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Chapter Text

Monza, Italian Grand Prix

September 2008

‘My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker-punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was egos swinging’

-The Great War, Taylor Swift

Lap 53. Sebastian Vettel had just opened lap 53 of the Monza Grand Prix, the very last lap of the race, his heart on his throat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, fingers whitening. The rain hit his helmet again and again, in an interrupted melody he couldn't afford to pay attention to. The track had barely started to dry when rain hit again, washing away a handful of cars out of the race, making it difficult to see where to go and where to avoid, the tires screeching, dancing around in the water, splashing it everywhere. 

Another corner. And then another one. A straight right ahead where he pressed his foot firmly against the throttle, his Toro Rosso screeching. 

God, c'mon. Just another corner. He was almost there. Almost there. The rain wouldn't let on, falling and falling and falling, compromising his view considerably. His hands were shaking, perhaps it was the car, perhaps it was him. He was close, so close. 

And then, he saw the checkered flag.

His chest swelled and then there were shouts and sounds, sounds everywhere, the radio was on and they were screaming his name and he was screaming and screaming and shit, could he be crying? His heart beat harmony inside of him, he had never known such a feeling before.

Sebastian has stupidly believed that the contract he had signed earlier that year to race for Red Bull in 2009 would easily be the best thing to ever happen to him. And yet, he had been wrong. There he was, a race winner. It had happened. No, not ‘ happened’ . He had made it happen, just like he had earned that contract. He had made his name, had marked it in history, and had fought for every second he got to drive a car around those tracks. 

And God, he was good. He was so good, he felt invincible. He felt drenched in gold and bright smiles, the humid breeze messing his hair when he jumped against his team operators, laughing, hands pushing him apart, his helmet forgotten somewhere.

He looked around for a second after the main interview, body shaking with pure ecstasy, catching hazy green eyes staring at him. Mark Webber stood close by, clutching firmly at his car, helmet still on, making it impossible for Sebastian to read his expression. He froze for a moment, unsure why. But then, the rush of the sounds came back in, someone guiding him to the podium, and he only found enough time to shine a smile at his future teammate before being led up the stairs and losing sight of him.

The rain kissed his face on the podium,  it was heaven. He kept looking up, mesmerized by the feeling of the droplets on his cheeks, by the blooming in his chest, by the victory. Champagne, rain, and tears. That's what winning tasted like for Sebastian Vettel. He quickly got addicted to it.

☆☆☆

A rookie. A bloody rookie in a Toro Rosso had won a race in a wet Monza and he hadn't been able to do it in a Red Bull. Not one single win in his whole career, six years of racing. 

And no win. 

He kicked the wall. And then kicked again when the pain didn't make him flinch. His hands were tired, his head hurt and he was freezing cold from the downpour they had all suffered for more than half of the 53 laps. Most importantly - and to seal his suffering with flourishing negativity - he was a fraud. Mark Webber, the Australian driver who did not deserve his seat in Formula 1. The guy who lost to a Toro Rosso. To a rookie . Who was Sebastian Vettel when they were talking about Mark Webber? Current Red Bull driver, ensuring a promising future to the team. No one. Vettel was no one .

Except that wasn't true at all anymore. Not only the kid had managed to grab a seat in the Red Bull alongside Webber for the next year, but he had also managed to grab his maiden win before driving said Red Bull. Before Webber, who drove said Red Bull for the last two years. And, to top it all off, Vettel was the youngest driver to ever win a Formula 1 race. 

What a year 2009 would be. 

He was spiraling. It happened a lot, more so recently than he was used to, his hands quickly finding his hair and grabbing it so forcefully his breath escaped him. If he focused enough, he could hear Vettel's celebrations through the sound of the rain hitting concrete. But he wouldn't focus, he couldn't, he would listen to anything else, think about anyone else, he would not think about the cocky rookie, about the twisted, bragging smile. 

Pain burned in his scalp. 

Fuck. He needed to stop. He needed to breathe. He needed to change. He needed air and to be better and quicker and smarter and younger and more capable and more optimistic but also more realistic and more more MORE. Mark Webber had the inscrutable feeling that he needed to be more and yet had never been lesser in his entire life. And it haunted him. It ate him alive.

He was still dripping rainwater. And late, Mark was late for the post-race interviews. He peeled off the cold fireproof, the wet sound of it hitting the floor far from satisfactory. It made him gag a bit. He felt gross. Alongside with other things he would rather not think about. 

Before leaving the room, he brushed his grimace off, sculpting it into his calm and nonchalant expression. 

He would do this. And then he would drink in his hotel room until he could no longer remember his name.

☆☆☆

Sebastian had two beautiful girls sitting on his lap and a big, big problem. A glowering Mark Webber stood across the room as if it had been his fault Horner had demanded both Red Bull drivers accompany him in the night of partying that awaited him after his maiden win. In an unwanted - on Webber's side, not his, of course - way of introducing him to the team that would soon be his as well. 

Of course, Vettel had no idea he had a problem at the time, Webber was merely an annoying presence in his moment of glory. Nothing more than a bitter soon-to-be-teammate, really. And Sebastian was in no mood to indulge in such an attitude at the moment. So he threw back his tequila shot and then the next one and then a shot of vodka and another rum and coke, please. He was laughing and dancing, blinded by lights and happiness and the sweet taste of victory. Bodies danced against him, hands pushed him around, and the two girls wouldn't let him out of their sight. Sebastian smiled broadly, before promising to be back in just a second - he deserved another drink.

‘Don't be irresponsible.’ The voice made him jump, even if he would never have admitted it. Most of all, Mark Webber was incredibly unexpected to Sebastian Vettel, in every sense of the word. ‘If you keep mixing your alcohol you will throw up and end up on the cover of some stupid magazine.’

Sebastian felt his smile grow. ‘Jealousy looks lousy on you, Webber.’ Ah, so he had hit a nerve. The older driver grimaced at him and let out an annoyed grunt. ‘And I will be on the cover of a bunch of magazines, anyway. I won remember?’ Another grunt ‘If you start drinking now you might get lucky enough to be in the background of my picture, perhaps throwing up by my side.’ When he didn't back up, still frowning at Vettel's drink, Sebastian felt the incomprehensible need to step even closer and whisper, ‘Or perhaps you'll be the one holding back my hair?’

One second they were staring down at each other and the next Webber was gone, having pushed Vettel away and disappeared into the crowd without another word. Seb stumbled, finding his footing a second before his face would've met the floor. 

What a fucking asshole.

☆☆☆

What a stupid, irresponsible kid. 

The door of Mark's hotel room slammed close, and he couldn't find it in him to feel any remorse about waking the people in the other rooms, he was simply surrounded by the satisfactory release of hitting things. When he couldn't hit Vettel's obnoxious face - even though everyone who knew them both would know he had well deserved it, no one enervated Webber that much without being a complete asshole. 

Mark was calm, collected. He was 32 years old and had built his career himself, he didn't allow a rookie to get under his skin, never. And yet, he closed his eyes for just a second and met dark blue eyes and a cocky smile. Goddamn Sebastian Vettel.

Holding his hair back, alright. They would see. There was a whole season ahead of them being on the same footing and then they would discuss whose hair would be pulled. Held. Held, not pulled. Fuck, he was tired.

Outside, it still rained. Sebastian Vettel still partied, still bothered Mark, still made him uneasy. 

Soon, it would be impossible not to think of the rookie on those kinds of days. Soon, he would be all Mark could think about. 

Chapter Text

Albert Park, Melbourne, Australian GP

March, 2009

1st race of the season

‘I wake up every morning with the years ticking by

I’m missing all these memories, maybe they were never mine

I feel the walls are closing, I’m running out of time

I think I missed the gun at the starting line’

• Starting line, Luke Hemmings

The start of a new Formula 1 season brings as much certainty as a tropical storm - and Mark knew a lot about both those situations. The reporters had already circled the Australian track, and although his helmet helped him block out the absurd comments it was hard not to notice the clear comparison being made. He was starting 8th when his younger, brighter, stronger teammate was in third place. Mark could barely make out the other Red Bull in the second roll, not that he was particularly trying, the distance nothing more than symbolic. The journalist’s voice was enough for the moment, he had heard enough.

‘Is this the season we will be seeing? Sebastian Vettel out qualifying his older, more experienced teammate on every track?’ Said the first reporter, his microphone firmly grasped, as if scared Mark would get up and wrench it from his hands. He wished he could. 

‘Honestly, it is too early to tell. This could be a fluke. Perhaps Webber isn't as used to the car yet.’ The other guy said, looking directly at the camera. Mark wished they would get out of his line of sight. 

‘Yes, but he certainly is to the track! We would like to remind you that this is Mark Webber's home race, the track he is supposed to know by heart.’

‘Surely this must sting! ‘

They laughed loudly, almost hysterically. Mark flinched inside his helmet, a hard task when your cheeks were firmly pressed against the solid material, yet he had managed. Yes, well, they were correct. It stung, but they did not seem to care much. This is just the beginning, he tried repeating, again and again as their voices disappeared and the track cleared, the red lights lighting up right ahead. It was just one race, one qualifying, it was nothing, it meant nothing . 

Silence fell, anticipation ran through his veins. It was true that he should've been alongside Vettel, but this was his track, he had known it by heart since he was a little kid. There was no way he was finishing it behind his teammate.

Absolutely no way .

☆☆☆

He needed that win. More than anything, Sebastian needed that win. How good would it feel to get the first win in the first race of the championship when all the media could talk about was his recklessness? 

Vettel is too young to understand the seriousness of this sport. He doesn't see the risks. He just needs to prove himself and will do anything to achieve that, even if it puts others in peril. Red Bull made a mistake signing him. Everyone knows he won't last more than a season. His first win was a chance, he was lucky. Webber will eat him alive. 

And yet, there he was, third in qualifying, more than ready to make it clear he wasn't lucky, he was fucking great. 

Kubica had been making his life hell in front of him, changing directions more than once to keep the Red Bull behind, and no matter how much Vettel complained, nothing was done. And then, there it was. A gap. As simple as that, the space shone brightly in front of Sebastian's eyes, baiting him. Of course, he went for it, being side by side with Kubica, sure to not back down, to never back down. If Kubica insisted on the move and wanted to crash, then they would do so, because Vettel would not be known for his cowardness.

The collision was stronger than Sebastian had first anticipated, seeing as they were both braking at the time of the touch. Fuck, the asshole had turned into him, taking his whole front wing out in the clumsy move. For a moment, Sebastian saw the Red Bull logo drifting away with the other car, dragged around on the concrete, small bits and pieces all around the track.

Fuck. 

Throwing his car onto the grass to avoid being hit again, he yelled, trying to swerve the Red Bull back into the track and not spin. Although he did manage to leave the corner, soon after he encountered Kubica's car broken down in the next corner, the other driver gesturing angrily at him. His temper flared, and the next thing he knew, Vettel had completely lost control of the car, it was severely unbalanced, making him hit the wall with such force he had to take both hands off the wheel to not hurt himself.

