lol i just found an old fic of mine (sebson bc what else) and damn its so well written why cant i write like this anymore
Seb is haunted by the memory of a painfully drunk Jenson hovering above him, lumbered movements and slurred oh god yeses. He remembers the not-always-pleasant friction and the harsh touches of Jenson’s hands, pressing into his stomach and against his shoulders. It catches him out, leaves him a sick combination of floating and falling. To sleep in the same bed is almost impossible, Seb struggles against himself, desperate to let go and hold on at the same time.
He and Jenson don’t talk about it. They continue to spiral round each other, the odd “Nice race, mate,” or “Better luck next time,” but nothing remotely close to what needs to be said. Seb would like to keep it that way, facing up to that means facing up to something much bigger. His stomach twists at the thought, he’s not sure he’s ready for that yet. Oh god, what if he’s in lo- no. No.
It’s a few hours after they share a podium at Spa that Seb’s luck runs out. Something mindless and catchy is filling his room from the small radio on his bedside table, almost covering the sharp trill of his phone. He rolls towards the sound, shoulders aching, grumbling to himself. “I was just getting comfortable.”
(19:13) Jenson: We need to talk, Seb
Whatever calm has settled over the German in the past two hours is instantly shattered, his heart goes from resting to racing in half a second. He fumbles with his phone, fingers clumsily swiping over the keyboard. He types out several responses, gets the words wrong and tries again.
He feels like he could vomit. Shifting to stare at the ceiling, Seb drops his phone onto his chest and squeezes his eyes shut, only to have it vibrate wildly fractions of a second later.
(19:15) Jenson: I’m on my way over.
No. No no no no no! Seb sits up, panicking. He could do this via text, the pixels on a screen not able to convey his feelings. It would be a bland admittance. A quick let’s-agree-not-to-do-that-again and done. Even if that’s not what Seb wanted, that’s what he thought he was going to get. This is a face-to-face confession and Seb’s not even sure what he’s confessing to yet.
When the three quick rasps on the door come, Seb is frozen in his place. He gulps, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Jenson knocks impatiently again, smarting Seb into action. His movements are boxy and awkward as he flicks the radio off, the room falling into a still silence.
Seb opens the door just as Jenson is about to knock again. He aborts the movement, clenched fist suspended just inches from Seb’s face where it peeks out from behind the door. Jenson doesn’t wait for an invitation inside or a ‘hello’, he forces his way past Seb and comes to stop in the middle of the room. Seb spins on his heel, almost vibrating with nerves.
“Hi,” He squeaks awkwardly, to say something, anything.
“You weren’t drunk.” Jenson says shortly.
“No,” Seb mumbles, feeling his face burn. He stays a good distance from Jenson, shying at the edges of the room.
Jenson sighs heavily. “Why?”
Seb shrugs unhelpfully, the words he’d been saving have deserted him.
“Why, Seb?” He repeats. Seb shrinks away from Jenson’s stare, wishing he’d evaporate through the walls.
“Don’t what?” Jenson says impatiently.
Seb can’t lift his eyes from the floor. “Don’t know, Jense. I don’t know.” He clamps his eyes shut and waits, rendered completely helpless.
“Fantastic.” Jenson breathes angrily.
“Sorry?” Seb says, not entirely sure if he means it or not.
Jenson moves. Begins to crowd into Seb’s space, forces him backwards until his shoulders whack against the wall. It should be scary, intimidating, the way Jenson’s eyes fix him. Seb bites his lip, the pain jolting the thoughts in his head. No no no no no Sebastian you stop that right now.
The wall bears Jenson’s weight as he leans forward, hands planted either side of Seb. Jenson’s face is so close to his that Seb can see the creases under his eyes and the subtle pallet of his skin. The last time they were that close they were Seb seriously stop it!
“Don’t.” Seb feels the angry puffs of air on his face and it should make him uncomfortable but god it doesn’t. Jenson moves closer until their lips aren’t touching but aren’t not touching. “Lie to me, Sebastian.”
Pushing back, Jenson leaves Seb breathing heavily against the wall, struggling to stand. He can’t move though, not until the slam of the hotel door breaks his paralysis and Seb ends up with his head on his knees.
They still haven’t talked about it. They haven’t talked, at all. Sebastian is hell bent on avoiding Jenson. Avoiding talking about Jenson, about his team, about his car, about his race, about his anything. He shuts off completely, silences when he hears Jenson’s name mentioned in conversation. He tries not to make it too obvious. Either Heikki knows him too well for it to be overlooked, or he really didn’t try at all.
