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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Shovel Talk(s) Part One

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve and Eddie aren't even together when Steve gets the Shovel Talk from Eddie's uncle, but it is what tips Steve into talking to Eddie about his feelings, so he's not upset by it.

They aren't dating, not because he doesn't want Eddie, because he absolutely does. It's just that he wants to be sure Eddie wants him back. There are times when he's sure, when Eddie gets into his space a bit too close, or more often, than he does with anyone else. Eddie calls him a thousand and one nicknames, ranging from sweet to irritating but just when Steve thinks that's a perk left just for him, Eddie hands someone else a new nickname (just the one, a voice in Steve's head that sounds suspiciously like Robin says).

Not that any of that is the point. Wayne wouldn't bother to give Steve a shovel talk at all unless he knew how Eddie felt. Wayne is a man of action, and he's never done anything unless it mattered. Meant something. Steve and Wayne have sat in plenty of (what Steve considers to be) awkward silences because Wayne doesn't talk to fill the void of silence.

The point is, Steve drops Eddie off at the house the government so graciously bought for the Munsons, walks Eddie to the door and giving Eddie a hug goodbye. He stays on the porch until Eddie shuts the door and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Wayne call out his name.

"Harrington," Wayne says from the shadows of the wrap around porch.

So, Steve jumps and it's only then he notices that Wayne is sitting at the table and chairs set up on the porch. "Mr. Munson, sir, hi. Hello."

Wayne lets out a chuckle, but it doesn't really sound amused. "I have come to accept that you are nothing like your father, boy, but I do want to make it clear to you, that Eddie means more to me than anything else on this Earth."

"I know, sir."

"I know you do. And while I will forever be grateful that you helped return him to me alive, know that I will not hesitate to make you disappear if you hurt my boy in a way he can't bounce back from."

Steve's not afraid of Wayne, not really, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the need to flee. He doesn't, though, because he'd gotten enough shovel talks from concerned parents in high school, and he knows they can sense weakness. "I can't promise I'd never hurt him, sir, but I can promise it'll never be intentional."

He can't actually see Wayne's face in the darkness but he feels sized up all the same.

"I believe that, Steve," Wayne says, and it's the first time Steve's ever heard his name leave the man's mouth, "now go home."

Wayne's shovel talk was expected. Robin's is not.

"You took Eddie on a date date?" She whispers it as though they aren't alone in Steve's living room. They're laying on the floor in a line, heads next to each other so if they turn slightly to the side they can make eye contact. Steve's not sure why they always end up on the floor for Serious Talk Time.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking away from Robin's face to stare up to the ceiling, "I mean, sorta? We can't like... be open that it was a date, but we went to dinner and a movie and it was nice. Shared a popcorn and played footsie under the diner table."

"Whoa," Robin says. "I never thought you'd- didn't think you'd be brave enough to ask him."

"Me either."

"Steve," Robin sounds serious, so Steve turns to look at her. She studies his face for a moment before she's the one to look away, speaks to the ceiling, "be careful with Eddie, yeah?"

"What? Careful how?"

"I just think you could really fuck him up," Robin says. "You're his first boyfriend, right? That's going to set a precedent for relationships that might happen if you two don't work out. And I hate to say this, because I know you've changed, but like, I saw how a lot of those girls you dated in high school ended up when you broke up with them."

Steve's a little hurt, because Robin's his best friend. She should be giving this talk to Eddie, not him. But, also, he understands. He knows that Robin knew about Eddie's sexuality before he did, knows they bonded over being queer while Steve was still figuring himself out.

Steve also knows that Eddie's never been in a relationship before, Eddie'd told him at much when Steve asked him out. Steve doesn't like that Robin implied that he and Eddie will eventually break up, but no matter how much that thought makes Steve's heart ache, he won't know if it'll happen unless it does.

He just doesn't understand why she seems to think he'll be the one breaking Eddie's heart. It could go the other way.

"Did you OD over there?" Robin asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Steve answers, "I'll be careful."

They've been on four more dates before Nancy knocks on his door. She doesn't accept his invitation to come inside. Just starts speaking on his doorstep.

"As Eddie's Capital P Soulmate," is how she starts that sentence, and it makes something hurt deep inside Steve as he tries not to think about Robin, "I am obligated to remind you that I do own several guns now. And I don't miss."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, because even Wayne was more subtle, "I got it."

"Good. I do know you'd never hurt him on purpose," Nancy says but Steve doesn't feel reassured.

He thinks that, if she really didn't think he's going to end up hurting Eddie she wouldn't have said anything at all. "Right."

"Well, good talk Steve," and then she's walking down the driveway and climbing into her car.

He closes the door and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer, mostly so he has something to do besides stew in his emotions. He wonders if Eddie has been given the shovel talk, too? Maybe Robin did the same thing Nancy just did. Showed up unprompted, threatened Eddie with some sort of bodily harm, and then just left.

Steve grabs the phone and dials Eddie's number.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice greets him, albeit questioningly.

"Eddie, it's Steve."

"Oh, hello sweetheart," Eddie says, "are you calling for business or pleasure?"

Steve laughs, "business."

"Boo!"

"Listen, uh, I had a question. I just wanted to know if anyone's said anything to you. About us. Or, y'know, specifically about us and our relationship?"