Finally, the car stopped. His breaths came out rugged, he could hear it in his ears alongside his engineer's voice asking him if everything was alright. He saw cars flying by him in quick succession, his third possible second place lost in a matter of seconds. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck! 

After a second, he managed to pull off the grass and establish himself in front of the other Red Bull. Mark Webber, in front of him. He ground his teeth, annoyance clouding his view. 

Fucking fantastic.

☆☆☆

Twelfth place. What a bloody joke. His home race and that was all he could manage. Great, now they would all keep talking, poor Webber, incapable of scoring a single bloody point at the track that meant so much to him. The look in his mother’s eyes was worse than Horner’s reassuring words, it made his insides shrivel. The only thing that helped the situation was knowing Vettel had been so reckless and stupid that he had managed to finish behind him, which should not seem like any type of victory, he needed to be a team player, but the kid made it impossible for him.

As he left the circuit, he could feel the disappointment of the crowd buzzing through his bones, making it impossible for him to brush it off. His mother kept talking the whole way, and God, it only made him feel worse about himself. Driving through the streets that smelled like home, he brought his mother to the airport, silence stilling the air between them.

‘Mark, darling. It’s just the first race.’ 

He nodded. Breathed through his nose. ‘Yes, I know. I just gotta stay here for a couple more days before going home, Mum. It was bad for the team and I’m sure they’ll want to do something about it. I’ll see you soon, ‘right?’ 

The sadness was so visible on his mother’s face that he knew she didn’t believe him for a single second. That woman had raised him and knew him inside out, and so the excuses were meant for himself than for her, anyway.

She nodded, kissed his cheeks, and left the car without saying another word. Mark’s forehead hit the driving wheel with a miserable thump . What a terrible day.

He deserved to feel exactly like that. Perhaps Sebastian Vettel was a reckless kid who was too ambitious for his own good and had made a terrible mistake, but Mark was slow . He qualified eighth and finished twelfth, and that said everything about the kind of driver he was. It was crystal clear that he needed to push more, Vettel would not hesitate to make him look bad.

It wasn’t his fault, but Mark was pissed, tired and annoyed, and he directed his anger towards the German. How could he make such a mistake anyway? Didn’t he think about the team at all? If he needed to win at all costs, it was his problem, those points were important for the whole bloody team. Mark had performed poorly, but not recklessly. 

And he needed to clear his head. 

Stopping by the hotel was certainly the worst part of this whole idea, risking crossing paths with the smirking idiot or any other driver who wished to have a conversation about the whole disaster. Mark had nothing to say, he had already been professional enough in the interviews he made, pushing down all the circulating feelings and bitter words that caught his tongue. He was a driver , he felt absolutely no joy in the whole media world that surrounded the sport, but he couldn’t escape it without making the team look bad. So he went, flashed a couple of smiles, used the word ‘pity’ about a hundred times, apologized to the fans, and congratulated Button with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He managed to get in and out of the hotel completely unnoticed, heart beating strongly in his chest. He closed the car’s door again and drove to the farthest beach he could find. Summer was finally leaving the country and the slightly cutting wind made him clutch his jacket closer to his chest. Hopefully, no idiot would be swimming here while he ran, surely they would catch some type of pneumonia. Not that he cared really, Mark only hoped not to be recognized by anyone.

To his surprise, there was no one there. Well, almost no one, far away, swimming laps in the freezing water was a man, but he was too distant to see Mark well, and so he started running, dodging the anger-filled expression on Vettel’s face after stepping out of the car earlier. His cheekbones were so sharp and the playfulness that accompanied the younger driver everywhere was gone, no annoying dimples to be seen, just murder in his eyes. Mark had stepped back, ready to wallow in his own sadness in peace.

But now, it all came back. Vettel’s mean words whispered under his breath - Mark did not need to know German to understand what was being said, the viciousness of his tone said enough -, Horner’s attention turned completely to him after a disappointed ‘We’ll do better next time’ in Webber’s direction. It made him see red. 

No matter how long he ran for, how much his lungs burned, how many times he had run the whole beach and back, the anger did not dissipate. 

Finally, he was forced to stop, unable to catch a breath Mark put both hands on his knees, head reeling. 

He heard a laugh, seeing shoeless feet stop in front of him. ‘Fancy seeing you here, Markie.’ 

☆☆☆

Sebastian Vettel was in a terrible mood. Well, at least until he saw his teammate fighting for a breath on the same windy beach as him, with so honest fury in his eyes that it ignited the most childish parts of him. He couldn’t help the excited giggle that escaped him. Sebastian had nothing against Webber precisely, they had just become teammates and the other guy seemed decent enough - except for that one stupid episode months ago when Webber tried to parent him, but he was sure he was not that much of an asshole all the time. 

‘What the actual fuck are you doing here?’ Webber murmured, so slowly and low Sebastian would’ve missed if he hadn’t been paying such close attention. 

‘Went for a swim to clear my mind after the fiasco. Kubica is an asshole.’ He hated the smile that played on his lips, still incapable of not controlling his face when he could. Anger was the only time it all slipped from under his firm grasp, but the sadness and disappointment he was feeling at the moment was enough for the fake smile to find its usual place on his face. 

‘You’re the asshole, Vettel. You ran into him. Now, excuse me.’ 

Oh, fuck this guy. Fuck this guy very much. Sebastian’s hand clutched Webber when he tried to escape back into his pathetic run, pushing him back to where he was, staring at him. ‘What.’ It wasn’t even a question.

‘C’mon, kid. You have to know the mistake was yours. Let’s not play around the bush here, we’re both aware of our own mistakes today. But yours was reckless.’

Sebastian laughed humourlessly. ‘And yours, Markie? No, definitely not reckless, just boring then? Twelfth, Webber, really? Is that the high chair you’re using to judge me? Step down off your fucking pedestal, dude. It’ll soon be mine anyway.’

He felt the hands on his chest before the last word was even out of his mouth, his entire body crashing down on the sand, some of it going directly at his eyes. He cursed. ‘What the fuck, man!’ Up in just a second, he pushed Webber back, who simply stumbled back a couple of steps before snarling and flying in Sebastian’s direction.

‘You’re too stupid to be in this sport, Vettel. You might be fast, but it must just be because of the weight difference of not having a brain. You are childish, you are inexperienced, you are immature, you are ignorant.’

‘Fancy words, Webber, congratulations, it must genuinely help you explain yourself to the fans that came to watch you race today. Because, let’s be honest here, you can barely call that racing , can you?’ He dodged a kick, laughing under his breath. Yes, that was what he needed, the adrenaline anger brought up. ‘C’mon, old man’ Sebastian mimicked Webber’s words back at him, feeling an immeasurable pleasure in watching the twists and turns of annoyance in the driver’s face. ‘No, honestly, I think it’s great, you’ll be great at doing the interviews while I celebrate my wins. I’ll even spare a few words if you ask nicely.’

And it was his fault, really, to not have thought Webber capable of such speed when he was a well-trained driver, because Sebastian did not have enough time to move out of the way when Webbet threw himself at him, taking them both down without a second thought. Sebastian kicked his leg out, hearing a satisfying grunt in his ear. He shivered at the sound, certainly just an effect of the cold wind brought by the sunset that quickly approached its end. 

He was thrown from under Webber, rolling on the sand a couple of times before crawling himself back to a sitting position. ‘Watch your bloody mouth, kid!’ 

‘No need, you watch it enough for the both of us already.’ And perhaps it was the red sunlight reflection, but Vettel could swear he saw Webber’s cheeks tinge with pink before he turned and jogged away.

Fucking great, he had the worst teammate ever. Just his luck, really. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the insane amount of sand that had gathered on his hair for rolling around - more like pushed onto - on the ground, he got up and ran back into the ocean, watching the sun disappear under it. 

2009 would be an interesting season.  

☆☆☆

Mark’s thigh was burning so much that he was sure to have a huge bruise kissing his legs the next day where Vettel’s foot had connected with his skin. Usually, Mark prided himself on his patience and tolerance, often hearing comments about his impressive ability to ignore the other drivers’ bait, and yet all it took were some sharpened words from a spoiled prick to make him completely lose his temper. 

How pathetic. 

He was supposed to be the wise one there, dammit. How could he react so tempestuously to some stupid comment that should not mean a thing coming from Vettel’s mouth? What did he know about anything , frankly? The guy couldn’t complete one race without causing a collision just because he couldn’t phantom the idea of losing. Losing as if a podium meant nothing . 

Mark couldn’t understand, he just couldn’t. The German was driven by a fire Webber had never tasted before. At least not until earlier, when he was so pissed he wanted to squeeze Vettel’s neck until that irritating smile fell off his lips. It was maddening, the rage, how quickly it ran through his whole body, the speed in which it paralyzed his rational mind, the way it made him act. 

It had quietened the thoughts though. Now, driving home, his fingers kept brushing against the already-forming bruise, his mind circling around the blond boy and his smirk, his anger shimmering on his fingertips. Everything else faded away.

He would apologize. He had to. He was supposed to be the guiding image Vettel would follow, and what kind of example was he setting when he had flown on his teammate's throat at the first snarky comment? A shitty one to say the least. 

So it was decided, the next morning he would go to Vettel’s room and he would apologize for his unthinkable attitude and promise to never let it happen again. He couldn’t understand how it had happened in the first place, perhaps he was too on edge after the disastrous home weekend. Undoubtedly that was it. 

Unfortunately, the next morning came quicker than he had hoped, so Mark pushed himself out of bed and texted Horner for the younger driver’s room number. After answering a couple of awkward messages and explaining he wanted to give back a shirt he had mistaken as his - Webber was severely impressed that Horner had believed such a heinous lie when their sheer size difference must have thrown Mark’s lie out in the open, but he was starting to believe the team principle did not like to think much about his drivers’ personal life, which he could only agree to be fair and way out of his payroll -, he had finally been able to knock on Vettel’s door.

The door opened a minute or so later, just one second before Mark gave up, revealing a grimacing Vettel wearing the same shorts he had swam in the day before and no shirt whatsoever.

‘Webber. Back for round two?’ And fuck, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t , there was something about that boy that tugged on his inner being, making it scream out in fury, so bright it made it impossible to think of anything else. 

So he marched away, desperate for a clean state of mind that was not damaged by Vettel’s presence, completely forgetting about the apology he was supposed to give.

Chapter Text

Shanghai International Circuit, Chinese GP

April 2009

3rd race of the season

‘Yes, I’m young and livin’ dreams

In love with being noticed and afraid of being seen

But I can finally eat and I can fall asleep

It’s fine fine fine’

- No Complaints, Noah Kahan

Champagne tastes so much better when Sebastian could spray it all over Webber's face from the podium's top step. Fuck yes. Another win. He wanted to pretend the fact that his teammate had none did not make it even sweeter, but it did. Of course, it did, Seb had always been extremely competitive, it came with the passion, really, and there was only one person on the same footing as him during that season: Mark Webber. 

