibly and he leaned backwards like he wanted to put space between them but wouldn’t let himself be that obvious about it. “It got me to thinking.” He swallowed thickly. “After the accident, I was a wreck. I was depressed and so fucking angry. I couldn’t do my rehab, I wouldn’t even let them fit me for a prosthetic.” He chuckled humorlessly. “And then one day, the same day that I swore I saw you in the hospital, everything changed. It was like someone flipped a switch. One day I couldn’t function and the next I was feeling hopeful and optimistic and I started working my ass off at PT.” 

Michael took a step back.

“Tell me you weren’t there,” Alex pleaded. “Tell me I didn’t see you at the hospital. Tell me you didn’t incept me into being okay with losing my leg.”

Michael didn’t answer.

“Tell me!” He yelled. A few people nearby turned their heads but Alex ignored them.

“Alex-”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex took a step back and then another when Michael reached out towards him. “You played with my mind?”

“You weren’t getting any better!” Michael took a step and froze when Alex took a corresponding step backwards. “I just wanted to help you, Alex. You wouldn’t let me be there for the rehab or the PT and I just- I wanted to help you.”

Alex nodded slowly. “So you invaded my dreams and twisted my mind.” He laughed harshly. “What else have you helped me with? What else have you made me feel?”

Michael’s face twisted in hurt and outrage. “Nothing. I swear to you, Alex, that was a one time only thing.”

“Yeah,” Alex scoffed. “And you expect me to believe that, don’t you?” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to trust you, trust myself even, ever again?” 

Michael didn’t reply and Alex walked away.

---

Alex held out for a day before Kyle urged him to decide. He didn’t know what Alex and Michael had planned but he insisted that he couldn’t keep his father under any longer. If they had a plan, they needed to do it now. And as much as Alex had trust issues with Michael and inception, he knew it was their best bet. 

They met at the hospital, Michael with the PASIV and Alex with the Somnacin. “Do you even have a plan?” Alex asked. “Or are you just going to use your powers on him?”

Michael shrugged without looking at him as he got the device in order. “Little bit of both. I’ve been working on a plan to get him out of Roswell and out of your life for about five years so I’ll just tweak it a bit and leave the rest to my alien powers of persuasion.”

Alex paused in place as he prepared to insert the needle into his dad’s arm. “You’ve been planning this for five years?”

Michael still didn’t look at him. “Ever since I learned what inception was. Figured if there was ever a way to get him gone without raising any red flags, this would be it.”

“I-” Alex closed his mouth and got back to work. He didn’t even know what he could say to that. They finished their prep and entered the dream without another word.

“Alright,” Michael greeted when they opened their eyes to see Alex’s old house around them. “Shouldn’t take more than half an hour, keep an eye out for projections.” He disappeared down the hall to his dad’s office without waiting for Alex’s reply.

Alex waited a beat before fleeing out the back door. This was Michael’s dream and the details weren’t perfect but it was close enough to get Alex’s heart racing. Out on the back deck, Alex took a few deep breaths, his falling closed as he listened for anyone approaching. The world was silent.

He opened his eyes to find the shed right in front of him. He hadn’t moved but there it was. Alex glanced over his shoulder at the house and paused only a second before taking the obvious invitation and pushing the door open.

He stepped into a frustratingly familiar hospital room. 

“Just do it, Michael,” he heard his own voice ask. Alex looked over at the bed to see Michael sitting next to him. “I need to be okay with all of this and I’m not so I need you to do it.”

“Alex, I’m not going to incept you! You’ve heard the stories, you know what happened to Mallorie Cobb. I won’t do that.”

“It’s not the same thing. I’m not asking you to give me a reason to live or anything like that, I just need to be ok with losing my damn leg.” Alex watched as Michael shook his head and stood up. He watched as he grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him back down. “I need this Michael. I need you.”

“Is this why you called me here? Not because you wanted me to be here for you but to fuck with your mind?”

Alex watched the cold mask fall over his own face. “I do need you to be here for me. And this is how.”

“Alex, I can’t. Please don’t ask me to do this.”

The door behind him burst open just as the him on the bed replied. “I don’t remember this,” Alex told Michael, his eyes never leaving the memory versions of them.

Michael sighed heavily. “You didn’t want to. You figured it would be easier to buy the inception if you didn’t remember asking for it.”

Alex turned to face him slowly. Part of him argued that he had no reason to believe Michael, that this could all be a false memory but Alex knew it wasn’t. He didn’t remember it but he knew himself, he knew this is exactly something he would’ve done. “Michael, I-”

He opened his eyes to a different hospital room.

“It’s done,” Michael told him as he pulled the needle out of his own arm and leaned over Jesse to remove his. “You can tell Kyle to remove the sedation or whatever. He should be leaving Roswell as soon as he wakes up.”

“Michael,” Alex tried again as he stood up. “I’m sorry.”

Michael paused. “It’s fine.”

“No it’s not. I blamed you for doing something I asked of you.”

“It’s not like you remembered it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still owe you an apology.”

“Fine. Apology accepted or whatever.” He finished putting away the PASIV. 

Michael tried to brush past him to the door but Alex stepped neatly into his path. “Thank you. For helping me.” Alex paused. “And for today.”

Michael nodded. “You really don’t have to thank me for today, it was purely selfish I assure you.” It wasn’t and they both knew it but Alex let it go. “And as for- I just wish you’d let me actually help you.”

“All clear in here?” Kyle opened the door behind them just as Alex opened his mouth to reply. He paused and took in the mood, his eyes flitting between the two of them where they stood awfully close to one another. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” Michael promised with a fake smile. “Go ahead and wake the bastard up, he won’t be a problem anymore.” He put his hand on Alex’s hip to squeeze past him without touching Kyle and was out the door before either of them could say anything. He didn’t turn around when Alex called his name.