Fic: Interconnection, Part 6
Pairing: Mark Webber/Sebastian Vettel
Rating: M
Synopsis: Post-YDT, Sebastian suffers from Mark’s absence
Word count: 2071
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, never will. Don’t like, don’t read.
Interconnection, Part 6
The German Grand Prix had been glorious, but only for one of them.
For Sebastian, it had been positively euphoric. Keeping Kimi at bay had been a real task, but he’d managed it, finally breaking the so-called ‘curse’ that the media had been going on about non-stop. Never won at home. Never won in July. Well, they’d been silenced, and the curse would never be mentioned again, just like after the win in Canada.
But this time, unlike Canada, Mark had skipped the team photo. Sebastian knew it hadn’t been a personal slight - his teammate had been denied the opportunity to race him, all because of a botched pit-stop. If it had happened to him, he too would be upset. Thank God the cameraman was okay.
Now, though, Sebastian was starting to get a real grasp of how painful these failures were for Mark. The Australian’s first win had come at the Nurburgring a few years ago, yet this last outing had ended up as a recovery drive. Mark was tired of recovery drives. They weren’t here to salvage races - they were here to win them.
He had kept his word, though, responding to each and every text Sebastian had sent. Can’t expect me to stick around after that…I finally had a great start and then…No, there’s nothing you can do to make it better…Enjoy your time at home. I’m outta here…Give me a bit of space, please, mate…and most recently (after the Red Bull soap box race), Mate, you make an interesting Mario.
The word ‘mate’ was beginning to rankle Sebastian. It was wholly unrepresentative of what they were. Since the media attention had been heightened in Germany, there had been no choice but to completely stay out of each other’s way. Disappointing as it was, it’d been completely necessary. Via a card hidden in Sebastian’s birthday present - a parcel quickly exchanged in the motorhome - Mark had indicated that Ann was continually asking nosy questions about the pair’s interactions. Not to mention, how Mark must’ve looked on returning so late that night after the British Grand Prix.
Though Mark had instructed Sebastian to destroy the card after reading, he had done no such thing. The haphazardly wrapped package was now a permanent fixture in his suitcase. Following a joke that Sebastian had made a while ago, Mark had gifted him a bunch of hotel soaps and shampoos. It was stupidly perfect and personal; one time, Sebastian had been caught out at a drivers’ press conference, not knowing it was Mark’s birthday, so he was essentially receiving his own suggested last-minute present.
It was an irrational thing to love. These mini-bottles were especially garish - girly and showy, with obnoxiously fancy product descriptions. Lavender shea butter nourishing body wash with herbal infusion, just to name one. Another person might think it was gay for a man to carry these products around, but the fact was no one else was allowed to touch his suitcase. Customs officers in most countries weren’t interested in searching his bags… Come to think of it, Australia was the only place where they were paranoid about foreign products to the point of lunacy. He’d have to stop carrying this stuff around before Melbourne next year.
Next year. Mark wasn’t going to be on the grid next year.
Lost without his teammate, Sebastian paced up and down his motorhome room and cursed the FIA for placing such restrictive rules on the current drivers. Earlier, when he was out on track testing only the tyres, he couldn’t help thinking what a lost opportunity this was. They were at Silverstone again. Even at 300kmh, his teammate was on his mind. Had Mark not been scratched off yesterday’s schedule for Daniel Ricciardo, the pair would’ve been able to steal some time together. Instead, Mark had extended his cycling training regime in Wales or whatever, telling him that there was no point hanging around the paddock when he wasn’t going to drive. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to test in the first place, and Daniel’s audition took precedence.
Sebastian stopped pacing and sat down on the couch to send a text.
So fucking tired of being asked ‘Daniel or Kimi?’
Continuing to keep his promise, Mark texted back. Sebastian was getting the conversation and attention he craved from the other man.
Shag, marry, kill: me, Dan or Kimi?
What a stupid question. The answer to all three is you.
Oh, wow, I feel so special. Sure you don’t want to shag Kimi? How about marrying Dan? He’d have a smile on his face no matter what bullshit you pull.
Fuck off. It’s bullshit you’re not here.
It’s the Young Drivers Test. I’m the oldest driver in F1.
Don’t joke around. Obviously I’m really upset.
Calm the fuck down, Seb. I was trying make light of our situation. Nothing is really funny about this. Not sure if you’ve noticed.
Maybe I’ll go to the cow field tonight and remember the good times by myself.
The texting had apparently gone too far, because suddenly Mark was calling him.
‘Sebastian Vettel speaking.’
‘Very funny,’ Mark said dryly.
Sebastian groaned in frustration. ‘Being apart isn’t helping.’
‘Being together won’t help, either. We’d end up in a situation.’
‘A situation?’
‘A situation.’
Sebastian laughed, mainly out of nervousness. ‘A situation with the cows?’
‘No, a dirty situation with two Red Bulls and not enough lube,’ Mark said bitingly.
‘Whoa…’
Mark sighed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Well, I did…’
‘Sorry but not sorry?’ Sebastian asked. ‘We’re pretty good at that.’
Mark’s only response was to grunt.
‘Mark?’
‘Hmmm?’