"Uh, not really? A few congratulations, I guess. Why? Did someone say something?" Eddie's voice is level, almost too level, so Steve knows he's trying to keep cool.

"Oh, no! No! I mean, aside from the scary shovel talk from- Wayne, everyone's been surprisingly cool about it. Very supportive," Steve says and even though it's true, everyone they've told has been cool about it, it feels a little bit like a lie.

Eddie laughs, "I can't believe my uncle gave you a shovel talk! You know, I keep expecting to get one from Robin but so far nothing. She must think you're safe in my capable hands."

Steve is safe in Eddie's hand, he thinks, but that doesn't stop the sting that goes through him. "Of course, she does. You've been a perfect boyfriend."

There's a pause before Eddie's voice comes through the phone, soft and quiet, "I'm glad you said so. I want to be. For you."

"You're not allowed to say those kinds of things when you aren't within kissing distance, babe," Steve says, because if he doesn't add humor to this conversation, he's going to tell Eddie he loves him instead, and even Steve knows that saying that a month into dating is too soon, especially over the phone where he can't see Eddie's reaction.

Eddie laughs and makes kissing sounds at him before the conversation shifts to chatting about the day and making plans for the weekend.

Steve is trying really hard to not be the person he was in high school but every time he gets to the point where he's being a better person, someone brings up how he used to be. Shoves it back into his face that no matter what Steve does he can't outrun his past.

One such time is shortly after Steve and Eddie accidentally come out as a couple to all of Hellfire. Steve was just dropping off the boys and had stepped inside to chat a bit. Once game time had arrived it had and Steve made to leave, they'd (he and Eddie) had been on autopilot. Eddie'd whined 'where's my goodbye kiss?' and Steve had stepped over, kissed him goodbye, and was out the door before it had actually computed.

Steve had burst back through the door, rushing back to Eddie, because no way in Hell was he going to leave his boyfriend to deal with whatever the consequences would be alone.

It had been absolute chaos at the table with people shouting over each other.

"Of all the people you could be with, you picked Steve!? You could do better!" Mike had whined, and Steve had thought for sure he was the only one who had heard Mike until he saw Will punch his arm and hiss his own 'don't be a dick' at Mike.

It took almost half an hour to calm everyone down. It was a relief to know that Eddie had come out to his bandmates/the older Hellfire members already. The kids took it in stride, in the end, and Eddie had shoo'd Steve away.

Jeff had excused himself, too, and Steve thought he was just going to use the bathroom but instead he followed Steve outside.

Ah. Steve knows what's coming.

"Harrington," Jeff says, "can't say I'm excited that you're the secret boyfriend Eddie's constantly sighing wistfully about. I'm sure Wayne's already threatened you," And Robin, and Nancy, and Mike doesn't think he's good enough, "but if you hurt Eddie-"

"I get it! There will be dire consequences if I hurt Eddie," Steve snaps, not down for hearing it anymore. He stomps to his car and peels away from the curb without bothering to look back.

If he's being honest, Steve didn't even know he had a breaking point with shovel talks until he gets his fifth one from Dustin.

It's not even a shovel talk. It's just a single sentence, said almost a month after Dustin learned about their relationship. He's dropping Dustin off after their DnD game. Normally Claudia picks him up, but she's busy tonight and asked Steve to do it.

"Alright, Henderson, safely delivered."

"Thanks, Steve," Dustin says, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door, before turning back to Steve. He just looks at him for a moment.

"What?"

"I'm happy for you and Eddie. Just, don't hurt him, ok?"

He nods his head but can't say anything. Dustin grabs his backpack, shoots him a smile, and climbs out. Steve does wait until Dustin closes the front door behind him before putting the car back in gear.

He manages to get home, somehow, because Steve doesn't fully remember the drive. It's not that his mind was so focused on something else that made him fail to take in his surroundings, but rather that his mind wasn't even a part of his body anymore.

One moment he was pulling away from the Henderson residence, and the next, he was home, just standing in his kitchen in the dark. And now that his thoughts are back, or easier to process, he finds himself wondering why everyone thinks that he's going to be the one to hurt Eddie.

How many people has he hurt that this is his reputation? Is it inevitable that he will hurt Eddie? Is it truly just a matter of time until he breaks Eddies heart? Why is everyone so convinced that he will?

Briefly the thought occurs to him that maybe he should call up Eddie and break up with him right now, before Eddie has a chance to get in deep enough that Steve could break his heart, but just the thought of it breaks Steve's heart, so he's not going to do that. Doesn't want to do that. That would just be punishing Eddie for something he didn't do.

None of this is Eddie's fault, and Steve's an asshole for even thinking of breaking up with him because of it. Which feeds him back into the loop of thinking that maybe everyone is right about him. He is an asshole and will someday hurt Eddie, perhaps even on purpose.

He loves Eddie. He's in love with Eddie. But does loving him mean proving his friends wrong? Or does it mean leaving him before they're proven right?

He wants to ask everyone why they think he'll hurt Eddie.

He wants to ask everyone why they don't care if he's the one that gets hurt.

