Chapter Text
Arlan, the old man had told him that when he found his destined one, Dunk would know because it would all begin with a whisper in the air, like a sweet melody, a deep gaze, and a floral scent that would be like smelling spring for the first time. He would know because it would be like seeing the world tinged with colors. Arlan told him that he would know because his heart, his chest, and everything would cry out to be with his other half. The idyllic and magical story of two destined souls finding each other despite the distance and adversity that stood between them.
But Duncan's story would not begin that way.
It was a blast.
It was an explosion, a split-second collision that covered the entire track in what would become imminent chaos
An unfortunate braking maneuver that felt like a human scream. Pain in his neck from the weight of gravity, which he didn't feel at that moment because of the adrenaline.
There was a crash behind him, a car that left the track, but Duncan could barely tell who it was because he was still looking ahead. If he lost focus, or if he gave in to fear, he could be the next car to end up off the track.
He barely made out a bright flash of black and crimson a short distance from his own car. A beast racing at full speed on the track. He couldn't see it, but, gods, that car was going like a beast.
You're next, screamed the aerodynamic engine of the opposing car.
“Aerion Targaryen is coming,” said the voice in his radio. It didn't sound like a warning, but rather his death sentence.
For a hearbeat, the adrenaline in his body turned to bile; Dunk made the mistake of looking away from the opposing car approaching at breakneck speed, and he saw the aggressive emblem of the dragons.
Everything else would happen too fast.
Accelerating too early on a sharp curve, with that car grazing his own tires. He didn't want to overtake him in the race, but to attack him.
Another intentional graze shook his entire body inside the car.
The voice in the radio felt distant, like an asynchronous echo, diffuse and unintelligible. Because everything turned to panic in the confined space of his car, while he had the beast of the Targaryen single-seater close enough to corner him.
“Get out, Duncan!”
Questions like ‘Why?‘repeated themselves a thousand times in Duncan's head in a matter of seconds. Every time he felt the monster of the Targaryen dragons approaching with his own car, scraping his tires and invading his senses with the smell of charred granite that Dunk couldn't breathe in the claustrophobic space of his cabin.
However, Aerion Targaryen, the monstrous Targaryen driver, had achieved that effect on him.
He had managed to make Duncan feel the palpable effect of suffocating in his own car, taking quick breaths of air with a scent that did not exist.
Then, amid the wave of panic, came the final blow at the next turn of the track.
“Get out, now!”
It was the roar of static in his headset. One more blow. Another screech of his tires barely resisting the friction; then a surge of anger, survival instinct, and of course, adrenaline that made him turn the steering wheel to strike back at Targaryen.
Then he closed his eyes and everything was just that: Explosion.
It had been like being drunk, although Duncan had rarely gotten drunk in his life.
Everything spun because everything smelled horribly awful. Carbon, sweet and burnt rubber, and metal. His ears could barely pick up sound, everything sounded as if he had cotton in his brain; he was stunned. He saw the other cars speeding by in the distance, but he couldn't hear them. He could feel the unbearable static of the race engineer shouting into the headset, without knowing what he was saying. There was no pain. But Dunk's other senses were gone too.
He didn't even know how he got out of his own car. It was automatic; he just wanted to take off his helmet and breathe. God, he just wanted to breathe something other than the sweet stench of burnt tires.
His car was in bad shape, of course it was, but he saw the cracks from the crash as if he were looking at an ant on the sidewalk at his feet. Strangely lazy and disoriented. For a few moments, his head forgot that 16 cars were overtaking him in the race. He watched them drive on the track with disturbing calm.
Suddenly, his field of vision fell on another car a few meters from his own. A black and crimson wreck that was just as bad as his own car, if not worse.
Gods be good, did I do that?
Duncan, numb, in a fog of confusion, saw a figure emerge from that flaming vehicle with admirable agility. He was wearing a jumpsuit in the same colors as his car and a black and crimson red helmet. Why was everything red with him? Dunk saw that figure in slow motion approaching him with admirable speed, taking long strides. It was as if none of this had happened to him, but rather he was watching it in third person: the chase, the collision with another car, and the race.
Until a gloved hand grabbed the lapel of his clothes and began to shake him. It hurt because his fingers clung like claws to the layers of his uniform; it hurt more than the numb pain in his neck. It hurt because he could hear more cars moving on the track while he was on the grass, eliminated from the race, with burnt tires and his head full of cotton.
You lost, Dunk.
Again he felt that furious grip grazing his skin.
“...You bastard!”
It was a series of screams that Duncan couldn't hear, except as echoes over static.
It was terrifying.