Sebastian wanted to broach a particular subject. He’d been thinking about it ever since their post-Silverstone encounter. Inside he was torn, between obligation and need, expectation and lust…basically his natural love for his girlfriend versus the burning need to have Mark’s approval, physically and mentally. But how on earth was he going to bring up the subject of sex with him when the both of them were straight? Engaging in the act with the older man was a frightening prospect - frightening in the sense that it was unknown. He was scared he’d like it. He was scared he’d want Mark like that for the rest of his life.
‘Seb, you’re thinking about…that, aren’t you?’
Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to resist the urge to shove his free hand down his pants. Even hearing Mark’s voice was too much at times. ‘Ithinkweshouldtry.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ he said more firmly.
‘You want me to shove my dick up your arse?’ Mark challenged.
‘You’re only saying it like that to scare me,’ Sebastian argued. ‘I’m already scared. You think it’s normal for me to want you like that? You’re my teammate. I shouldn’t be with you in that way.’
‘Kissing each other is one thing…Having sex is entirely different. Can I be the mature one here and say that we’re not ready? Sexuality and the fact we have partners aside, it would be -’
‘You’re lecturing me right now. I’m not a kid!’
‘Fine!’ Mark choked back a sob. ‘I’m not fucking ready. I’m confused. I don’t want to feel this way about you. If I fuck you and I like it, then I’m going to feel like shit. Shit because I’m going to be a whore to the number one driver in the team. Where’s my self-respect?’
The emotional words cut Sebastian in so many ways, like fire being lashed across his chest and then again on his back. Yet surprisingly, the pain was there because he was hurt. Sure, he felt insulted, but that was always the way with Mark. What was new was that he was truly hurting for him.
Still, he couldn’t let all his emotions show. So he responded in typical Vettel versus Webber fashion.
‘Who said anything about whoring? For sure, I figured I’d be on the receiving end because you’d want to teach me a lesson, but hey, if you want it the other way around, then fine, I’ll try.’
‘You’re not trying anything.’ It was clear Sebastian’s tactic had worked, because now Mark seemed more annoyed than sad. ‘I would be in charge. But I’m not ready.’
‘Okay. Jesus, I was just asking. Can’t a man proposition his teammate without the world ending?’
‘That’s you trying to be funny, right?’
Sebastian put on his best Australian accent. ‘Calm the fuck down, Mark. I was trying make light of our situation. Nothing is really funny about this. Not sure if you’ve noticed.’
‘You’re such a bastard,’ Mark said, though not unkindly. ‘Can’t wait to race you in Budapest.’
‘Someone should install interconnecting doors between our motorhome rooms.’
‘Please. It’s for your own security that it’s not like that. I’d have killed you by now otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’
‘Okay, bye.’
‘Yeah, bye.’
Though the conversation had facilitated a breakthrough, Sebastian felt the call had been too short. His time with Mark was always in snippets. Moments. Races.
Nevertheless, he was thankful the talk of sex hadn’t made things go nuclear. It prompted him to get up and go over to the open suitcase on the other side of the room. The compartment where he kept his birthday gift was an inner mesh pocket. To hide the items from view, he usually placed a few postcard-sized signing cards - the type he gave out to fans - at the front. The birthday card was always tucked behind the bottles, hidden amongst old boarding passes.
Sebastian retrieved the card, opening it so he could reread the message.
Seb,
I heard advance talk of chocolate cake and remembered your birthday. Let’s hope this year is the year you act your age, you little shit.
Here’s a collection of hotel shower gels. I hope you don’t like it.
On a serious note, understand that I still want to beat you out on the track. Nothing has changed. Luck was involved in Silverstone. I hope this race is you and me overtaking Mercedes and then just racing one-on-one from there. If you want to win at home, you’ll have to beat me fair and square.
No love lost,
Mark
P.S. My partner was a bit suspicious of me the other night when I got home. Not sure if she connected it with any thoughts that I’m acting weirdly - not that I think I am. She keeps asking questions about how things are going with you, though. Probably nothing to worry about, but just letting you know.
P.S.S Destroy this card.
P.S.S.S. Dan is a good kid. Deserves the seat.
It had occurred to Sebastian that keeping the card was dangerous, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep this memento. He loved everything about it, from Mark’s honesty to the childish cover (it was a birthday card for a child, probably purchased at the airport). Shredding it or burning it wasn’t an option.
However, when he went to return the card back to its hiding spot, he noticed something was wrong. The boarding passes he hid them amongst were usually in Grand Prix order, meaning Melbourne was first.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Sebastian picked up the pile and began to go through the plane tickets one by one. Montreal-PET, Melbourne, Nice Cote d’Azur, Heathrow, Kuala Lumpur…
He didn’t need to check any further to know that they were out of order.
It was as if someone had dropped them and hurriedly put them back, not knowing there was a system.
‘Fuck.’
Had Hanna gone through his things earlier in the week? He couldn’t recall her mentioning anything about needing to get something out of his suitcase. Maybe she hadn’t touched his belongings at all…Maybe he’d done this?
No, he thought. Somebody has been through this compartment.
Airport security was a possibility, but the more likely case was that it was someone he knew - his girlfriend or a family member.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
He got his phone back out and immediately tried to call Mark. When he didn’t pick up, he frantically sent a text.
You’re going to kill me. I didn’t destroy the birthday card.
By the time someone knocked on his door, Sebastian was a nervous wreck. He’d broken out in a cold sweat. The only (temporary) relief was that Mark was surely busy, because he would definitely reply with rage on seeing the text.
It was entirely possible that not one but two partners were suspicious of them.