#steddie #my fic #we like making steve a sad emotional mess right guys?#steve-centric #we gotta make the boy Sad so that his boyfriend can fix him #is that healthy? not IRL but this is fanfic and if i want Love to solve all the problems then im allowed to do that #only itll be in part two #that might get written one day #is steve putting words into his friends' mouths #yeah duh the boy needs therapy but its the 80s so hes not getting any

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formulaes5 · 3 months

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do you think god knows? (sneaking out of heaven)

Mark had just slid a hand down the back of Sebastian’s shorts to grab at his bare skin when the phone rang again, shattering their quiet moment. He reached out with a groan, smacking at the phone blindly. “Fuck. Off.” Or, five times that Seb and Mark were interrupted, and one time that they weren’t.

☆ 6.5k, M, ao3 ☆

The phone was ringing. Shrill, continuous; rousing Mark from his sleep and instilling a deep, heartfelt desire to do nothing more than cover his face with a pillow and scream. All in all a fucking awful noise to hear at six in the morning. Mark groaned, slammed his hand down a few times in the vague direction of the bedside table and took smug satisfaction in the silence that followed.

Having dealt with the problem – unfortunately not quick enough to stop the noise from waking Seb – he rolled back over, tucking himself nicely into the nice warm body next to his. Seb shoved his face into Mark’s chest in response, snuffling a little as he woke. Mark smiled softly, feeling distinctly happier to be awake now that the noise had abated and he had Sebastian in his arms. He laid a kiss on the top of his head and pressed his nose into his soft curls, breathing in deeply.

Seb reached a sleepy arm around Mark’s waist, dipping a hand under his t-shirt, making a happy little noise as he stroked his hand down Mark’s back. They spent a few moments together, just running their hands over each other, trying to get as much contact as possible before their mouths came together, meeting in a soft kiss in the middle. Mark hummed into the kiss, licking into Seb’s mouth as he ran his hand down the plane of his back, sitting suggestively on his waist before moving downwards and squeezing a handful of Seb’s ass.

Seb laughed, before pushing at Mark’s shoulder, laying him flat on his back so he could swing a leg over and straddle him, deepening the kiss as they moved. It didn’t taste great — Mark could admit that — morning breath was doing neither of them any favours, but with Seb kissing him so enthusiastically, bearing down on him as he did, he could think of no better start to his morning.

“Fuck. Off.” he said to the offending device, hoping that the power of his displeasure alone would be enough to stop the ringing. Seb, helpful as ever, just giggled at Mark’s plight from above.

It stopped ringing. Victory – or so he thought.

“Hello?” came a quiet, tinny voice from the bedside table. “Hello, are you there?”

Mark lay there for a moment, tempted to just let whoever was ringing him think that he had poor service and hang up. His conscience won out – he hated when it did that.

“What?” Mark snapped into the phone, annoyed that his morning was being so rudely derailed.

“Seb?” asked the confused voice down the line.

“Uhm… no?”

Mark scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, pulling the phone away from his ear to look at the contact screen.

Heikki 💪👱‍♂️, read the screen. Seb’s trainer. He looked at the phone, feeling distinctly confused. The phone he was holding was blue. Like Seb’s phone… No, not like Seb’s phone, it was Seb’s phone, bee sticker and all.

“Wait,” said Heikki, confusion colouring his tone, “is this Mark? Why are you answering Seb’s phone?”

“Uh…” He looked up, shooting a vaguely panicked look at Seb, still positioned on top of him.

“Is he okay?” Heikki asked, worried now. Why would Mark be answering Sebastian’s phone this early in the morning? He certainly sounded half asleep, if a little pissed off. Why would Mark Webber, of all people, be answering Sebastian’s phone this early in the morning if not for— Oh. Oh.

Heikki definitely hadn’t seen that one coming, but in retrospect it kind of made sense in a weird, fucked up way. He’d seen first hand the way those two stared each other down, and it was honestly kind of scary. With that kind of rivalry there were really only two options: they’d either kill each other or they’d become insufferably codependent and start with the hand holding and the kissing and all that nonsense.

Heikki took a second to reorient himself to the drastic change in his worldview. Okay, Seb and Mark — a couple. Clearly they didn’t hate each other as much as everyone seemed to think they did. Unless the hatred was part of it. Heikki really didn’t want to think about that.

“Oh. Uh. Tell Seb I’ll come by an hour later than we planned then. Have fun.”

Have fun? Heikki groaned in despair as he hung up. Of all the things to say when you find out that your employer was dating his teammate – probably actively sharing a bed with him judging by the rustling and what might have been laughter that he thought he had heard in the background.

—

Seb propped himself up on his elbow, lifting himself away from Mark’s chest and resting his chin on his hand.

“Sooo,” Mark began awkwardly, “Heikki says he’ll be over an hour later than planned.”

Seb looked confused, “Why was Heikki call– ah… he wasn’t calling you.”

Mark looked at him helplessly, “Whoops?”

“Yeah…” Seb agreed, “Whoops.” He rolled off Mark with a groan, sitting cross legged on the bed facing Mark. The moment had been well and truly ruined by the combination of the initial interruption and the heartbreaking realisation that he had agreed to go on a morning run with Heikki, before he’d had his plans completely – and happily – derailed by Mark showing up out of the blue to spend time with him as they tried to work out whatever the hell was going on between them.

“So he knows then?” Seb asked.

“He certainly had a bit of a moment, that’s for sure.”

“What about my moment?” Seb whined petulantly, sulking just for sulking’s sake.

