Fic: Interconnection, Part 2
Pairing: Mark Webber/Sebastian Vettel
Rating: M
Synopsis: Post-Barcelona, Mark shows up at Red Bull HQ
Word count: 2599
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, never will.
(Part 1 here)
Interconnection, Part 2
Mark was sitting by himself at a table in the Red Bull Headquarters’ cafeteria, and for the most part he was fine with it. Being oversensitive wasn’t going to help him race any faster. Besides, there was a logical reason for his lonesome lunch: most of the engineering guys had taken lunch early so they could get to their meeting on time, and the other people here at the moment weren’t people Mark was overly familiar with.
The one familiar person around - Christian - was sitting at one of the far tables with some of the administrative staff. But then he got up to leave too, most likely headed for the engineering meeting. Change was in the air, and the team wanted to be all over it.
On his way out, he smiled at Mark, and even cocked his head at the door in invitation.
‘I know this is the “super technical meeting”, but you’re welcome to join,’ the team principal said to his older driver.
Mark shook his head as Christian continued to walk backward toward the exit. ‘No thanks, mate.’
‘All right then. Let me know how the simulator session goes.’ He gave two thumbs up and then practically skipped out of the cafeteria, the pep in his step a direct result of Pirelli’s decision to fix the tyre situation by the Canadian Grand Prix.
Tyres, tyres, tyres. Mark was happy about the promised change too, as long as it helped the car. Sunday in Barcelona had been okay but far from great - the RB9 had lacked pace. They should’ve done better.
They. As a team. A collective.
Team. Teammate.
Sebastian Vettel.
Mark pushed food around his plate, the vegetable mush looking less and less appetising the more he played with it. Ann had reminded Mark this morning that he couldn’t afford to lose focus with Monaco coming up. He had nodded and watched as she packed her suitcase for her trip. But while he was mentally strong (even when melancholy), sometimes things got blurry, like someone was pushing around his emotions and jabbing at them with a fork.
That weird night in Germany was still on his mind.
He had wanted to comfort his teammate. He had held him, kissed the top of his head, wanted him to stop panicking over the thought of their partnership coming to an end. It had been so fucked.
In fact, it was still fucked. The silences between them had taken on a new level of intensity, one that was bizarre and unchangeable. Every time a new rumour was floated - Vettel to Mercedes? Kimi to Red Bull? - or a new Christian line quoted - Webber in the autumn of his career - Sebastian got into a weird funk. In Barcelona, team members had learnt quickly to stay away from the German’s quarters in the motorhome, for fear his mood would swing again.
No interconnecting doors in the motorhome, Mark thought.
That was where he stopped his train of thought. Any further and he would be revisiting the idea that either one of them could’ve entered the other’s room that night three weeks ago.
‘Hey, Mark!’
Mark looked up and saw that Rocky - Sebastian’s race engineer - had stopped by to say hello. It was truly an unexpected sight, what with the drivers’ schedules worked around each other this week. Mark’s heart skipped a beat, and then another and then another. Wasn’t this his afternoon in the simulator?
Rocky saw the inquisitive look on Mark’s face. ‘You look surprised to see me. Simon didn’t tell you?’ He paused, sensing that the Australian really was stunned and not just faking it. ‘We thought we’d go through some stuff together?’
‘What?’ Mark dropped his fork with a clang. How could his own race engineer not tell him Sebastian was coming in today?
Unless Simon knew Mark would refuse to come in…
‘You know what? It’s fine,’ Mark said hurriedly, resigned to the reality. ‘It’s fine. Maybe you guys can benefit from my experience this time.’
He laughed as naturally as he could, and thankfully Rocky went along with it.
‘Great. Looking forward to it.’ Rocky pointed at the salad bar. ‘Gotta eat first though.’
‘Do what you gotta do, mate.’
Mark wondered how surly his teammate would be this afternoon. Maybe he’d be in a good mood from the Renault factory visit. After all, Mark hadn’t been invited, such was the disinterest from their engine provider.
He then wondered why he cared so much. Sebastian was supposedly an adult - an adult who hopefully remembered Mark’s race wins on this upcoming circuit. If Sebastian was going to be moody, then Mark would just have to make it clear that he didn’t give a shit.
Monaco, be nice to me again this year, he thought. I need a win. I need a win over Seb.
*
Both race engineers left that night in a state of confusion. They’d been stumped by the odd civility their drivers had shown each other all afternoon. Simon made a mental note to check in with Mark later, thinking that his driver may have shut him out due to his lack of forewarning regarding the joint session. As for Sebastian, Rocky knew it was best to leave him to his own devices.