With his mind-binding games and assholy behavior, it made Vettel want to shake him until he stopped acting so weirdly. Like when he knocked on his door during ungodly morning hours just to scold him and leave without another word. That win meant so much more knowing he had done it on top of Webber. 

Oh, how amazing it felt, the weight leaving his shoulders. After DNFing the last race and having no points whatsoever in the season until that GP, the critiques were getting to him, the blogs and sites wondering if RBR Renault had made a terrible mistake in signing an irresponsible and temperamental driver such as Sebastian Vettel. Perhaps he would be dropped before the summer break. Perhaps they would drop him as soon as Webber got his first win. God, what was this kid still doing there?

He had felt it the moment the first droplet of rain had hit the track. He felt the rumble of the clouds above their heads, and he knew. He knew the race was his, since the beginning, since driving slowly through the safety car that started the race. He knew it still when Webber managed to jump from third to second, that there was no difference between the cars, but there was a huge one between the drivers. 

And Sebastian Vettel knew that, when the track was wet, there was no one like him.

The scene in front of him froze, stood still as a pair of green shamelessly challenged him, champagne sliding down Webber’s face, his dark curls stuck to his head. Sebastian knew to be the only one seeing the mean glint of malice in his eyes, a clear promise that whatever that was wasn't over. But he was wrong. Because it was over, and Sebastian had won. He had won. He splashed more champagne and Webber laughed helplessly, throwing his head back, alcohol cleaning the sweat off his face. He looked so heavenly like that. Sebastian wished sentences such as this one would stop appearing in his mind, but it was impossible not to notice standing this close. Webber’s nose pointed towards the gray Chinese sky, the bubbly liquid making his whole face shine, the laughter taking his face hostage, an expression of pure bliss and dimples Vettel had never been on the receiving end of. 

That happiness bothered him. That's why he couldn’t drive his eyes elsewhere. It was his victory and yet there was Webber, laughing as if he didn’t feel the weight of the competition. He should not be feeling that way, that feeling belonged to Sebastian. He had the childish need to yell and stamp his feet.

He splashed the drink on his face, licking the alcohol out of his fingers and smiling at the flashing cameras, trying to brush off the weird feeling taking him by storm. Stepping down off the podium, he brought Webber close, stopping face to face, incapable of letting this go.

‘A reckless child, right?’ But Webber smiled, tongue appearing quickly to lick a drop of champagne off his lips, and Vettel accompanied the movement because he had to, almost as if watching his pray. Webber brought his bottle to his mouth and took a long drink from it, throat moving.  

‘Congratulations, kid. Enjoy it while it lasts. Let's just not forget those last races, alright? Smile for the picture, pretty boy.’ Webber gave him a second to register his words before pushing their bodies flushed together and emptying his bottle on top of their heads, a polite smile displayed on his lips while Sebastian tried his best not to flinch at the cascading cold. Winking, his teammate disappeared in the confusion of the podium. 

Sebastian stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, cold sinking into his bones as his cheeks inexplicably reddened. 

Fucking asshole.

☆☆☆

To be fair, he shouldn't have doubted him. He had thought that it couldn't get much worse after the wreckage that was the Australian GP. It was only a matter of time before he put himself ahead of his teammate again, in a more important situation where, hopefully, he would score some points. After a very promising second race of the season, Mark was sure his maiden win was just around the corner. Sebastian Vettel was behind him in the drivers’ championship and it was merely the second race but God how it made his heart beat happily on his chest. Vettel hadn't finished the race while Webber himself had managed to secure a safe sixth place. He could do better than that and knew that he soon would. 

Not only had he managed to grab some points for the team while Vettel had failed to do so - Mark chose to ignore that the car problems were not Vettel's fault, because, in his mind, it was simply karma at its finest - but he had also qualified way ahead of the German driver the day before. 

He had believed it would mean the beginning of a good time for him. Oh, how incredibly wrong he had been. It was hard to brush off a podium like that, to even let Vettel's win cloud the sheer happiness of standing up there and showering in champagne, but he couldn’t deny the sheer yearning he had felt while watching Vettel on that top step. It was all he ever wanted, the feeling of victory rushing through him while the whole world looked, watched, and saw it for what it was. History.

And yet, standing on the second step close to his teammate hadn’t been half as bad as he had thought it would be. Mark was sure that Vettel had no clear recollection of it, but after climbing out of the winning car, he had thrown himself against his body, already celebrating with the rest of the team. Perhaps he should’ve pushed him off, but he didn’t, allowing the touch for longer than he should’ve, so what if he was happy? If the Champagne felt like magic on his hit skin, if the blond boy beside him twisting his mouth into an unpleasant smile made him dizzy with happiness?

His chest rumbled with badly hidden pleasure. Mark Webber was in the podium, finishing the bottle on his teammate's head, smiling at the flashing lights while Sebastian Vettel squirmed beside him, quiet, without one single snarky comment in his direction. If that wasn't a victory, he didn't know what could be. 

Perhaps he had developed a special taste for making Vettel as uncomfortable as Mark felt in his presence. 

☆☆☆

Webber was ruining his mood. The nightclub was big enough for Sebastian to avoid the other driver, and yet, every single time he turned around, there he was. He couldn't for the life of him understand what he was so happy about, he had still finished second, behind his teammate - the only other driver with the same car as his that drove in the same conditions. It bugged him. Why couldn't he stop smiling? He had never seen Webber smile once and suddenly it was all he could do. 

Sebastian had a whole bunch of people walking around congratulating him for an amazing drive under the inscrutable rain, and yet they stopped seconds later to say the same to his teammate. He hated this. Hated it. 

Finally giving up on ignoring Webber, he perched himself on the bar just beside him with his shit-eating grin firmly in place and ordered two shots for the both of them. ‘To us.’ He said, raising one of the glasses in Weber's direction. He stared him down, unimpressed by the walk down memory lane. ‘What? Don't say you don't remember your sassy attitude last time I won a race’ 

Webber grabbed the glass if only not to back down in front of him, it mattered little to Sebastian, truthfully. He was glad to be engaged with. ‘You mean your maiden win.’ He corrected just like Vettel knew he would.

‘Hmm. Where's yours, by the way? I thought you were just waiting for the white hair but’ he gestured towards Webber's head, ‘well, they're already there and I see no win.’

He was being a shit. He knew it, but the strange feeling that came with every win was finally back, happiness nagging at his spine.

Webber threw back the shot, evidently trying not to snap back at him. His smile got bigger despite himself. ‘Have I finally rendered you speechless?’ Stealing the glass from Sebastian's hands, Webber downed that one as well with an impressive poker face. Alright, so he would've to try harder. Fine, he could do it.

‘Who's being irresponsible now, Webber?’

‘You are. Starting a fight you do not wish to finish. Go enjoy your party, Vettel. I'm sure enjoying mine.’ The smile was back, and now it was far from forced. If he didn't know better, Seb would think Webber felt the same thrill as he did from baiting him. Unfortunately, he would fall for it.

Anger flared. Webber smiled down at him. So he knew how to play as well, so what? Sebastian prides himself in the ability to push everyone to their limit, and Webber's would not be any different. ‘Come enjoy it with me.’ He murmured, stepping closer to him and winking. No reaction. It was only when he rested his hand on his teammate's arm that Webber moved out of the way. ‘Do not.’

Sebastian laughed. ‘I do not know what you mean, Markie.’

Webber turned around, calling the bartender, ‘Another round, please.’ 

☆☆☆

‘If you throw up on me, I promise you, Vettel, I will leave your arse in the middle of the streets for the sewer rats to bite your small dick off.’ Mark warned, earning a giggle from the German holding his arms as if his life depended on it. 

Guilt was a shitty feeling, it made him do things he never wished to do. Like, for example, walking Sebastian Vettel back to his hotel room after he started a drinking game with the boy in the hopes of forgetting the whole night. 

He had been obsessing over the win the whole day. He couldn't drift his eyes away from the winner, incapable of letting go of the feeling of want, of need. He needed that win. He yearned for it so ardently, it was all he could think about the whole time. His great mood quickly dissolved after the podium, seeing Vettel jumping around and hearing all the great comments about his abilities. The worst part? Mark couldn't even deny it. He was behind his teammate during the race and had seen up close what that bloody boy could do on a wet track. It was Webber's wet dream - pun not intended at all. It was every driver's wet dream . Fuck, it was incredible.

It soured his mood so intently that he had barely made it to his room before kicking something. It was not, most depressingly, Vettel's obnoxious face.

And then, because he simply could not help himself, he had to come find him. When he was peacefully trying to enjoy the rest of the night before leaving. He had to stay for an acceptable amount of time, of course, but the longer he stayed the clearer it became he would not be leaving early in the slightest. That mouth on him, for fuck's sake. 

He ordered more drinks. They drank them. Then, they kinda just kept coming, surely a gift for their incredible performance that day, leaving a bad aftertaste in Mark's mouth. But he kept drinking and drinking and drinking even more. Sebastian seemed set on accompanying him. 

‘Markie, let's just not. Discuss my dick. It's not very professional of you, besides, I could report this back to Helmut.’ The words were so rumbled up on themselves that it took Mark a moment to make them out, especially with the proud giggles he let out. It was like taking care of a small child if that small child smelled strongly of alcohol, had considerable weight, and had an infinite amount of dirty jokes. 

They had walked back to the hotel through unassuming streets since it wasn’t that far and they were both too wasted to get behind the wheel - not that Vettel hadn’t tried, vetting (pun once again not intended) the idea of getting a taxi because he did not trust anyone else driving a vehicle. That resulted in a very tired Mark Webber, quickly realizing that Vettel’s digs were not a sign of a fit mind, but rather the complete opposite, almost carrying Vettel around the streets. It appeared he could annoy Webber even in his very intoxicated state. 

And there it was, the whole story. They had finally made it to the hotel. Thank fuck. Mark had the perfect excuse to ignore the idiotic comment, shushing Vettel and smiling at the receptionist. 

Now, he carried the limp body up the stairs - of course, the elevators had broken down two seconds before they got to the hotel -, although limp did not mean quiet, no matter how much Webber hoped it would.

Oh, how Mark regretted his choices. He should never have left his room, coming up with an excuse to not go to the Red Bull party they had organized just for the both of them. Vettel would’ve enjoyed it more and he wouldn’t be in that slimy situation, with Sebastian’s hand all over him, trying not to trip over his own feet. 

With still two flights to go, Vettel decided to hide his laughter on Mark’s shoulder, circling both arms around him and giggling inexplicably, his whole body shaking and now supported entirely by Webber, who had to put both hands on his waist so he wouldn’t fall. 

Godammit, this was hell. 

Finally, it was over, and they were standing on the correct floor. Mark found himself completely out of breath, swaying dizzyingly for a second before putting Vettel on the floor so he could breathe correctly. He couldn’t remember the last time a flight of stairs had left him breathless. He must have drunk more than he should’ve. He certainly had drunk more than he should have. It was obvious by the way his whole body was alight, humming, begging him to slide down the hotel’s wall and lie beside the blond boy - who rolled on the ground laughing, both hands pressed against his mouth in a failed attempt to be quiet. Mark supposed he could respect him for trying. 