Heikki has the amazing ability to confront Seb without saying a word at all. The expression he’s wearing says come on then, out with it and Seb’s almost ready to spill before Heikki’s even opened his mouth. It’s scary, how Heikki can do this. But that’s his job, Seb guessed, he’s hired to know him better than a lot of other people. Probably knows him better than Jenson ever will stop being pathetic Sebastian.
“Jenson?” Heikki assumes out loud. Seb’s stomach does a weird half flip, half cramp at his name and he doesn’t need to give him an answer.
Seb whips his head up so hard he might’ve broken his neck. “Heikki!”
Seb drops his head back down again, letting it be his answer.
“I wasn’t..” Seb mumbles, eyes finding Heikki’s.
Something flashes across Heikki’s face, it either goes so fast Seb can’t see it or he just doesn’t have the energy to see it. It’s probably the second one. Heikki whistles lowly, shaking his head.
“Heikki,” Seb says, tiredly. He can’t go through all the accusations again.
“He hates me, Heikki. For so long I just.. I just wanted it and didn’t know how to get it. He was drunk. He was offering. I wasn’t going to say no.” Seb loathes how desperate he sounds.
“You think he wouldn’t offer if he was sober?” Heikki says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He feels like shaking Sebastian, partly through irritation and partly through sympathy. Although if there’s such thing as a sympathetic shake, Heikki’s not discovered it yet.
“No.” Seb sighs, defeated. “Why would he?”
Heikki holds back his exasperation. “Because he fancies you, you dick. Go find him, right now. Do I have to march you to the McLaren garage myself?”
“Heikki, stop it. Let it go.” Seb’s not sure if he’s really talking to Heikki or to himself.
“I will chase you there.”
“I can’t go there. What will the press say?” Any excuse.
“Give me your phone.” Heikki holds his hand out expectantly. Wiggles his fingers for emphasis. Seb doesn’t like where this is going, but groans and retrieves his phone from his pocket. Heikki taps his fingers furiously across the screen, having snatched the phone out of Sebastian’s hand instantly.
“There. Now go. Don’t fuck this one up.”
“Heikki..” Seb tries one last time.
“Seb.” Seb knows not to argue.
He swipes his fingers over the screen, bringing up his sent box with a sick sense of regret.
(14:54) Seb: I need to talk to you. Now.
The message screams at him in Heikki’s voice, will Jenson realise that it’s not him that sent the text? What if he does? Thinks Seb’s a coward? He’d be right.
A message vibrates back within two minutes.
(14:56) Jenson: Okay. Where?
(14:56) Seb: Back of the motorhome. Don’t let anyone see you.
Seb doesn’t think he’d know what to do if the media saw this. He doesn’t think he knows what to do anyway, beside the point. It’s tempting not to move, just to stick it out on the sofa here and keep up his avoidance. Heikki’s threatening face is enough to make Seb move, but it doesn’t inspire anything else. Scared of Heikki’s less-than-gentle persuasion, Seb goes to wait behind the motorhome.
It’s very possible he feels more nauseous now than the previous times. Before, Seb could convince himself that this thing he’s feeling isn’t anything, but in avoiding Jenson it’s manifested into a great big something that he still doesn’t want to name yet. It’s settled uncomfortably on his stomach, steadily pushing up on his lungs and threatening to send things he’s not ready to say yet spiralling up and out of his mouth. To occupy his hands, Seb begins picking at the sleeve of his jacket. If Jenson doesn’t turn up soon, it’s highly possible Seb will end up unravelling his jacket completely. Shadows flit between the motorhomes in the gap where Seb hides, each time it is not Jenson his heart does this strange clenching thing halfway through a beat and Seb’s sure the effect Jenson’s having on him isn’t healthy.
He watches the main path running through all the motorhomes, eyes flicking between the random people that happen to pass and don’t glance in his direction. Seb stumbles, ready to run, as a tall figure steps into the space. He recognises Heikki only after his physio has flashed an overly confident smile and a thumbs up and disappeared again. Seb turns, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the motorhome, trying and failing to get his breathing back to normal. The gentle touch on his shoulder makes Seb jump, elbow flying backwards to hopefully bury itself in the stomach of whoever’s found him.
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