Now the drivers were alone in one of the conference rooms - a request from the sullen but civil Sebastian. After staring at Mark for a few moments, he sat down on one side of the table as if a mediation was about to take place. Mark was naturally suspicious, staying put near the door. Escape was the priority here.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Sebastian began, sounding oddly mature.
Mark didn’t reply immediately. He considered turning the light on, as the room was dim and eerie with the blinds drawn. However, since the conversation was bound to be a quick one, he quickly concluded there was no point.
‘About what?’ he replied stiffly.
Sebastian’s patience was finally gone. ‘Will you just sit?’ he snapped, nodding at the chair on the other side of the conference table.
Mark was instantly defensively. ‘No, I won’t, because you’re acting weird and have been all afternoon. You’re creeping me out right now.’
‘I’m creeping you out?’ Sebastian shot up out of his seat and stalked over to Mark, getting up in his face. ‘You kissed me!’
Mark shoved him backward, not appreciating the intrusion into his personal space. ‘I didn’t kiss you, you moron. I kissed the top of your head. I kissed your hair. Not your mouth.’
Both men glared at each other.
Sebastian flushed at the memory of Mark holding him. ‘It’s still wrong.’
‘Yeah, I agree,’ Mark said hotly, even though he was conceding. ‘That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. So I think we’re done here.’
Mark went for the door handle but Sebastian side-stepped and blocked his exit.
‘Why’d you do it?’
There was an unhinged quality to the younger driver’s voice that worried Mark a little. Had that night disturbed Sebastian more than it had disturbed him?
‘Fuck, Seb. It was nothing,’ Mark explained, gesturing with his hands. ‘You were freaking out. I reacted strangely. I’m not going to go all gay on you or something.’
‘That doesn’t erase what happened!’ Sebastian shot back.
‘It. Was. Nothing.’
‘I keep thinking about it.’ He touched his hair as if he was scarred. He’d gotten a haircut a week after the Infiniti segment was filmed, but the sensation of Mark kissing him had remained.
Mark tried to get away with a simple answer, however harsh. ‘Get over it.’
While the tone of the response was to be expected, Sebastian found himself wanting a gentler Mark, even if the difference was only fractional.
‘Christian shouldn’t have said that thing about the autumn of your career,’ Sebastian grumbled.
Mark snorted. ‘I don’t give a shit. I know how it goes, anyway: little Sebi gets to pick his teammate.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘What are you going to do? Fire me?’ It was a ground-breaking feeling to be able to throw his value around all of a sudden. He hadn’t taken advantage of Sebastian’s panic attack until now.
‘The car will be faster once the tyres are changed,’ Sebastian said forcefully. ‘There’s no reason for you to leave. I’m trying to be nicer to you -’
‘Fucking hell.’ Mark wanted to go home. ‘Too little, too late. Although, yeah, maybe the car is worth it. I don’t know. Whatever.’
Sebastian put a hand on Mark’s chest to stop him from leaving, but the forceful action turned strangely intimate. His hand relaxed and he found himself keeping it there, like his palm was a natural stethoscope. He watched as he moved his own fingers, gently drumming his fingertips on the fabric of Mark’s polo shirt - it was like an out of body experience.
‘Seb?’ Mark asked carefully. He was sure Sebastian had noticed how rapid his heartbeat had become.
It wasn’t enough. Sebastian wanted more. Impulsively, he closed the distance between them and leaned into the older man, almost as if he was trying to topple him. Mark was forced to steady himself by grabbing hold of Sebastian, who returned his hold…and then the embrace was complete.
Faces just inches apart, Sebastian closed his eyes and leaned forward slowly. Mark sensed naturally that his teammate wasn’t seeking a kiss on the lips, though he did seem to want comfort. So instead he brushed his lips on Sebastian’s forehead before letting him nuzzle his neck. It was new, it was wrong, it was frightening, but it felt good. Mark had to hold back a moan from the way Sebastian’s stubble felt against his skin. It was simple contact, yet felt completely indecent.
The warmth between them was more intense than it had been in Germany, which was understandable considering how pressed up they were against one another. The problem was that the embrace wasn’t understandable in itself. With every degree of heat came a degree of fear, and within half a minute, the panic had set in. Sebastian whimpered when he felt Mark harden against him, and Mark himself was horrified at how his cock had twitched at the sound of Sebastian being so plaintive.