“Well you had several moments last night,” Mark responded with a laugh, “I’m sure you’ll live”

Seb let out a loud, exaggerated groan, grabbing a pillow and bringing it to his face before flopping backwards onto the bed. “Fucking Heikki,” he grumbled from under the pillow.

Mark cracked open an eye, “You better not be.”

Seb hit him with the pillow.

They stumbled through the door laughing, still drenched in podium champagne as they groped at each other, Seb holding Mark by the unzipped lapels of his race suit as he walked him backwards through the small space out the back of the garage.

Even though he put on a good show complaining about it, Mark loved when Seb got bossy and assertive, when he was direct with what he wanted. It was all part of their game, the push and pull of their relationship — everything was a competition, and everything was something to be won. It was probably questionable, Mark mused, maybe even unhealthy, but when Seb started with the manhandling, all bets were off.

Like nearly everything they did, Mark knew this was just another high stakes game of chicken, another competition to see how far one of them could get their hand up the others thigh at a team meeting before being slapped away – Mark always won at that particular game – and he wasn’t going to be the one to fold first. For now at least, Mark was content to let himself be manhandled, and if he was completely honest, sometimes it was just nice to let somebody else do the heavy lifting.

Mark’s back met the wall with a dull thud, held in place against the brick by Seb’s tight grip on his race suit, keeping him pinned exactly where Seb wanted him. He raised an eyebrow teasingly, silently asking Seb what he was planning to do with him now he’d caught him.

Seb, never one to take a challenge lying down, immediately rocked up on his toes and crushed his mouth to Mark’s, answering his question soundly. He raised a hand to the base of Mark’s skull, pulling him down to meet him and pressing his hips forward into Mark’s, searching for that delicious friction they both craved.

Mark groaned into Seb’s mouth at the contact, having been keyed up since his close up look at Seb’s wide open mouth as he was doused in champagne, not to mention his front row seat to the show that was Seb’s pretty pink lips wrapped lasciviously around the neck of a bottle of champagne as he maintained direct eye contact. He pressed forward into the kiss eagerly, tangling his tongue with Seb’s and reaching a hand down to grab at his ass through the thick material of the suit, hauling him in impossibly closer in the vain attempt to just entirely melt into Seb, who was busy pawing across Mark’s torso in search of his zipper.

Lost in the intoxicating press of the kiss, Mark barely had time to notice the downward trajectory of his zipper before he felt Seb’s hand push underneath his fireproof top, briefly stroking over the flat plane of his stomach before moving on a quick collision course for a more southern region.

Even though he was expecting it, Mark still couldn’t help but break away from Seb’s mouth and let out a strangled gasp as he felt champagne sticky fingers close around his half hard length, stroking him from base to tip.

“Seb!” he yelped, vague panic mixed with arousal. Mark wasn’t entirely sure if their game of chicken covered outdoor workplace handjobs, but he was not going to be the first to tap out. Even though their game had never gotten quite this risque before, he had already conceded first place to Seb once today already, he had his pride to think of after all.

Seb looked up at him smugly, an almost maniacal grin plastered across his face as his hand moved under Mark’s fireproofs. He clearly thought he was the one winning here; that wouldn’t do at all.

Mark tried to wipe the stupid look from his face, really of the opinion that as the one getting a surprise handjob from his sort of boyfriend slash teammate out the back of the garage, he was entitled to a bit of a dumbfounded expression every now and again. Either way, he thought to himself, the victorious look that Sebastian was sending his way needed to be dealt with immediately.

Mark tightened his grip on Seb’s ass and rocked forward into his fist, bringing his head down to nip at Sebastian’s jaw, trailing open mouth kisses down the column of his neck, making sure to pay special attention to the spot behind the hinge of his jaw that was always a surefire way to pry the prettiest little gasps and moans from Sebastian’s mouth – all of course in the quest to thoroughly distract Seb from his ministrations as Mark rucked up his fireproof top for easier access, not because he liked the noises to an abnormal degree, of course not.

Right as things were taking a decidedly more heated turn, a noise in the direction of the back door of the garage snapped them back to reality. Seb tore his hand from the confines of Mark’s fireproofs, Mark jumping away from him as if he had been burned. They were both beet red, their swollen lips and mussed hair doing nothing for their case as they tried to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Oh. Uh…” the mechanic stammered, eyes wide and holding on tightly to a box full of car parts the same way a child would clutch at a security blanket, scared that if he let it go he would have to face the terrifying reality of the world alone – The terrifying reality in this case being walking in on your team’s two drivers wrapped in a heated embrace in the workplace, wandering hands leaving very little of the content of their interaction to the imagination.

“Uhm… Uh,” said Mark intelligently – or at least he was aiming for intelligent. For a brief, perfect, shining moment, Mark allowed himself to live in a reality where he wasn’t a fucking idiot. That was denial, then he moved on to bargaining. Maybe the mechanic hadn’t seen what had just happened. Maybe he wouldn’t have to move to the middle of nowhere and take up goat farming just to escape from the sheer embarrassment of being caught in the act by a team member.

The mechanic (Dave, according to the name tag printed on his shirt) reluctantly parted with his box, placing it on the ground to fish out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket in explanation, “I was just, uh… was just gonna uhh, well…”

“Oh um,” Seb began, the same halting embarrassment colouring his tone as he desperately tried to convey a calm confidence that a man in his position had no business even attempting to convey. “We were just, uh… Debriefing on the race,” Seb stuttered.

