Dustin never raced to win, he raced to be watched.
But Jax wanted to push him. Ren wanted to break him.
And under the floodlights, he was ready to be ruined.
The track shimmered under the weight of the day. Heat clung to the asphalt like a secret, thick and slow, refusing to let go. In the distance, the sun drooped low, bleeding gold into the gravel, turning steel to amber and silence to tension.
Dustin stood still.
The zipper of his suit hung open, red fabric folded low on his hips, chest bare, skin slick from the last run. Sweat mapped the hollows of his ribs. His pulse ticked just beneath his collarbone. He wasn't cooling down. Not really.
He took a slow sip from his water bottle, then let his head tip back. Spine long. Eyes closed. Just listening.
No fans. No crew. Just the heavy breath of the circuit settling in its bones.
And the soft scrape of footsteps behind him.
Jax’s voice arrived first.
“You always pose like that, or is it just for us?”
Dustin didn’t move. Just smiled, small and sharp.
“Maybe I like knowing you’re looking.”
A pause. A shift in the air. Then the scent of sweat and sun oil, leather and metal, all wrapped around the scrape of boot soles on concrete.
Jax came into view slowly, his shadow spilling over the pit floor. T-shirt dark with sweat down the spine. Arms folded, jaw tight. He didn’t smile. Not yet. But there was something in his gaze that sparkled like danger.
“You didn’t win by much,” he said.
“I didn’t have to,” Dustin replied.
Then a third sound. Softer. Measured. The kind of presence that doesn’t announce itself but alters the room all the same.
Ren.
He leaned in the doorway, untouched by the heat. His black fireproof top clung to him in all the right places, unzipped halfway. Arms crossed, gaze steady. That look. Like he’d already undressed them both and found them wanting.
Dustin’s heart thudded.
Jax gave a low whistle. “Guess we’re all here.”
No one laughed. The silence turned heavy. Then sweet.
“You boys want a rematch,” Dustin asked, “or something more interesting?”
Jax cocked his head. “What did you have in mind?”
“One lap,” came Ren’s voice, rich and deliberate. “Winner decides what happens next.”
Jax grinned now. Teeth bright, eyes darker.
“Who begs,” he said, “and who bends.”
Dustin’s breath caught.
He could feel it already. The weight of their eyes. The charge in the air. This wasn’t about racing anymore. Not really.
He tipped his bottle back. Drained it. Dropped it to the floor.
“Then let’s make it count.”
The lights came on just as the last of the sun disappeared. Floodlamps bathed the pit lane in sterile white, casting long shadows behind the cars now cooling on their haunches. Engines clicked softly. Heat rose in waves from the tarmac, warping the space between the three of them.
Dustin slid his gloves back on, slow and deliberate. He didn’t look at either of them, at least, not at first. Just flexed his fingers, felt the tightness of leather around each knuckle. It helped. Anchored him.
But then he looked up.
Caught Jax watching him.
And not watching like a rival. Watching like a man trying to decide how much he could take.
Dustin’s gaze held. Didn't flinch. He watched Jax’s jaw tense, watched the way his tongue swept slow across his bottom lip. It wasn’t casual. It was hunger pretending to be calm.
Then, another pull. Lighter. Colder. Sharp like a wire drawn tight between the ribs.
Ren.
He stood near the line. Helmet under one arm, one brow lifted as if bored, but his eyes… they had that blade-edge gleam again. Focused. Too focused.
Dustin met his gaze.
Ren tilted his head. Just enough to say I see you. Just enough to say I always have.
Dustin inhaled slow. The world felt louder now. His own breath in his ears. The faint chirp of a nightbird beyond the paddock. The sound of his pulse.
He stepped toward his car. No theatrics. Just control.
Jax walked past him with a smirk, slow enough for their shoulders to graze.
“You gonna keep up this time, pretty boy?” Jax asked, not stopping.
Dustin didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
He slid into the cockpit, fingers wrapping the wheel like a lover's throat, and let the engine come to life.
Behind him, Ren’s car growled awake. Ice and thunder.
Three cars lined up at the start line, bodies behind the wheels as tense and tuned as the machines they drove.
The track belonged to them now.
But Dustin... he wasn’t thinking about racing anymore.
He was thinking about Ren’s mouth. About Jax’s fingers. About what it would feel like to be split open between them.
The lights ticked down. One by one.
Red. Red. Red.
Green.
They launched like sin off the line.
Rubber screamed. Engines snarled. Three streaks of velocity vanished into the first curve, and the night cracked open to swallow them.
Dustin held the lead for half the lap. Tight, clean, no wasted movement. He drove like breath held under water. Smooth. Controlled. But he felt them behind him. Jax, reckless as ever, riding the edge of traction. And Ren, silent but inevitable. Both of them drawing closer with every turn.
He should have focused.
Instead, he thought of the way Jax’s breath hitched when he teased. The way Ren’s eyes didn’t blink, didn’t soften, just watched like worship wrapped in restraint.
The straightaway came, and Jax made his move.
He flew past on the inside, too fast, too sharp, tires flirting with the curb. His car skated wide at the exit. Dustin followed close, pressure blooming in his chest.
Then Ren slipped through the gap they left.
Like silk. Like a blade.
He took the lead before either of them had time to blink.
Dustin laughed. It spilled out raw, half-disbelieving.
They roared into the final sector, barely breathing, the three of them locked in something deeper than speed.
And then it was over.
They crossed the line within heartbeats of each other. Lights flared. Engines whined down.
Ren didn’t even look back.
He pulled into the garage and climbed out like he’d just taken a walk. Calm. Untouched.
Jax rolled to a stop, ripped his helmet off, and shook out his sweat-drenched hair.
“Fuck.”