‘Get up.’ He tried to order, only making Vettel’s laughter double the size.

Between air gasps, he moked, ‘ Get up. Markie, don’t be mean, I’m trying!’ He frowned, looking at Sebastian undoubtedly not trying to get up whatsoever. He swore the language barrier made him incomprehensible sometimes. Seeing the confusion on his face, he roared with laughter. 

Mark kicked him. 

‘Quiet! People are in bed already!’

‘First, you tell me to get up then you say you want me on my bed. Are you flirting with me, Webber?’ 

What was going on? He hadn’t the slightest idea what the other driver was on about, but he knew not to have enough time to figure it out. ‘I cannot understand you, Vettel. Just get up once and for all and let me leave you at your door, please.’ The last word came out as a wail, pained, Mark couldn’t with that kid anymore. He wanted peace, he needed to get to his room, take off all the sweaty and dirty club clothes, and take a long shower before raiding the hotel room's minibar and drinking himself stupid as he had originally planned on doing - forgetting about his teammates lack of resistance towards alcohol. 

Vettel gasped. ‘You’re mean, Mark Webber. You want me to get it up and then you’ll leave me alone to deal with the problem?’ His words - and the stupid joke - finally registered, making the blood abandon Mark’s face.

‘Are you deaf? I said get up, not get it up. Bloody hell, Vettel, how pissed are you?’

‘Right now? I would say an eight out of ten. I just cannot believe you would do that to me, Webber, to leave me like that when you’re the one who ordered me around.’ 

‘Fuck, no. I meant pissed as in dru…’ Vettel’s words came back to him, making him grind his teeth and take a deep breath, ‘ Get up , Vettel. That’s what I said!’

Sebastian finally sat up, looking up at Mark with glimmering eyes, sheer happiness shining there. ‘No, I don’t think that was it. I’m pretty sure it was get it …’ But he had had enough, and simply hauled the boy from the ground, stopping only in front of the room. 

‘Keys.’ Mark asked. 

‘Is this some kind of kink?’ He wanted to slap that satisfied grin out of his face. 

‘What?!’

‘This ordering me around thing. I must admit, it’s doing it for me.’ It took all his patience and goodwill not to push Vettel off and stumble back to his own room. 

‘Sebastian, stop.’

‘Ooh. Sebastian now, is it.’ 

Mark chose to ignore it. Actually, he chose to ignore all the innuendos that came out of that dirty bloody mouth, he had no time to deal with it. ‘Keys, Vettel. Where are the keys.’ His teammate shrugged. Fuck. 

Mark was done, so bloody done. He just wanted peace, or not even peace, just to not have a smartmouth pushing all his buttons at once. So, in the end, the decision to search through Vettel’s pockets was easy to make. 

The German giggled. ‘Hey, Markie. I said it was doing it for me, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t at least buy me dinner first. Really, this is just rude.’ 

‘Shut your goddamned mouth, kid. And give me your keys.’ Turns out Mark wasn’t as good at ignoring as he had previously hoped. ‘And no jokes about shutting your mouth.’ Sebastian visibly deflated in front of him.

‘I don’t have them, asshole. It’s not here.’

Webber growled. Great. They couldn’t go back down without causing a scene and alarming all the paparazzi of the night of partying they both had just had, and he couldn’t for the sake of his clean conscience leave Vettel sleeping in the hallway. His own room was two floors up. 

God, no. Please, he did not want to have to carry him up another two flights of stair. Thankfully, his prayers were answered when the elevator pinged at the end of the hall, making them both jump apart and awkwardly wave at the old lady passing through. 

Mark did not hesitate, grabbing Sebastian by his wrist and hauling him into the elevator. His teammate immediately tried pushing all the buttons at once, and if Mark had even seen something as fitting as that coming from Vettel, he couldn’t remember.

‘Stop it. Leave those buttons alone, asshole.’ He grabbed Sebastian’s hands and kept them together with his own.

‘I said nothing to Jenson, dickhead. What are you on about?’ Vettel asked, wrenching a surprise laugh out of Mark.

‘You know what? Forget it.’

Finally, they were inside Mark’s room, safe. Sebastian giggled and yelled, ‘Darling, we’re home!’, before clumsingly falling into his bed.

And honestly? Mark let him, glad to be done with the problem for the moment, going directly into the bathroom with clean clothes. He would have to postpone the shower. When he opened the door, Vettel was long asleep.

He sighed and walked over to the opened window. 

Outside, it rained. Of course, it did. 

Chapter Text

Circuit de Monaco, Monaco

May 2009

6th race of the season

‘ Spider-boy, king of thieves

Weave your little webs of opacity

My pennies made your crown

Trick me once, trick me twice

Don't you know that cash ain't the only price?

It's coming back around

And I keep my side of the street clean

You wouldn't know what I mean ’

- Karma, Taylor Swift

Sebastian hated formal wear. The fabric was evidently expensive, yet it made him so incredibly uncomfortable it hardly seemed to matter. He had had a terrible weekend. A DNF never made anybody's day. Now this. 

Alright, he was happy enough about the annual gala they were to attend, if only to drink his teammate under the table until Mark was the one who needed to be walked back to their hotel room. No, not their hotel room. Just the hotel. Honestly, he had been wearing that suit for less than ten minutes; it was already making him lose his mind. 

Monaco was always an incredible stop in the Formula 1 calendar, it had such glamour to it, Sebastian would be lying if he said it didn't excite him in the least bit. Okay, it excited him a lot. He loved the flashing lights, expensive dresses, the Champagne that seemed to float around the whole country while the drivers were there, the yachts and parties, the comfortable weather, the forgotten jackets at the end of the night, the feel of expensive leather under him in every couch, the smell of… well, the wealthy. It made his blood run faster. It almost compensated for his poor result earlier in the day. Almost .

Seeing Webber in the hotel lobby wearing his own suit made the smile fall from his face. How come Mark looked so put together when Sebastian himself looked like he was pretending to be an adult for a day? How was that fair? Webber stood there all tall and mighty, hair curling perfectly, green eyes searching around him, an unpleasant expression on his face. Thank God for that.

‘Markie!’ Sebastian singsonged, approaching him with the brightest smile he could muster. 

‘Don’t call me that.’ Came the answer, already making Sebastian's skin burn with contempt. Oh, yes, it was about to be one hell of a night. He was fired up, absolutely ready to torment Webber’s life for the unforeseeable future. What a good prospect. Vettel was sure the night could only get better after that. 

‘Oh, sorry. Forgot we were in public, baby. Later, then.’ Webber’s eyes bulged as if he couldn’t believe the words that had just left Seb’s mouth. Well, Seb wouldn’t be much help, considering he himself did not know what he was about to say until it had already been said. Oops. 

‘What did you say?’

‘Don’t worry about it, Markie. Weren’t we about to leave? Helmut will be out of his mind with worry by now. We’re a tad late mate ’ He cracked up at his stupid accent. Webber did not appear to find it funny at all.

‘It’s your fault.’

‘What? I just wanted another kiss, you were the one who insisted on another round, Webber!’

‘Sebastian! Bloody hell, shut it, will you?’ Mark looked around, astonished, undoubtedly hoping no one had heard the absurd comment. Vettel, for his part, was not exactly worried, people in Monaco tended to mind their business very much, it was another thing he appreciated about the place. 

‘Alright, I won’t embarrass you in front of the guests, darling.’

‘What has gotten into you?’

He pretended to think about it for a moment, ‘You’re right. Darling does not feel right. How about honey? Babydoll? Lover of mine? Sugar? Cookie? Ooh, I know! Me, me, I’m next.’ When the door of the black limousine closed behind them, he leaned forward as much as he could and whispered, ‘Pumpkin.’

Webber burst out laughing. ‘Do you have a food fetish, Vettel?’

He cocked his head, smiling sheepishly at his teammate. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, pumpkin?’ 

The party was at full speed when they got there. It took all of Sebastian’s self-restraint not to hold Webber’s arm on his. Although he liked his teammate in this playful mood, he couldn’t deny the rush he got from the annoyed Webber was way more interesting than the flip his stomach made with each smile directed at him. Perhaps he was coming down with something, who knew? 

They walked inside side by side, the room dominated by whispered conversations and low lights, creating a pleasant ambiance. Jenson waltzed closer to them, the classic grin on his lips, holding two flutes of champagne. He offered the drinks to them, allowing Webber to grab his before moving Seb’s away.

‘Ah-ah. Not you. Today you’re on your best behavior, golden boy. Mark here deserved to have his room free for any… well, late-night guest. If you know what I mean.’ He winked charmingly at both of them.

‘The totality of this party knows what you mean, Button.’ Growled Webber, but Jenson was not bothered, simply pushing Webber slightly with his shoulder. He chuckled a little. 

‘I can’t believe you told him!’ Sebastian said, outraged. He didn’t like to remember the last time he had drunk with Webber, the consequences of such idle choices bigger than he had hoped for the previous night. In his defense, Vettel was a Formula 1 driver , it didn’t get much more competitive than that. It was obvious, Webber had been challenging him to down those drinks alongside him. 

God, how he hated losing.

Even more so when that meant he had woken up in his teammate's hotel room only in his briefs - apparently he had taken his jeans and shirt off in the middle of the night, although he had no recollection of the fact - with a pounding headache and sunlight kissing his cheeks. He had some glimpses of the night still, a moment of laughter on the floor - he had no idea where, hopefully already in Webber’s room and not in that nightclub where anyone could’ve filmed it -, Webber carrying him up the stairs - he felt himself cringing every time he thought of it -, and, worse of all, Webber’s hands roaming his body. He had no idea if that last part was a real memory whatsoever. If it was, what was the context behind it -, he hadn’t had the balls to ask Webber about it.

He had left the room before the Australian had finished his shower, not even lingering a second to see what songs he sang there, too embarrassed by the lingering possible memory that would not leave his mind.

And now, Button knew. Absolutely great. Amazing. Fantastic. Awesome. Incredible. Truly fabulous. In fact, it was even wonderful.

‘I didn’t say shit. He saw you leaving in the morning, carrying your clothes in your hand. Really, Sebastian, couldn’t you even get dressed before leaving? What if someone had seen you?’

‘Someone did see me, apparently. Jenson! And you didn’t think to tell me.’ He wasn’t mad, really, just extremely embarrassed by the whole situation. 

‘And he had some pretty weird questions for me because of it.’ Mark ignored his remark, turning his unimpressed gaze back to Button, who watched the back and forth slowly sipping his champagne. 

‘Well, you did answer them perfectly, Mark. But I must absolutely ask again. So.’ He paused, undoubtedly for dramatic purposes. ‘Did you?’

‘Did we what?’ Asked Sebastian, before Webber could say anything.

‘Fuck.’ Jenson said, smiling lavishly at Sebastian’s shocked expression and Webber’s loud curse. 

‘What, fuck no! Are you high?.’ Sebastian couldn’t banish the heat from his cheeks. For some reason, Jenson’s question had bothered him deeply, even when he joked about it just to get a rise out of Webber all the time. He frankly wished Button would give him the flute. Or perhaps something stronger. ‘And what were you doing up at that time, anyway?’