“Yep,” Mark agreed, nodding his head “debriefing.”

Dave looked less than convinced.

Seb tried to affix a casual look to his face, but was entirely betrayed by the bright red shade of his lips. He looked around for somewhere to lean. Somewhere casual. Leaning was casual, he thought as he found absolutely nowhere to do so.

“We’re done now though!” he said brightly, trying to ignore the elephant in the room, “We’re gonna leave now, all debriefed!”

The mechanic nodded, looking like he was considering their offer to clear out and let him smoke in peace, before presumably deciding that he didn’t need a cigarette that badly after all, and turning and scurrying back into the garage from where he had come, no doubt wildly confused and mildly distressed by the whole situation.

Mark closed his eyes and thumped his head back into the wall with an exaggerated groan. That career in goat farming was looking more and more appealing as the embarrassment sank further in. He just hoped that Dave would keep his mouth shut on this one.

“Maybe next time we do this we should make sure there’s a door,” Mark suggested blithely.

“Well,” Seb replied cheekily, seemingly unaffected, “there was a door there you know.”

“You think you’re just so bloody clever, don’t you,” Mark groused, before gesturing vaguely in the direction that Dave had just fled, “we should probably go before he realises that he’s forgotten his box though.”

Seb said nothing, just grinned his trademark stupid smug look that generally made Mark oscillate rapidly between long suffering adoration and reflexive annoyance. It was a beautiful grin, Mark reflected absently, a grin that really reached his eyes.

Maybe a career in goat farming could wait for now – he still needed to wipe that stupid grin off his face after all, even if it was unreasonably beautiful.

Britta marched down the hallway towards the driver’s rooms; a woman on a mission. She stopped outside Sebastian’s room and knocked crisply on the door… No response. She knocked again, not wanting to use her key unless it was entirely necessary, having trained herself out of it after walking in on Seb changing one too many times before they had implemented the three strikes and out – or in – system.

Still no response. She knocked one last time, hoping that Sebastian would answer the door, but knowing that he wouldn’t. He’d probably just fallen asleep again; either that or he was wearing his headphones and couldn’t hear the knocking over his music. She rolled her eyes, tucked her paperwork under her arm and fished the key out of her pocket. She needed to talk to Seb, and she needed to talk to him now.

She pushed the door open with a sigh, then immediately wished that she hadn’t.

They were impossible to miss, laid out across the couch. Seb lay on top of Mark, kissing him enthusiastically, both nearly naked save for their underwear, Mark’s hand trapped between them, undeniably moving underneath the cotton of Sebastian’s boxers.

Britta turned around as fast as she possibly could, closing the door with a bang. That was certainly far more of Mark Webber than she had ever planned on seeing.

She paced down the corridor, hand pinching the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a fucking disaster, a trainwreck if it ever got out. She should definitely ask for a raise.

She heard a thump from inside, muffled cursing, the clink of a belt. A few seconds later the door opened again, revealing Sebastian – thankfully fully clothed this time. He looked a little winded, hair mussed, with a bright red blush colouring his cheeks and several darker red marks littered around his collar bones, partially visible under the loose collar of the shirt. Mark’s shirt, Britta would have guessed. His belt hung undone, bare feet on linoleum.

“Britta!” he chirped, still catching his breath as he stepped out and shut the door firmly behind him, “Hi!”

“Sebastian,” she began, trying to work out what she was even meant to say in this situation. She tried not to look at the marks under the shirt collar, failing miserably. She went with something simple, something that would convey her emotions accurately. “What the fuck?”

Seb folded like a house of cards. “Britta – I, we…” he stammered.

“What are you thinking Sebastian?” she whisper-shouted, “This is ridiculous, even for you! I mean come on – in the paddock! On a race weekend! You know what will happen if this gets–” She cut herself off, not wanting to spiral entirely out of control, “Actually, no. I don’t need to know,” she said firmly, “I don’t want to know.”

“I know,” he placated, “you’re right, it was stupid to do this here. I’m sorry.”

Seb looked at her, upset and embarrassed to have been caught in such a predicament. He was often so mature, so dedicated to his sport, that she forgot how young he really was in the grand scheme of things. “But this is,” he trailed off, making a decision, “it’s… it’s important, Britta,” he said softly, scuffing his bare foot against the ground. “It’s important to me… to us. It’s not just some fling. Please don’t be mad.”

She softened, seeing the worry in his eyes, the way he had brought his arms up around himself, protectively or soothingly she couldn’t tell, but either way he looked lost.

“I’m not mad,” she said gently, “not about the fact that you’re gay, bi, whatever. I won’t say anything to anyone either, okay”

Seb visibly relaxed, his shoulders coming down and his jaw untensing. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“But you can’t just do this here Sebastian,” she gritted out exasperatedly, “Some critical thinking here? Please?”

He nodded quickly, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck in silent embarrassment.

She opened her mouth and closed it just as quickly, really not sure if it was even her place to say what she wanted to say, then decided that it needed to be said regardless. “Just be careful,” she cautioned gently, “make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Seb nodded, turned to go back inside before she stopped him. “Look, get yourself together and I’ll be back in ten minutes, I need your signature on some paperwork. We'll talk about this then.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the door, “Bring him too.”