He didn't know if it was a specific jolt or the insult, but Duncan felt himself returning to reality.
He came back to reality when he smelled the same horrible smell of rubber and burnt tires filling his nose. A few feet away from him. A few inches away from him. It was coming from the driver who had cornered him, crashed into him, and was now shaking him in the middle of the championship. He was emitting incomprehensible roars that were barely audible through his helmet.
“Damn idiot!”
He saw his own car motionless on the grass, and once again the person responsible for his collision; the owner of that nauseating smell of carbon. Adrenaline shot through his system, and he jerked away from his grip. Instead of pushing him away, it further enraged the boy in the black helmet, who grabbed him forcefully by the shoulder.
It was all carbon, tires, and burnt rubber. The most toxic cocktail Duncan's nose had ever sniffed.
Before they could attack him again, Duncan grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away with a furious tug; he heard a scream, another unintelligible curse, and then another blow. Duncan did the same thing again, but this time with hot blood boiling in his veins.
The awful smell intensified in his nostrils as the monster from Targaryen Racing threw himself madly on top of his body. Later they would tell him it was due to the disorientation of the impact, but Aerion Targaryen was strong enough to knock him down.
Duncan was cornered. If he gave in to Aerion and his claws clinging fiercely to his jacket, he would lose. However, if he also gave in to his boiling rage, he would lose the support of his team and be banned from the racetrack for life.
And as he thought about it, he had Aerion Targaryen on top of his chest, grabbing his jacket without really damaging it, shouting furious incoherencies that Duncan couldn't hear through his helmet and twisted earplugs. Everything about him was also permeated with that disgusting sweet and burnt smell.
Fire.
He had lost his car. He had lost his fifth place in the race. He would probably lose the support of his team. Many people who had trusted him as a driver.
Fire. Burnt rubber. Carbon. Mud.
Helplessness took shape with rage and adrenaline.
The reason for his defeat lay on top of him, on his torso, stinking of carbon and burnt rubber. A ridiculous beast.
'Mud. It's suffocating me.'
There was an echo similar to the static that crept into Duncan Tall's head. It was not the voice of his race engineer, which at this point must have been a cacophonyof incomprehensible screams.
No. This echo was loud and clear.
A smooth, chaotic, intense voice that destabilized all of Duncan's circuits and caused a tingle of adrenaline in his body. A sensation so similar to the impact that hit his car.
'Your smell suffocates me. Mud. Wet earth. I hate it' were sparkling words that didn't come out of the mouth of the driver above him, but were undoubtedly his. They were in his head. Duncan heard them.
The old man had once told him that when destined companions meet, it is as if the world is just beginning to turn. All his senses would be sharpened. He would understand why he was born as an alpha.It i would start wita look. An inaudible whisper in the air. And the fragrance of spring.
You will know it and your whole being will scream....
...'found you'
I found you. I found you. Omega.
The Targaryen Racing driver claws were suspended in the folds of his clothes.
Duncan was just as frozen at the revelation. Adrenaline and gall mixed in his system in the most torrid mixture.
"Omega"
Because he didn't know whether to hit back, grab him by the lapels of his luxurious Targaryen uniform and shake him in the air like a dirty rag, or grab him by the waist taking advantage of the fact that he was on his belly.
Aerion Targaryen, the most unbearable driver in F1 was his mate.
"I found you," the alpha muttered in his chest, scratching to get out. Instead, Duncan's fingers aggressively wrapped around the Targaryen's knuckles. The fabric of the gloves burned. His instinct wanted to rip off the driver's gloves and feel his skin burning to the touch. Right now. 'I found you. I got you'
Brightflame tried to pull away, but Dunk's firm grip held him in position. Now it was the alpha who took the folds of his uniform until both helmets collided with each other face to face.
He felt no pain.
"I found you. Gotcha. I found you," he inhaled the words, savored them. They tasted like gasoline.
He wanted answers and instead heard a muffled howl of panic from the opposing helmet.
The smell of charcoal was as intense as it was overwhelming.
It wasn't pleasant.
'i found you, omega. Mine. You're mine.'
Dunk roared in a voice he didn't seem to own.
It was the alpha voice. The old man had told him that he would never use that voice, he even beat him in his adolescence for interning to use it in an act of rebellion; he said that he was not at all honorable, nor honorable and strong in using that command, that instead of being an admirable alpha he only seemed like a brute who used his instincts to subdue others.
And now he used it again to stop the omega that attacked him angry and savage.
It took four people to tear him away from Aerion Targaryen, and only then did he see the black flag waving on the circuit, signaling his immediate disqualification from the season finale.