‘Well, Vettel. I did.’

‘Did what? Oh, God, don’t tell me you two hooked up!’ He wished to sound astonished, but he feared he merely ended up sounding bitter. Fuck. 

‘Just once, but that wasn’t what I meant. I was in someone else’s room, Vettel, no need to watch out for your pumpkin .’ Vettel started to snigger. Then, well. Then he heard the entire sentence.

‘What?!’

‘Button. Stop playing with the kid.’

Jenson grinned at Seb, finishing his drink before saying, ‘C’mon, Webber, he’s not stupid. He knows I’m just messing around.’

Sebastian sighed, ‘Yeah, whatever, mate. I need a drink.’

☆☆☆

Mark put his flute down and waited for the waiter to leave before smacking Jenson in the head. ‘What the bloody hell, mate! What’s wrong with you?’

Shruggedring, he said, ‘Not much recently. Been winning a lot, drinking a lot, fucking a lot. Just happy. What about you, Webber? What’s with the stick up your arse?’

Suddenly, he regretted having let go of the glass, sure the sound of it breaking against Button’s skull would be the most satisfactory one in his whole life. ‘Bugger off. I have places to be.’ He left the teasing British behind, trying to overlook the ‘Don’t lie to yourself, mate!’ that got yelled at him. 

He found Sebastian at the bar, what could only be whiskey in a crystal glass, the liquid dancing and twirling with his hand movements. They said nothing for a second. ‘Don’t tell me you bought that shit.’

Vettel chuckled. It sounded fake. ‘’Course not. You would be so lucky to get someone like Button. Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself, Webber.’

He sighed. ‘Alright. Will you drink with me?’

‘No, Markie, I won’t sleep with you. Nice try, though.’

‘Drink. I said drink, asshole.’ Vettel put his hands up his ears, mimicking the move of someone who could not make out any of the words being said. Webber called bullshit.

‘Sorry, can’t hear ‘ya. Song’s too loud.’

Grabbing the glass of the younger driver's hand, he finally got his undivided attention. He hated talking to Vettel when he was having one of his moments when he would look anywhere but at him. It had been like that for a couple of days after the room fiasco - as Mark had kindly named it on his head -, and Webber found a strange reaction for someone as open and aggravating as Vettel, but the boy swore nothing was going on when he had inquired about it. That had been that.

‘There’s no song, Vettel.’

‘No? God, it must be your suit then.’ When all Mark did was stare at him in confusion, he added, ‘It’s driving me insane, Webber.’

Mark shook his head, astounded. It was rather impressive how quickly Vettel came up with those sentences, the slight crocked head made it all more absurd. It was a talent, truly.

‘Shame, Vettel, that you’re not as fast in that car as that tongue of yours is to say ridiculous shit. Now, if you excuse me.’ A tall blond was staring attentively at him and after the weekend of driving and keeping a professional pose in front of everyone, even the devil himself - Vettel - kept playing him at every opportunity, he deserved a little bit of fun. 

Behind him, Vettel scoffed, horrified. Webber laughed, God, it felt good to be on the other side of the ignoring for once. ‘Asshole!’ Vettel screeched. 

‘Jealous.’ Webber shot back without needing to think twice.

‘You know me, pumpkin. Always possessive when it comes to you.’ He winked.

Goddamn Sebastian Vettel.

☆☆☆

He wasn't in the mood for partying anymore. The glamor that seemed so interesting seconds ago had lost all its shine, Sebastian's sour expression saying everything his mouth wouldn't. 

The drinks were amazing. He had promised himself to never drink as much again in the presence of Mark Webber, but it just seemed he couldn't help himself. He needed the distraction, every other person in the room was too focused on their own drama to notice how many times his glass had been refilled. 

Webber was nowhere in sight. Which was fine. Completely fine. Vettel thought it might just be the most fine thing in the entire world at that moment. Because it was. Fine, he meant. Like super fine. 

He took another long sip. Perhaps he would've stayed for longer, enduring the rest of the party if it hadn't been for Webber's messy hair and shit-eating grin when he decided to grace them all with his presence once again. Then, Seb decided he was incredibly tired. 

Jenson met him by the door. ‘Leaving already, mate?’ Vettel just smiled and shrugged.

‘Tired.’

‘Yeah, alright. Sure, Seb. But don't lie to yourself for too long, it might just get boring.’

He quickly got into the car that waited for him, closing the door as quickly as he could, not feeling Button's jokes anymore.

The car drove slowly away. Vettel tried his best to concentrate on the beautiful view of Monte Carlo in the nighttime. It was all he would think about. Nothing else. Nothing more. Just the blinking lights in the ocean. Only that.

No unraveled hair and winks. No. Fuck no, he wouldn't go there. Tired. He was tired. He hadn't lied to Jenson, suddenly he had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and needed nothing more than to lie on his bed for infinite hours without moving a muscle.

The suit came off easily, or perhaps he was so glad to get rid of it that it didn't really matter how long it took - or if he ripped it somewhere. Sebastian left it on the floor before climbing on the godsend bed and falling asleep.

He woke up completely lost, unsure of where he was, a headache starting to form and not many clothes on his body. Fuck, was that a deja vu? Except there was no sunlight and absolutely no one in the shower, especially not Mark since his annoyed voice came from outside Vettel's room.

Right. That was what had woken him, the pounding of fists against his door. 

Pushing himself out of bed - hadn't they been here before? -, he threw on the first shirt he found crumpled up on his opened luggage on the floor, then he marched to the door and opened it wide. ‘Fuck, Webber, I know this is the only way you can find to see me just after waking up, but you need to stop this dude. It's getting out of hand-’ He stopped when he saw the frown. Well. Alright. So it was that type of encounter. 

‘Keys, Vettel.’

Flashes came back, the one he had tried to push down as much as he could every single time it dared to resurface. Keys. Hands roaming his body. Laughter and a lazy smile. ‘...buy me dinner…’ 

‘The keys!’ Triumph welled through him. Yes, that was it. Webber had been looking for Sebastian’s room keys. It was a real memory then. He couldn't be sure of how he felt about it. 

‘Glad to know you're not as stupid as you look. I cannot understand how people doubt that you are a natural blond, Sebastian. So here, let me say it slowly. Where. Are. My. Keys.’

‘Don't be rude, Markie. It's unbecoming.’

‘Wow, big words.’ Webber threw back mockingly.

‘I'm afraid you don't know the meaning of it.’ When Mark opened his mouth, even before any words had come out, Sebastian knew he had won. There they were again, in that familiar space, spatting. He felt his body relaxing. This was too easy.

‘Unbecoming? Of course I do.’

‘No, Webber. Of ‘big’. Now, leave, please. Begone. Fuck off. Whatever. Safe travels?’ He closed the door. 

Noise followed the movement a second later. Sebastian giggled, opening the door just a tad bit. ‘Yes? Room service?’

‘Let me in.’

‘No can do. I'm a very private person, Markie, and it will take more than that for me to open up about my insecurities.’

‘Vettel…’

‘Alright, fine. See, there's this tall, older guy. Black hair, wild eyes. Very angry, demanding. Hates losing but does it all the time. Huh, weird right… Anyway, so-’ but before he could finish the dig, Webber had already pushed the door open completely and stepped through the threshold, slamming it behind him. ‘Rude. He's also rude.’

‘Vettel, I'm not here to play your little mind games. I need my keys. I'm not doing this again with you. I'm honestly not. So give them to me, so we can be done.’ 

‘Pinky promise?’ Mark scoffed. ‘Then no deal!’

‘Yes, alright. Bloody hell. Yes, Vettel, I pinky promise.’ Sebastian lifted his finger, in a silent order. Sighing, Mark pressed their fingers together, intertwining them before letting go.

‘Good. I know nothing of your keys. I'm trusting you can see yourself out. Goodnight.’

Sleep was already gawking at him, his limbs were pleasurably tired, the room became hazy. He got into his bed, hoping Webber would just leave him be. Then the bed dipped and he jumped off of it, heart beating fast.

‘Definitely not. No way. I'm not sharing a bed with you again. Leave, Webber. I mean it.’

‘What do you mean, ‘again’?’

Vettel wanted to hang himself from the ceiling. ‘Oh. No. Nothing. It's a German expression.’

Webber was drunker than he was letting on, because he cackled openly, brushing the strand of hair out of his face. ‘You think I slept beside you in China?’

‘Well. No?’

‘Vettel, for fucks sake. I slept on the bathroom floor. As if I would've chanced waking up covered in your vomit.’

God. Fuck. He needed him to leave already. ‘You'd be so lucky.’ He yawned loudly, putting his arms above his head hoping his teammate would get it. When Webber made no move towards the door, instead just sitting there, still on his bed, looking at Sebastian puzzlingly, he added, ‘Weren't you leaving?’

Mark shook himself out of whatever that was, getting up as fast as he could and quickly making his way out. ‘Yes. I was.’

‘So, what's popping, ma dudes?’ A very fake American accent made them both jump. Fuck, Button was back. ‘Looking for this, are you, Webber?’ He pronounced it more like ‘Webba’ than anything, it made Sebastian break a smile. Jenson jiggled the keys right in front of Mark's eyes, snatching it back before he could get it back. ‘Ah-ah.’

‘Button. What the fuck are you doing with my bloody keys, you unnurtured Satan?’

‘Unnurtured?! Have you seen me?’

‘Yes well, actual Satan is much worse than you.’ He pointed his head at Seb. ‘As you can see.’

Jenson just nodded, as if he could see exactly what he meant. ‘Eh. Alright. Let's go.’

‘Bye Button.’ Mark kicked Vettel's door closed. 

‘Satan, huh? Is that another one of your fantasies, Webbah ?’ Groaning, the older man opened the door again, only to be met with a grinning Jenson, leaning against the doorframe like some type of cheap stripper. He wiggled his fingers at Mark. Sebastian was developing a taste for the other driver. 

‘What are you still doing here?’ Webber breathed in and out. 

‘Look at that! Outraging!’ Jenson pointed directly at Sebastian, who jumped up, hurt.

‘ ’That ?’ Fuck you very much, Button.’

‘Not you, blond Satan.’ Once again, he winked, wiggling his brows at both of them, as if trying to imply something. ‘The window.’ They both turned around, staring at the closed window in Sebastian's room. ‘It's dark!’

‘Well. It's closed.’ Mark pointed out. 

Jenson shrugged. ‘Unimportant. It's nighttime.’

‘Are you Sherlock Holmes or just British? Honest question.’ Sebastian asked, holding the giggle in. 

‘Both. You know what that means. You shouldn't be sleeping! Ah-ah,’ he added, turning to Webber and putting a finger on his lips, who stared at both of them as if he couldn't believe the situation he had just gotten himself into. ‘You don't talk, you just stand that and look pretty.’

‘Isn't that your job?’ Sebastian asked.