Seb nodded distractedly, slumped against the wall as she walked off, before opening the door and walking back in to find Mark, now wearing jeans and one sock, pacing back and forth, worrying the hem of a far too small t-shirt between his fingers as he paced.

“We’re fine,” he told Mark, who nodded quietly, “she wants to talk to us though.”

Mark hummed offhandedly as he sat back on the couch, pulling Seb down with him.

“Is that my shirt?” Seb asked, running his eyes appreciatively over Mark’s torso.

“Well,” Mark poked him in the ribs, “somebody, appears to have stolen mine.”

“You like it though really,” Seb teased, glad that the tension had broken.

Mark just sighed, wondering why they couldn’t seem to catch a break lately.

“Yeah,” he said fondly, slinging an arm around Sebastian’s shoulders and smoothing his hand over the soft cotton of his shirt, draped over Sebastian enticingly. He pressed a kiss to Seb’s cheek, cautious not to let it devolve into anything else, “I do like it… makes you look all soft.”

He leant sideways into the warmth of Mark’s body, humming contentedly at the feeling of his arm resting around his shoulders, pulling him in closer to sit flush against his side, slotting into place nicely.

In what felt like no time at all, there was a bang from the door, “Sebastian!” called Britta, “Time’s up! You’d better be wearing clothes!”

Seb stood up reluctantly, grabbing Mark by the hand and hauling him off the couch with him as he made to leave.

“Wait,” Mark said suddenly, dropping a hand onto Seb’s shoulder to stop him opening the door, “swap shirts.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.” Seb said with a laugh, pulling off Mark’s shirt and swapping it for his own.

One day they’d get a moment to themselves, just not today.

It had been a solid race for Jenson, and he was quite pleased with his third place finish, although obviously he would have liked to have finished a couple steps higher on the podium than he had, but a mistimed pitstop had dashed those chances for him. Third would have to do, he thought to himself, there was always next time.

He showered, dressed, checked himself out quickly in the mirror, craning his neck around to see if his ass looked good in his jeans. Approving what he saw, Jenson made his way out of his motorhome to go and harass Mark – a favourite pastime of his.

He knocked on the door of Mark’s motorhome as he entered it, which defeated the purpose of knocking entirely, but Jenson was firmly of the opinion that keeping the opposition on their toes was to be encouraged at all times. He found Mark exactly where he was expecting him to be, lounging on the couch inside. What he wasn’t expecting was Seb, also making himself comfortable on Mark’s couch, and to a lesser extent, making himself comfortable on Mark himself, who was, for some baffling reason, allowing Seb to rest his feet in his lap.

Jenson would have to check with Mark later that he wasn’t deliriously ill.

“You do know that entering a room is usually preceded by knocking and then waiting to be told to come in, right?” Mark griped in his general direction over his shoulder.

“Ah but where’s the fun in that then?” Jenson laughed.

In the time it had taken them to exchange words, Seb had moved his feet from Mark’s lap, making room for Jenson on the couch. Jenson considered the near nonexistent gap between Seb and Mark on the couch – it really wasn’t that big. In fact, it was concerningly small. He should probably fix that, Jenson thought to himself, it certainly wouldn’t do for a fight to break out between them. They were always arguing over something or other, and the closeness could certainly be a contributing factor to their animosity, though why they were hanging out by themselves in Mark’s motorhome was a mystery to him.

Jenson would just have to fix it himself.

“So,” he said, awkwardly squeezing himself into the gap between Seb and Mark, which felt even smaller than it looked, “any plans for tonight? Big party with the grid girls? That one DJ I saw DC harassing on his gridwalk? He looked like a party guy!” Jenson rambled, sure that if he just kept talking he could diffuse the tension between Seb and Mark before things took a turn for the worse.

Mark pulled a face, not thrilled at where Jenson had chosen to sit, and perhaps even less thrilled that he was there in the first place. He had been quite enjoying the closeness between him and Sebastian; the way Seb had been resting his feet in his lap, allowing Mark to take the opportunity to stroke over the smooth skin of Seb’s ankle, occasionally stroking up his calf as they discussed their races, well out of the haze of competition.

He was already missing the quiet moment that they had been sharing before hurricane Jenson had made its appearance, though he was also just glad that they’d managed to separate in the time that it took Jenson to work out exactly what was going on. Not for the first time in recent months, he cursed his past self’s lack of foresight – always lock the door. Always.

“Nah,” he said eventually, “we were just going to find somewhere quiet to get dinner, discuss the race a bit more together.”

A quiet night out, they had thought, then a movie on the couch when they got back in, and if Mark was hoping for a little more than dinner and a movie, well that would be perfectly okay too.

Seb shot him a look over Jenson’s shoulder as he revealed their plans. Somehow managing to combine incredulous and furious into one expression. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, but judging from the look on his face, he was about to find out.

“Oh good idea,” said Jenson, “what time were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, maybe an hour or so?” Mark replied slowly, not really sure why Jenson was so interested in his and Seb’s dinner plans, but figuring it couldn't hurt to tell him, if only on the off chance that they saw him while they were out and didn’t fancy making up something up about the nature of their outing on the spot to satiate Jenson’s curiosity. Not to mention that it wasn’t exactly a lie – they were getting dinner together, just not as teammates.