Dustin’s hands stayed on the wheel a moment longer. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His body vibrated, too full of everything he hadn’t let out.
He finally stepped out of the car.
Ren leaned against the wall, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes locked on Dustin.
“I win,” he said.
Jax scoffed. “By what, a blink?”
Ren didn’t answer. He looked at Dustin like he was already undressing him with his voice.
“Both of you,” he said. “Inside. Now.”
Jax blinked.
“You serious?”
Ren walked toward the garage. No explanation. Just the weight of command in every step.
Dustin followed.
He didn’t need to ask where they were going.
He already knew he wanted to be led.
The garage door rolled down behind them with a sound like thunder exhaling. Metal on metal. Final.
The overhead lights buzzed low and warm, throwing long shadows over the slick floor. Tools lay quiet on their hooks. Coolers half-emptied. Everything smelled like grease and rubber and something sharper beneath it. Hunger, maybe.
Ren tossed his helmet onto the bench without looking. Then he turned. Looked straight at Dustin.
“Take off your suit.”
It wasn’t a question.
Dustin didn’t move for a second. He just let the words settle, let them pool low and hot in his belly. Then, slow as a confession, he reached for the zipper at his chest.
Jax let out a soft whistle from behind, but there was no tease in it now. Just awe. Or maybe anticipation.
The red fireproof material peeled away, inch by inch. Sweat-darkened fabric clung to Dustin’s skin, pulled away with a wet whisper. His chest rose and fell with something more than breath.
Ren stepped closer. Stopped a hand’s breadth away.
He lifted his fingers.
Let them hover.
Then touched.
Not Dustin’s skin. Not yet. Just the edge of his collarbone, still covered, still safe. A single touch, featherlight.
Dustin shivered.
Jax moved in too, slower, like prey circling something it wanted to devour. He reached out and caught Dustin’s wrist. Turned it over. Traced the vein with one blunt thumb.
“You like being looked at,” he said, voice rougher now. “But this? This is something else.”
Dustin’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
He didn’t need to speak. His body said enough.
Ren leaned in. His mouth ghosted close to Dustin’s ear.
“Touch him,” he said to Jax. “But don’t take yet.”
Jax smirked. “You always this bossy?”
Ren didn’t answer. He was already pulling Dustin’s suit lower, baring his hips.
Dustin inhaled sharply.
Every nerve felt scraped raw.
Jax’s hand brushed his side. His thumb skimmed just under the edge of his waistband, not even truly touching, but Dustin’s knees still threatened to give.
He wasn’t in control anymore.
And he didn’t want it back.
The silence inside the garage thickened, coiled tight around the three of them like the air before a lightning strike. Ren stood behind Dustin now, close enough that the heat of his breath ghosted over bare skin, but not touching. Not yet.
Jax still held Dustin’s wrist, thumb pressing into the pulse that beat wild beneath the surface. His gaze roamed, slower now. Taking his time. Like he’d won something. Or was about to.
Dustin’s suit hung loose around his thighs, clinging in places from sweat. His body was lean and tense, muscles drawn taut, chest rising fast. Not from exertion. From being watched.
“I said take it off,” Ren murmured, voice low. Velvet wrapped around steel.
Dustin obeyed.
He let the fire suit fall the rest of the way. It puddled at his ankles, and he stepped free, leaving him in just his briefs, flushed and glistening under the garage lights. The fabric was already damp where it mattered most.
Jax let out a slow breath. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”
Dustin turned his head, mouth parting like he might say something.
But Ren was already moving.
He stepped forward, one hand skimming Dustin’s jaw, tilting his face toward him. Not a kiss. Just the threat of one.
Jax came in from the other side, knuckles brushing Dustin’s stomach as he traced the waistband of those tight briefs, circling, not dipping. Not yet.
“Is this what you wanted?” Jax asked. “After all that control. All that noise about racing. You wanted this.”
Dustin swallowed. His voice came like smoke.
“I want both of you.”
Ren’s fingers slid into his hair. “You’ll get us. But you’ll take us how we give it.”
Dustin nodded.
That was all it took.
Jax sank to his knees, mouth brushing the line of Dustin’s hip. Ren stepped in closer behind, hands on Dustin’s waist, holding him still. Their mouths didn’t touch, not fully. Just grazed. Just enough to make him tremble.
He was trembling.
Hands roamed over his thighs, his ribs, his spine. Not taking. Just marking the shape of what would be theirs. Fingertips at the edge of permission.
Dustin’s breath hitched as Jax’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. Not fast. Not rough. Just enough to make him ache. Just enough to make him forget the air in his lungs.
Ren’s hands held his hips steady from behind, firm and unyielding. The tension in his grip wasn’t possessive. It was patient. Like he was waiting for Dustin to come apart before he took anything at all.
The briefs dragged slow over his skin, peeled inch by inch by Jax’s clever hands. The fabric clung, soaked through, until it dropped to the floor in a soft, ruined heap. Dustin stood bare between them, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded with heat.
Jax leaned in. His mouth pressed to the curve of Dustin’s thigh, then higher, nipping. Not giving. Not yet.
“You’re already shaking,” he murmured.
Dustin didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Ren’s voice slid in behind his ear like silk drawn over a knife.
“On your knees.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Jax sank first, pulling Dustin down with him. Their knees hit the cool concrete. Ren stayed standing, towering, still in control. Dustin reached for him, hands trembling as they found the hem of Ren’s suit, but Ren caught his wrists. Held them.
“Not your turn to touch,” he said.
Dustin’s lips parted, caught between a gasp and a moan. His hands dropped to his thighs, obedient.
Jax was beside him now, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He grinned, lips glossy.
“He’s already dripping,” Jax said. “Bet he breaks if we take turns.”
Ren didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His fingers were already on his own zipper.
Dustin swallowed hard.