‘No, my job is to stand there, look pretty, and win this championship from under your noses.’ Vettel's smile disappeared. Asshole.

‘Well? I won't repeat myself. Let's go!’ After doing a once over on them, he said, ‘What are you wearing?’

‘I was asleep when you got here.’ Sebastian defended himself, throwing his hands up and earning a groan from his teammate.

‘Asleep beside Webbah, were ya? Don't matter, don't matter. Change please. And then let's go.’

☆☆☆

Mark had been walking for a couple of minutes in the unfortunate presence of the two younger drivers who pushed each other around like two puppies, howling with laughter in the street. Thankfully, it was Monaco at four a.m., and people had more interesting views than Sebastian Vettel dressed in his suit pants and a rock band t-shirt, Jenson Button with his suit jacket forgotten somewhere, plus an open shirt, strolling around as if he owned the place. And Mark Webber, rolling his eyes at the performance. 

‘Where are we going?’ Mark finally found the courage to ask. He grabbed Sebastian, pushing him closer so he wouldn't trip on the motorcycle that had fallen on the ground. ‘Watch your step, Vettel.’

‘Why would I do that when you do it for me, pretty boy?’ Alright, so perhaps he should have stopped them both from grabbing the small bottles from the hotel room minibar as Vettel changed into… Well, clothes. 

‘Ugh, stop flirting. It's disgusting to watch.’ Called Jenson, in front of them. ‘I'm joking. It's entertaining, go ahead.’ It was interesting really, how fast you could lose a friend. ‘But wait! Take your clothes off.’

‘Excuse me?!’ Mark yelled, shocked. 

‘Well, if you insist,’ said Vettel, immediately starting to strip.

‘Don't get your panties in a twist Webber.’ Sebastian let out a choked laugh at Button's words. ‘You don't laugh, you like those panties. Anyway, we're going swimming.’ Without another word, he got rid of his open shirt and suit pants before jumping perfectly into the calm ocean water. 

Mark had to admit it, Jenson had found a very interesting place to go, where no yachts swam around and no big crowd passed through the streets. Once in a while, you would see someone stumble home, a girl holding her heels, a guy so drunk he couldn't walk straight. Looking up, they could see Monte Carlo in all its glory, shimmering lights far away, casting a small flicker of them to dance in Sebastian's eyes. Fuck, why had he seen that? He forced himself to turn his gaze away, unsure of what he was looking at - even more so at what he was looking for. 

Perhaps he should’ve been the one doing those shots. 

He heard a splash followed by a cry of outrage, looking back just in time to see Sebastian emerging from the dark water, a blue so intense it was almost back. The lamp post in the street flickered and turned off, leaving them in the dark. Depending on the angle you looked, the illumination from the city life above them hit the sea just right, making it possible for them to distingue the color as a deep, deep blue. 

Webber was sure to never have seen such a thing before, not anywhere else in the world. Although Monaco wasn’t his favorite stop like for a lot of the drivers, he became more and more aware of its outstanding qualities. 

‘Aren’t you coming in for a swim in the moonlight?’ Teased Jenson, who was already swimming around and smiling up to the night sky. ‘The water’s great.’

‘Stop being weird’ Mark warned, before throwing his tux away. Both drivers had stopped messing around, attentively looking at him. Jenson was sneering at him, while Sebastian was unusually quiet. ‘What?’

‘Strip away, Webber.’ Said Button, laughter hidden in his tone. 

Because he could - and felt immense pleasure in disrupting Button’s evil plans -, he shrugged, jumping in after them in the rest of his clothing. His pants had cost more than he wished to think about. The shirt was so soft his heart broke a little for it, but there was no reward better than seeing Jenson without words and Sebastion rolling his eyes.

‘Bloody- Fuc- You liar!’ Mark let out when he broke the surface, the freezing temperature surrounding him making it impossible to breathe. 

‘And yet, there are my pants. Intact.’ 

When Vettel chuckled, Mark had no choice except to ask himself how he had ended up surrounded by idiots. ‘Are you five?’

‘Five places ahead of you in the championship? Nah, mate, more like ten.’

Webber snickered humourlessly, ‘Dream on, blondie.’

Saltwater flew into his eyes, a splash and a gasp were all he heard. ‘What the fuck, pumpkin. I thought I was ‘blondie’!’ 

And, fuck, Mark laughed. He simply couldn’t hold it in anymore, startling both drivers who stared at him expectantly, hoping for an outburst that just wouldn’t come. ‘What an interesting remark, Vettel. See, you are blond, both of you are. Which, truthfully, explains a lot.’

He didn’t wait for the scandalized yells he was sure to come, already swimming away from the two fools, trying to get his body used to the temperature. 

☆☆☆

Oh, God, he needed to get wasted. After swimming for a long time, Sebastian had been, surprisingly, the first to get out of the water. Unsurprisingly, though, he went on a little adventure in search of more… fuel. At that point, he was already beginning to sober up, and his body was reacting rather weirdly. For some reason, it felt like his skin was on fire every time Webber swam closer to him. 

Perhaps he hadn't gotten over their initial fight as much as he had believed. That must be it. Yet, just to be sure, he would enjoy the feeling of numbness again, being unaware of anyone else. 

Because it was Monaco - or perhaps because he was Sebastian Vettel in Monaco - he had succeeded on the task at hand quite quickly, going back to meet the other two drivers who were floating around, observing the night sky.

‘Romantic.’ Seb pointed out, taking a swing out of the whiskey bottle, before shaking it at them, a clear invite. Jenson was the first one to grab it from his hand, making the cold water run down Sebastian's hand. The other driver pulled himself out of the water. Took another drink. Offered it back to Seb, who tried to pretend to be just admiring the flickering lights reflected on the ocean, and not staring shamelessly at the Aussie man with his formal shirt in the middle of the Monegasque sea. 

He accepted back the drink. He gulped it down at the exact second Webber got out of the water, clothes sticking close to his body. Sebastian choked. Coughed it all out. As it turned out, the drink was stronger than he had initially thought. 

Mark laughed with abandon, taking the bottle from his hands as Vettel wheezed, fighting to get air back into his lungs. ‘Weak.’ He muttered. Sebastian knew his game, had been there before, and yet he was more than happy to fall back into the familiar pattern. 

‘Yes? Then go ahead, man. Bottoms up!’ It was a weak dig. The bottle was almost halfway full - although Jenson had genuinely helped Webber's situation, already lying on his back, giggling like a schoolgirl, he guessed that was what winning so much felt like -, even after Sebastian had splattered one-sixth of it all over him. There was no chance Webber would finish it off, not when he had been so careful the whole night to not get plastered. 

Vettel had pretended he hadn't noticed, but his teammates' sidesteps around any kind of booze - after reappearing from the bathroom with the blond girl - were so obvious that he couldn't help but wonder the reason behind it. So, if you had asked him about it, he would've told you with full certainty that Webber would not have one single shot of the whiskey in his hands.

But then, Mark started drinking. And drinking. And drinking. In less than a minute, he was done with it, throwing the bottle at Sebastian, so he could see it clearly. There was nothing in it.

‘You'll have a very bad time tomorrow, old man.’ Webber shrugged, not interested in many consequences as it appeared. 

Besides them, Jenson roared with laughter. Sebastian had practically jumped out of his own skin. The British's presence had been erased from his mind. For a second there, it was just him and his teammate, defying, fighting each other even out of the track. Sometimes, Seb was sure it was all they would ever do, it was the only way they knew how to be in each other's presence. They had to fight, even when they weren't fighting. It would be a bald-faced lie to say it didn't excite him.

He was competitive. To have someone so close to him in every aspect, all the time , made his blood boil. But, more importantly, made him drive better. Made him fight more. To be in the highest step of the podium so he could look down at Webber. That's what winning was all about.

He wasn't stupid. He knew things could get ugly, with their constant back and forth, the casual fights and disagreements anywhere, with the way that, sometimes, when he looked at the older driver, his whole body flared with anger - just like it had happened earlier that day, or, he supposed, the day before when Webber had managed to finish the race while Vettel was forced to watch the Grand Prix from out of his car. 

But not always. If Monaco had taught him anything was that their relationship, whatever they wished to call it, was unsteady. And, God, how he hated that. 

Sebastian liked certainty. Liked assurance. He liked to understand where he stood, and so, sitting there, looking at an already dizzy Mark Webber who roared with laughter, he wasn't sure . He couldn't read him. 

And he hated that. Fuck, he hated Mark for it. Hated him. 

It became so much easier to do so when Webber had asked him, drunkenly, how he had liked watching him race. Jenson was already passed out by that point, and Mark was kicking water everywhere, while Sebastian just tried not to flinch. Of course, such a comment made his race flare.

‘No, Webber. You tell me how it felt like watching me win, again , while you stood in the lower step.’ 

Mark just shrugged, not buying into it. ‘Insecure, Vettel? Didn't take you for it. What?’ He was beginning to slur his words and if that should have made Sebastian feel better, well, it did the complete opposite. ‘You scared that was the last it will happen? You know, I almost got you…’

Sebastian scoffed. ‘But you didn't.’

Mark hummed, immediately turning towards him. Then, they were face to face. It felt suddenly impossible to calm down. Even the prick's face fueled the fire. ‘But I will. Soon. You know it too. And then, what? Huh, Sebi?’ The nickname had the intended effect. Sebastian got up, incapable of holding anything back. 

He had some nerve, to start shit up like that when he was the first one to act like the pacifist. God, if only they know. Vettel could known for buying into stupid fights too easily, but Webber was a shit started. Goddamned Vettel if he wouldn't finish it for them. 

Mark got up, stumbling. It should've been Sebastian's sign to walk away. He knew it too. But he just couldn't. He didn't know how. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he was glad. That fight, the unhappiness, the uneasiness between them both had been slowly growing and his skin itched in a very uncomfortable way. 

‘It will never happen, Markie. You'll be the one crying when I'm the championship winner. And. You. Know. It.’ With every word, he took a step closer. Webber just cocked his head, unimpressed.

Sebastian wanted to roar. To smash his fists against his face. To choke the fucking life out of him. To kick him so hard Mark wouldn't walk for days. Now, that was a nice thought right there. But more than anything, he wanted to win .

‘What do you want here, Vettel? Are you expecting me to fight you like we're both twelve years old who cannot control themselves?’

‘Too high and mighty for it, Mark?’

‘Well, yes. Wouldn't expect such maturity from you, though. So, jot to worry. If you cannot control yourself, I'll stand very still, even let you have a go at it.’ Webber made a show of looking him up and down. ‘I'm sure you won't cause any damage.’

It was tempting. Really, it was. ‘Lying, Webber? New low for you, mate . Did you forget already that you were the one who jumped me? Like, two months ago?’

Webber snarled. ‘ You started it.’

Sebastian threw his hands up, feigning innocence. ‘Not really, man. I did not touch you. Did I?’ Sebastian knew he had him at that. Webber knew it too.

‘Oh, I get it now. You're embarrassed I kicked your ass. You want to have a go at it again. Well, Sebi. I already told you, cmon. Let's go. I'll have my turn when I beat you on track in Turkey.’