Behind Jenson’s back, Sebastian was rapidly swinging his hand back and forth across his neck in the universal please dear lord fucking stop it right now gesture that Mark only appreciated the significance of after it was too late.

Jenson got up from the couch happily. “I’ll meet you here then!”

Oh. Well shit, Mark thought to himself. This was going to be punishing. He was almost scared for Jenson to leave, lest Seb decide that the interruption to their long sought after date was grounds to start throwing things at him.

Mark let out a monumental sigh as the door closed behind Jenson’s retreating form. “I am… so sorry…”

Seb just stared. This was going to be a long night.

—

Jenson was quite pleased with himself as he led the way to the restaurant. Not only had he managed to prevent the argument that would have no doubt arose from Seb using Mark as a footrest if not for his timely intervention, but he was also going to be there to stop Mark from throttling Seb over the dinner table when they got to discussing the details of their race tonight.

Preventing Red Bull Racing from needing to find another star driver, not to mention a criminal defence lawyer for their other driver was thankless work, but somebody had to do it, so it might as well be him.

Trailing behind Jenson (significantly less enthusiastically) were Seb and Mark, hands brushing occasionally as they walked side by side, wishing more than anything that they could give Jenson the slip and finally get that date that they had been promising each other for the past few months.

They made their way into the restaurant eventually – a nice little Italian place with peeling laminated menus and an overly enthusiastic teenage waiter who Jenson was pretty sure would be asking them for autographs on their way out if he didn’t collapse under the strain of professionalism first as he directed them nervously to their table.

To Jenson’s eye, the restaurant didn’t exactly look like the kind of place that formula one drivers would frequent – it was small and out of the way, and generally seemed to cater to couples if the seating arrangements were anything to go off, with little candles in glasses flickering gently along the row of two seater tables that took up most of the restaurant.

Once they were seated and perusing the menu, having hummed along absentmindedly as Seb ordered them a serve of garlic bread to share, Jenson scooted his chair back a bit from the table, looking under the table to try to find some space to stretch his legs out without kicking Seb or Mark on the other side of the table. What he saw under the table made him pause.

Despite not looking to be sat very closely together from what he could see above the table, underneath was another story. Mark had one long leg stretched in Seb’s direction, pressing his thigh to Sebastian’s, as well as a hand resting entirely too high up on his thigh to be anything other than intentional and overtly romantic in nature.

Jenson looked up from under the table and took in the way that they were looking at one another. Surprisingly fond, with an undercurrent of something else. It was like they’d forgotten that he existed – he was almost offended until he realised exactly what was going on. Then he was just shocked.

Jenson came to the uncomfortable realisation all at once, putting the pieces together like an earth shatteringly obvious and easy to complete jigsaw puzzle. Seb’s feet in Mark’s lap earlier, the way Mark hadn’t even seemed bothered now Jenson thought about it. The soft smile that had seemed so out of place on Mark’s face as they walked together and now at the table, both pointed in the direction of Sebastian. It was just so bloody obvious.

Then he came to a more pressing realisation: Mark hadn’t actually invited him to dinner. Mark had said that they were getting dinner. He’d said “we”, like him and Seb were a unit – a couple. Mark had said that he and Seb were getting dinner, and Jenson had somehow managed to open his big fat mouth and invite himself to dinner with them. Specifically, Mark had meant that he, Mark, was going to get dinner with Seb — as a date — and now somehow Jenson was also on their date.

The tension that he had detected earlier wasn’t tension tension. It was sexual tension. Jenson felt like curling into a ball under the table and dying of embarrassment. He had single handedly turned what was no doubt supposed to be a nice quiet dinner into a double date, with Seb and Mark on the one side, and Jenson and Stupidity on the other. He understood the look on Mark’s face from that afternoon now.

Maybe if he was very subtle about it, he thought to himself, he could rectify his glaring mistake and leave as soon as humanly possible. Maybe he could invent a cousin with an emergency, that was a thing people did, he was pretty sure, or maybe he could say that he had a team dinner.

“Jense?” asked Mark all of a sudden, cutting through his panicked thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You okay mate? You went all quiet all of a sudden.”

Now or never, Jenson thought, if he was going to escape from Seb and Mark’s date, he needed to do it now, or forever hold his peace. “Team dinner!” he blurted out in a rush, steamrollering over Mark’s response as he elaborated, “I’ve got a team dinner– forgot! Gotta go now!” he forced out as he stood up quicker than was strictly necessary, pushing his chair back with a screech as he went.

“What?” asked Seb, entirely baffled.

“Gotta go! Bye!”

Seb and Mark stared after him as he shot out of the restaurant like a bat out of hell, not entirely disappointed with this turn of events, but nonetheless surprised to see him moving so fast apropos of nothing.

“Does this mean I can have his piece of garlic bread?” asked Seb hopefully, turning his big blue eyes on Mark in an attempt to weaponise the attraction that he knew Mark felt for him in exchange for a larger serve of their shared starter.

“We could go halves?” suggested Mark bemusedly, squeezing Seb’s thigh once before getting up and moving around the table to sit down in Jenson’s abandoned place opposite Sebastian.

“I s’pose that could work,” Seb agreed, sticking his leg out to tangle with Mark’s under the table, “as long as I get to choose the movie later,” he negotiated.

“Deal,” grinned Mark.