‘What the fuck is happening?’ Mark whispered desperately into Sebastian’s ear.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Seb…’
‘Oh God, don’t say my name like that.’ The image of Mark in Germany, in nothing but a towel, was driving him insane in this moment, making him want more.
Mark counted to three. Nothing happened. He had yet to let go. He told himself to count again and let go. Three came and went again. It was only when Sebastian shifted, grinding against Mark’s thigh, that he broke the embrace.
He practically flung himself backward, stumbling into the nearby wall. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Mark was horrified as he slumped down onto the ground. Sebastian was standing there, arms still lifted as if he couldn’t quite believe he had been holding someone mere seconds earlier.
Slowly, he lowered his arms. Next, he lowered his gaze at the man he was so frightened of losing.
‘I-I won’t try to be nice to you. I promise.’
Confused by their mutual desire, the younger man fled the conference room, leaving Mark to cool down against the wall.
He was still there thirty minutes later when Adrian found him and told him it was time to go home. Mark could’ve stayed there all night, really, because as far as he was concerned, he was already in an alternate universe.
*
‘You should come to this charity football match next week,’ Fernando said over the phone.
It was the next day, and Mark had no intention of going into Headquarters. In his mind, Milton Keynes was the scene of a serious mindfuck, and the last thing he wanted was to risk a repeat.
‘Mark?’
‘Yeah, sorry, mate. I’m here.’ Mark paced nervously around his kitchen. He was permanently on edge now. The morning’s bike ride had not calmed him down. ‘Uh, I can’t exactly show up. I’d be the F1 driver not on the F1 team, or any team for that matter.’
‘Are you okay?’ Fernando paused. ‘You know I was joking, right?’
Of course the Spaniard was joking. He knew Mark had no interest in attending a football match where Sebastian was captain. Heck, he himself was irritated the German was captain. Just because the German teams had done so well this year…
Fernando knew it was because Sebastian was the reigning world champion, but he didn’t like thinking about that too much.
‘Just got a lot on my mind,’ Mark finally said. ‘Ann’s on a business trip, so there’s no one here to tell me to snap out of it. I mean, the dogs bark, but it’s not the same.’
Fernando chuckled. ‘That’s what you’ve got me for. To tell you to snap out of it. Not to bark at you.’
‘Maybe I’ll go for another bike ride.’
‘If that’ll help.’
‘Winning would help, but you covered that on the weekend. It was all you, mate. I’m happy for you.’
Fernando didn’t question Mark’s sincerity - he knew his friend was genuine about the congratulations. However, he could tell that something was bothering Mark in a way that was…different. It wasn’t the same vibe he’d exuded after Malaysia. Whatever the anxiety was, it was in a form Fernando wasn’t familiar with.
They weren’t best friends. They didn’t know everything about each other. But during the season, he was usually adept at picking up what was wrong with his old pal.
‘Thanks, Mark, but you already congratulated me many times. Listen, if you need to talk something through, just call me.’
Mark did his best to convey nonchalance, even as he drummed his fingers on the countertop. ‘I’ll be right. But thanks.’
‘Okay, I better go. Just wanted to tell you I liked how the interview turned out.’
‘They found some good footage, huh? Dug it out of the records.’
‘Yes, but that made me feel old!’
‘You and me both.’
They were both in the 200 club. Not quite Rubens territory, but they’d been around for a while.
‘Ha ha. Bye for now. Look after yourself.’
‘Will do. Catcha later, old man.’
After the phone call ended, Mark’s mind stayed on the subject of memories. Seeing old footage of both crashes and wins had stirred feelings of nostalgia, pride and drive. He had achieved so much, yet had been left unfulfilled in many ways too. Fernando had his two world championships. It was surely easier to race knowing you would always retire a world champion.
Perhaps not for Sebastian though, Mark thought. The kid was hell bent on domination, and three titles wasn’t enough. But what did Mark know about that kind of success? He was in the ‘autumn’ of his career, according to Christian, whereas Sebastian was in the spring. Mark was running out of chances, losing to a man who was still a boy in many ways.
He wondered what the German had thought of those older races. Sebastian really was a kid then, worshipping Michael Schumacher and working hard to secure a future in racing.
He probably watched those races and thought nothing of you.
Mark wanted to hit his head on a wall. This was self-inflicted torture. Why was he thinking these things?
He knew why. He just didn’t want to relive the sexual attraction he’d felt yesterday.
He’s not a boy anymore. Sebastian is all grown up.