He wouldn't fall for it. He wouldn't . ‘Drink some water, Webber. I don't even need to come close to you to cause any damage, you're gonna do that all by yourself.’ Because he needed to, he needed to calm down. Otherwise, every single time Webber accused him of being a kid, he would be right. If he walked away, then he would always have the upper hand. Webber had thrown himself at Sebastian in Australia. Not the other way around. Now, he wanted to even the playfield, and Sebastian would be damned if he let him.

‘l'll even avoid splashing champagne at you, so everyone can clearly see the tears running down your cheeks, Vettel. Oh, and don't forget. Germany is coming around. Go cry to your mother then.’

Alright. So Sebastian would be damned. He had always been a fan of even playfields anyway. Before he had registered what he was doing, he had already marched up to Webber, put both his hands on his chest, and snarled a nasty ‘Fuck you’ at him before pushing him into the ocean. 

Webber emerged immediately after, proud. Jenson, who had woken with the sound, laughed, jumping in after him, not sensing the tension in the air. 

Vettel turned around and stumped his way back to the hotel room, making sure to lock his doors very tightly. He put on the earplugs he always carried with him, just in case Webber was up for another late-night visit.

It took him hours to fall asleep, and when he finally did, his chest ached with regret.

Chapter Text

Istanbul Park, Turkish GP

June 2009

7th race of the year 

‘Took a little while to realize 

These are the best days of our lives

Maybe we don't need to be looking forward, no

Looking forward

Baby, let's not wait for what's ‘round the corner

Around the corner

These are our, these are our glory days’

- Glory days, The Vamps

Another podium. Sebastian was standing just one step under his, the golden boy with his eyes firmly closed, refusing to look at anyone, listening to the British anthem - in honor of Button's win - trembling with adrenaline. Or discontentment. It was hard to tell.

Fuck, it had been a good one - though Mark supposed every race he ended in front of Vettel was perfection. Plus, a podium. For both RBR cars. 

Both songs ended, and Mark turned around to shower Jenson in Champagne, knowing Vettel was about to do the same, and stepping carefully away from his spray. So what if Sebastian wasn't talking to him? Not even one single word congratulating him or celebrating their presence at the podium. It was childish. That was an important moment for the team. Red Bull had worked incredibly well to make them happen, and there stood Sebastian Vettel, chin held high, clearly trying not to scold, looking everywhere but at him.

It didn't matter. They were hardly friends. So what if they had had their moments, the other driver had simply managed to annoy him more than anyone else he knew. It was hardly a loss.

No. No loss at all.

He bit the inside of his cheeks, smiling up at Button as politely as he could before leaving the stage, unsure as to why he couldn't stand there any longer.

Mark wanted to focus on what was important. And only that. The Red Bulls had both been flying on track, the incredible feeling of freedom and accomplishment driving them forward.  Well, for his part at least. Perhaps Vettel used his bitterness and childish behavior to drive him forward, but Mark wouldn't know much about it anyway.

They had never truly discussed anything interesting. Nothing. Fuck, they weren't friends - and that was fine by Webber. He didn't need a friend like Vettel. Nor wanted, obviously. But, bloody hell, he had thought they were at least friendly . Or friends ish. Friends adjacent. Whatever. 

He had had a good time with him at Monaco, well, at least until he had ruined everything by opening his enormous mouth. Alright, perhaps that one was his fault, but no one could fairly cast judgment if they had never been in the same space as Sebastian Vettel when you were cold and drunk out of your mind - besides, Vettel had already been making his life miserable for a while at that point, and he was proud for being able to hold his words in for that long. 

And now, there they stood, in a place of celebration without one word to say. Vettel couldn't think of one single thing to say to him. Actually, they hadn't exchanged any words since Vettel's sweet partying words - well, except for when they needed to act all friendly for the fans, hugging each other for a picture that made Mark wish Vettel had drowned him that day. Not that he was counting. Because he wasn't. At all. 

Although it had hurt. A knife twisting in his chest when he had tried unsuccessfully to catch his teammate's attention, to celebrate together. The ungratefulness of all of it! It was revolting. That was it, that was the feeling in his chest. Revulsion, disgust. Only that.

How bloody pathetic. What a fucking kid . Acting as if Mark's mere presence was an insult to all his greatness as if he couldn't bear the simple thought of standing under him. 

Looking back for a moment at the whole scene, Mark couldn't help but feel like it was the beginning of something. Perhaps not as great as he had expected. But it was something.

☆☆☆

Sebastian was furious. He was furious at the race, at the track, at the car, and himself. Yet, worst of all, he was furious at Webber. His words kept coming back, the anger resurfacing with each time.

I'll have my turn when I beat you on track in Turkey.

And he did. He did. 

He couldn't deal with that. Not really. Not right now. He couldn't even look at Webber without hearing those words being whispered back at him, every single time it got closer and closer. 

It was all his fault, truly. Sebastian had been in his game, and Webber had somehow managed to get under his skin. His skin. When Vrttel was the one who did that to others. 

He wanted to be in Webber's head all the time, whispering wicked things at him, taunting, bothering him so much he wouldn't be able to sleep. Not the other way around. 

Sebastian wasn't sleeping, too busy replaying every single interaction with Webber so he could unravel the mystery. So he could comprehend, and see him more clearly. It was like staring through the fog, trying to advance when he wasn't sure of his footing. 

He had stopped moving. It was easier this way. Not in a self-sacrificing way, just selfish. Always selfish.

But if he wanted to win… He knew what he had to do. He knew who Mark Webber was. Growing up part of the Formula One world made something very evident from the get-go; there would be no friend, no partnership around. Not between him and any of the drivers nor his team. And never, never , with the man who had equal machinery as his. 

They stood in the same step. Side by side. And there was no way they could both advance. Only one could win, and fuck. It would be Sebastian. This was all he was. And it wasn't fair because Webber, well, he had all of these things and all of these people, but he , he had this. He had the raves and the car and Christian Horner celebrating in his ears. 

Besides, Webber was despicable. All heat waves, coming and going in an uncontrollable amount, and, dammit, Vettel had never been on the receiving end of such an atrocious attitude. The drinking and the teasing, the snide remarks about his races. 

Vettel would win . He had to. Because–the hitch on his breath knowing he had beaten Webber? The shake of his hands, the red on his cheeks, the biting of his lips? They were visceral reactions to him, to winning, to being on top. It felt amazing. 

But the lows… well, Seb couldn't look himself in the mirror. He was sure Webber would be celebrating, possibly with Button - he bit his tongue until he tasted blood, hating the imagery of the two men who had beaten him that day together -, and all he could do was sit and wallow. 

I'll have my turn when I beat you on track in Turkey.

Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck.

☆☆☆

Webber shouldn't make a habit out of drinking with someone as irresponsible as Jenson Button. But, there he was. Second race in a roll, with glass in his hand and a wicked taste in his mouth. It had taken Mark a long time to convince the other to not go out and to make a party of two. Jenson had unhappily agreed to it when Webber had reminded him that none of them had any idea how they had gotten back to their hotel room last time. 

It was well past two in the morning when Button finally passed out, the mix of adrenaline, another victory under his belt, and vodka surely enough to take out any stronger man. Mark decided to call it a night, walking back to his room, lost in thoughts of what had been these last hours. 

Christian had called, demanding a meeting with both drivers. He didn't have to think a lot about it to an inkling of what it would be about. Mark only hoped Sebastian would be sensible enough during it so he would feel as inclined to choke him - as he usually did. 

Before he had reached the security of his own room, he heard a door slam close down the hallway, a head of blond hair walking straight at him. Fuck, what was it with them and the hotel rooms? Perhaps Mark should have a talk with his team principal, asking to be put as far away from Vettel as possible.

The second the German saw him, his whole body language changed. Webber didn't think of himself as someone particularly attentive to this kind of stuff, but it appeared he was so attentive to the other driver that now that was just routine. Paying this close attention.

Oh, it was exhausting. To be always so careful, looking at every switch in his body, every single second.

‘Are you following me now, Webber?’

‘Vettel.’ He nodded, just trying to bypass him. Vettel laughed bitterly. 

‘Aren't you going to say I told you so ?’

Mark took a step back, unsure. ‘What?’ Vettel scoffed at him, pushing his fingers through his unkempt hair as if trying to appear more put together than he evidently was. Except he smelled good and his clothes - well, he was clearly trying something. 

‘About today. You said it, it happened. Hey, if your maiden win doesn't happen soon, you could always become a psychic. I can even see the visual, you in a long skirt and long necklaces.’

‘Oh. Alright. I understand. You're bothered because you can't stop thinking about taking my pants off.’ Fuck, he would kill Jenson. He had told him that vodka was a bad idea. It was always a bad idea, seeing as it made him stop thinking altogether before talking. But Button had insisted that was exactly what he needed, to let the words out, to let it all go. There they were then. The words were out - and they were bloody stupid.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Repetitive little thing, aren't you?’ 

Vettel smiled wickedly. ‘Goodnight, pumpkin.’ The blond resumed walking down the hallway. Webber couldn't let him leave. He was too curious about the whole attire to say nothing. ‘You going to model, Vettel?’

‘Just gonna do one. Night mate. ’Mark grunted. How childish. ‘Why? You jealous, Markie?’ Mark said nothing, closing the door, trying to block out Vettel's satisfied grin. 

☆☆☆

Silverstone, British GP

8th race of the year 

June 2009

His body was on fire. He crossed the line one last time, screaming, yelling, trembling with adrenaline. 

He took a second to feel the victory settle down in his bones. Ir had been perfect, from start to finish, staying in front easily. Barrichello hadn't had the pace to catch him, and after Webber had passed him on his pitstop, it was already too late.

Vettel had won the British Grand Prix. He was faster. He was the better driver. And there was nothing that Webber could do, then. It was heaven.

Christian's voice echoed in his ear, ‘Fantastic, Sebastian! Absolutely fantastic! That's the way to do it!’

Opening his radio, he talked. He could swear they could all hear the smile in his voice. ‘Yes! Yes! That's what I'm talking about! Thank you, guys. The car was fantastic.’

On the podium, he turned away from Webber, focusing on Adrian Newey, the man responsible for such a magical car. 

Webber did the same.

☆☆☆

The meeting had, of course, been about their attitudes. Horner had made it incredibly clear that it was not a problem if they wanted to kill each other, they just needed to act otherwise in public. And to always keep it clean on the racetrack.

Nothing he didn’t know. Yet, it was good to be reminded, so every time he wanted to kill the blond, he would simply think of his career and choose not to.

But one day, one day he would walk clean from all that mess. And his first action as a free man will be ruining Vettel's perfect high-cheeks with a long-lasting bruise. 

At the moment, though, he was still part of that team, part of Vettel's mess. Would stay there. So, when the German had won the British Grand Prix like it was the easiest thing he had ever done, flying so much in front of every other car Wrbber was sure to never catch up to him, no matter how much he tried.