Team meetings, Christian reflected as he strode down the corridor, were fucking horrendous. They were bad enough when he’d only had to contend with making sure that Mark and Sebastian were sat far enough away from each other that they couldn’t kick each other under the table and feign ignorance when the other winced. Now it was worse — so much worse.

Now Christian had to deal with infatuated staring and bashful glances, not to mention the stress of the entire situation. He honestly couldn’t say that he would have ever seen this relationship coming, but in retrospect, the way that they snapped and bickered with each other did lend cadence to the entire idea. If they thought they were being subtle though, Christian was almost terrified to see what they considered to be obvious flirtation, because the wildly disorienting flip from openly antagonistic to whatever the hell this new dynamic was meant to be was — quite frankly — doing his head in.

He supposed that this was better than the alternative, which was that they killed each other before they even made it to the start of the season, but Christian thought that he could probably do without the blindingly obvious sexual tension that had sprung up between the previous and upcoming seasons. There was really only so much of that he could take before he was going to have to put his foot down and have the single most embarrassing conversation of his entire life with his drivers.

That, or he could just ignore it and hope they calmed down. Ignoring it seemed like the safe option — he’d certainly chosen to ignore it when they were doing their level best to kill each other. What more harm could he do by ignoring it?

By the time he made it out the door, Christian had decided that the ignore it option was his favourite. Unfortunately for him though, the world seemed to have other ideas.

Christian stopped next to his car, coming face to face with exactly what he had been so desperate to ignore. Parked next to his car was Mark’s car — Mark who had left well over twenty minutes ago, Seb in tow. Mark, who was making direct eye contact with him through the open window of his car as he removed his mouth from Sebastian’s.

Sebastian and Mark sat frozen in the front of the car, both leant over the centre console facing towards each other, looking slightly out of breath as they pulled apart. Distressingly, Mark’s hand stayed in place tucked up the back of Sebastian’s shirt.

Christ, he didn’t have the fucking energy for this. He had just decided to ignore this whole situation.

He took a second to orient himself, blinking rapidly and fiddling with his car key. “I’m going to turn around now,” he said calmly, trying to project as much tired disappointment into his voice as possible, “I’m going to go back inside and get myself a coffee, is what I’m going to do,” he continued, “and when I come back out here in five,” – he took in their dishevelled states, Seb’s hair sticking up every which way, kiss bitten lips dark and shiny under the lights of the parking lot, both of them eyes wide and sat stock still like deer in the headlights. A hickey high up on Mark’s neck – “no, ten minutes, I’m really going to need you guys to not be here.”

They nodded as one, slow and confused.

Christian powered on, “Then, tomorrow at our follow up meeting, we will not make eye contact, and we will not acknowledge the situation. Am I clear?”

They nodded again dumbly, and Christian took it as his sign to escape.

Fuck the coffee. He needed a stiff drink.

Seb was perched precariously on the edge of the wooden dining table, his legs spread to make room for Mark between them as they traded languid kisses. He stroked his hand up Mark’s back, pulling him in closer as they made the most of their first truly private moment in a long while.

Mark ran a hand through Sebastian’s hair, tugging gently as the kiss deepened, not increasing in speed or urgency, just becoming that little bit more intense before they both had to pull away for air. He dropped his head onto Seb’s shoulder, closing his eyes and tightening his arms around Seb’s waist; pressing his nose into the junction where shoulder met neck.

“Seb,” said Mark cautiously, lifting his head up to meet his soft blue gaze, “can I say something potentially awful?”

Seb cocked his head, “Are you asking my permission… to be rude to me?” he asked incredulously.

“What? No?” replied Mark, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Is that a thing we do now?” Seb continued, unphased by Mark’s interruption. “Do we ask permission now? Because normally I would just say whatever I want and then you would make that face at me where you try to look angry but you just kind of look constipated and— Mmrph!”

Seb looked down, eyebrows furrowed at the large hand that was suddenly covering his mouth, then flicked his eyes back up to Mark, waiting.

“If you just let me get a word in edgeways, I’ll tell you what I actually mean, yeah?”

He nodded from behind Mark’s hand, just about to give into the childish urge to stick his tongue out onto Mark’s palm before the hand was relocated, giving in to the urge to push a wayward curl back from where it had landed in front of Seb’s eyes.

“I know we’ve finally gotten five minutes privacy, and you know you’re beautiful, you really are, even when you won’t shut up — especially then — but I’m so fucking knackered… Can we just go upstairs and have a nap?”

Seb relaxed instantly, “Oh thank fuck,” he breathed in relief, glad that Mark had been the one to say it. As nice as it was to share an intimate moment with Mark, tonight he just wanted to sleep.

—

Mark lay back on the bed with a groan, pulling Seb down with him to rest his head on his chest, arm flung over his waist and a leg hooked over Mark’s. He ran a hand gently over Seb’s head, through his hair and over his cheek, stroking his fingers softly over Seb’s full pink lips.

He smiled as Seb pressed a gentle, drowsy kiss to his fingertips, then closed his eyes and let himself drift.

#sebmark #martian #f1 rpf #my fics #ao3 #i copped out with number five i just needed to post this Immediately lmfao #this might be a bit shit i just needed to get it out of my drafts ill fix it when i can stand to look at it 💀#fic: do you think god knows? (sneaking out of heaven)

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