It was easier to smile up to the cameras than he had expected. At the end of the day, he was standing on a podium, driving the best car on the grid, and having fun. Vettel had nothing to do with it, so. He did it, and the German smiled brightly back, putting him in the back. Mark had frozen for a second, unsure of how to act, Vettel's hand firmly on his back, he was breathing close to his ears, smiling ear to ear, until the flashes started and he understood. Although unexpected, Vettel was playing his part, pretending to be sharing a funny story with his amazing teammate after an amazing race.

But the podium fooled no one. The two drivers avoided each other so deeply, that Barrichello had stood between both of them, certainly sensing the tension-filled air.

The Brazilian shot Webber a questioning look. Mark shrugged, it wasn't like he could break down every single absurd action that Vettel had made in the last couple of months at that precise moment.

As soon as he could, he left the podium.

☆☆☆

Nürburgring, German GP

July 2009

9th race of the season

Saturday 

Sebastian watched intently as a drop of blood ran down his finger, just where he had bitten, trying not to think of anything else.

Just in front, Webber was receiving hugs and congratulations. For his pole position. In Sebastian's homerace. In the same exact car, he had. Webber would be in the very first place while he stood in the fourth one, behind both Brawn Mercedes and his dearest teammate.

At. His. Home. Race.

He bit it again, pushing the skin off of his finger with his teeth. Red tainted his skin immediately. He put it in his mouth, licking it clean as Webber approached. ‘Well done, mate. ’ He hoped his crooked smile was not tainted with red, it surely felt like it. 

‘Oh, yes. The crowd is great. You would know, right, Sebi?’

His smile broadened, hoping Webber could see the hatred burning in his eyes. ‘Well, I will. Tomorrow.’ When Webber rolled his eyes, he added, ‘Oh, sorry. We were still pretending you could beat me on the track? My mistake.’ Webber growled dangerously. ‘Shh, Markie. You don't want to have another meeting, do you? Or did you enjoy sitting beside me while we got scolded? Perhaps another kink?’

His finger was bleeding once again. He had bigger problems than Webber's weak rebuke. Smiling up to the cameras, he hugged his teammate close. ‘It's on, old man.’

☆☆☆

Sunday

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Barrichello was already in front of him before even the first corner, when Hamilton decided to take a stroll out of the track and take a piece of Webber's front wing with him. 

Goddamnit. In less than three seconds, he had lost the lead of the Grand Prix. He had thrown his car in front of the Brazilian one, and yet it was already too late. Although he had managed to hold on to second place. It wasn't easy, not with the McLaren coming at him like he was possessed. Then, his engineer asked him to hold it back. 

They would pass him in the pit lane. Webber would win.

☆☆☆

Sebastian was sixth. Sixth, when he had started fourth. He didn't know much about Webber, but he knew, for sure, that the Australian was in front.

Oh, God, no.

☆☆☆

They would not in fact pass Rubens in the pit lane. Webber had gotten a drive-through penalty that did not make any bleeding sense as if he couldn't defend his position anymore. The more he drove, the more his heart sank. Another one, another race in his hand that he would lose for something so out of his control. What did they want him to do? Just let Barrichello through? No chance. 

So he would pay for it. 

After entering the pitlane and exiting again, without any chances in the car whatsoever, he got out so behind, it all felt like a lost cause. Webber couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t accept it. 

Pressing the throttle, he accelerated, pushing the car to its limit, pushing himself to the limit. If he didn’t win it meant he had lost it, and if he crashed trying to catch up to the Brazilian, then so be it.

He heard his engineer say, ‘Mark, Barrichello is being held back by Massa. You’re currently two seconds quicker than him. You can win this.’ The fire in his body ignited again.

When he saw the checkered flag with all the mechanics leaning there, holding a plaque with his name on it. His father was there. Oh God.

‘Woooo-hooohooo! Yes yes yes yes yes yes!! Yessssss!’

Christian was speaking the words he had always dreamt of hearing, ‘Mark Webber, you are a Grand Prix winner. Well done! You deserve it, well done! Amazing drive.’

Bloody hell, was he crying?

☆☆☆

His hands slid through Webber’s waist, grabbing him easily and turning him around. His mouth had a bitter twist, one that no one could see thanks to his helmet. It felt right, though—the movement. For a couple of seconds, before Webber’s eyes met him, he held his breath. Then, all he could see was the older driver, staring at him, time frozen just for them, as they stared and stared without letting the other go.

Sebastian whispered, ‘Congratulations, Webber. It was a brilliant drive.’

‘Don’t patronize me, Vettel.’ Yet, he was smiling. 

Seb had the feeling of never wanting to let go. But they had to go up to the cool-down room, and there was already a line of people forming behind them, who wished to congratulate Mark. So he did let go.

His heart was beating weirdly, all out of rhythm and with a strange force he had only ever felt inside a cockpit. He was outside, waiting to enter the podium behind Webber, his voice floating to him while he discussed something with Massa - somehow, he couldn’t focus on what was being said, only on the deep tone reaching him, making him shake a little. 

When the time came to celebrate, he was careful to avoid his teammate until he no longer could, a blush in his cheeks that refused to go away. 

However, he was happy. The Red Bulls were at the podium again, three races in a roll, together . Something told him this was the very beginning of their glory days. 

Chapter Text

Suzuka, Japanese Grand Prix

October 2009

16th race of the season

‘How long could we be a sad song

Til we were too far gone to bring back to life?

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier

Fighting in only your army

Frontlines, don't you ignore me

I'm the best thing at this party 

(You're losing me)

- You're losing me, Taylor Swift

Ups and downs, they said. Formula One is the sport where you can be on top of the world one day, heading towards what could be your first championship, and the next… well, you do not finish it. You tell yourself it was just one mistake, that after the break you'll be back in your element, you will win again, and you won't know how to stop being first. After which you DNF again. 

Things start to feel bleak. When you finally get back to the podium, it's time for your teammate to make the same mistakes. RBR, a huge contender for the constructor championship - let's just say that the money the first place wins was worth a lot -, after just three races being at the top of the world, the best car in the grid , is now a joke. The car seems to be falling apart. 

That means that, evidently, so are the drivers. Vettel could barely stand seeing Mark Webber these days - he didn't need to be a genius to know Webber felt the same about him.

Everyone in Red Bull felt the difference in the air, what before was a simple dislike between the two had quickly escalated into something else, a rage never yet seen. They disagreed about strategy in every single meeting, fighting over the most stupid details, sometimes getting so fussed about it that Horner had to push them away from each other, and discussing their strategy separately. 

That feeling only grew when Sebastian DNF'd so many races and Webber didn't, or when Sebastian stood back on the podium while Webber's car stopped working again and again. They were two sides of the same coin, angered for the same reasons, their egos too big for either of them to back down.

The pressure was rising. Both drivers already avoided seeing the other as much as they could. On the track, while one was high up on a podium, the other was already out of the race, avoiding a collision that felt inevitable - so they collided off the track.

The team had already stopped putting them in the same hotel floor, sometimes, the weekend following an especially bad race, they avoided keeping them in the same hotel . Vettel couldn't find it in himself to care.

Or perhaps he did. Perhaps the adrenaline he felt when Mark was snarling at his face was something he was missing. It might be exactly what he required. But the morale was low, even the mechanics felt it, and Sebastian didn't even feel like encountering the Aussie. 

It was too much work, for what? For them to make one small mistake and lose a race? For the car to break down week and week again.

What had felt like a climb to the power before, now was certainly a fall from grace.

As the Japanese Grand Prix approached them both quickly, Vettel felt as hopeless as ever. He had managed to grab a few podiums here and there, but it felt unimportant when he was driving the fastest car of them all when he was the best driver of them all . 

He had had a taste of standing on that first step - now, he needed more.

☆☆☆

‘The news here in the paddock is that Mark Webber, from Red Bull Racing, will not be participating in the qualifying after his crash earlier today. Jack, what do you think?’ Mark wanted to turn off the television, and yet he was incapable of looking away. He still felt his head slightly reeling after losing control of his car earlier. Everyone worried about his hands on the wheel, his back, his bad leg, but no one thought about how unsettling spinning like that was. 

‘Well, Will, we've recently been seeing a new side of Webber. For a man who was still fighting for the championship, he is certainly making lots of mistakes.’

‘Mistakes we would expect from his younger teammate, not him.’

They kept talking, but Mark wasn't hearing anything else. He wanted to hide in his room, not come out until the next day, where he would race and then disappear once again. But he knew he needed to stay for the team. The races following the break had been so goddamned awful - affecting everyone. Mark couldn't let his shame get in the way of standing outside and at least pretending to cheer his teammate on. The team needed it, and honestly, perhaps so did he.

When Sebastian got the pole, all the cameras focused on Webber's face, who put a pleasant expression on and patted Horner on the back excitingly. He felt like throwing up.

When the German got out of the car, he could feel the humming on his body, even from just observing from far away. His skin pebbled - Mark cursed. It was colder than he had expected on track. He saw the blond's curl fly with the wind, his bright smile feeling like a knife directly through his chest. 

All the mechanics were jumping and screaming, anyone who passed their garage would think they had just secured the constructors championship. That's what Vettel did for them. While Mark stood by and watched. He closed his eyes firmly, avoiding seeing Sebastian's happiness. 

He shouldn't mind, he was aware of the mysterious way the sport worked, how one day everything could be great and the next it was all over the place, the car, the driver, the weather, you name it. There were so many things that could go wrong, and it wasn't exactly his fault that those things kept happening to him while Vettel became more and more of the cocky golden boy every driver loved to hate or hated to love.

Mark just hated him. More and more with each passing day. It was frustrating, it messed with his concentration, with his body language, with his driving abilities, with his mind. Still, there was nothing he could do about it except congratulate the German and leave as fast as he could, trying to avoid the media. They would absolutely have a lot to say now. 

☆☆☆

The Grand Prix started with a rush, Vettel felt it all over him. He felt the car as if it was part of his body, just another limb he controlled mindlessly. 

God, it felt good. So, so good. It felt as if he had just woken up from a bad dream as if those last races and months hadn't meant a thing when he could drive like that once again.

Had it all been worth it? Seeing his barely-there relationship with Webber deteriorate deeply with each passing race? Seeing his whole team worrying, working more hours than they should? Forcing himself to force the helplessness into a rage so he could keep going on, keep trying?

Perhaps not, but at that moment? Goddamned it, he would do it all again. Just to feel the rush of his blood.

When he crossed the line, securing his win for his team, he was sure he would do it again. No team, no driver, had a Formula One career without the lows. Sebastian just needed to remember how much sweeter it was to come back to the top after it. 

☆☆☆

A weekend to forget was what the media - and therefore the public - called a race weekend so shitty, so absolutely horrible that they even felt bad analyzing it further. 

It should have felt like a small win for Webber, knowing they would brush it off and believe that he would just as easily do the same, but he wasn't feeling as indulgent. So he had congratulated his teammate once again - ‘ Sebastian Vettel has once again achieved the perfect weekend, securing the pole position, winning the race, and making the fastest lap. What can't that kid achieve in the future?’ ‘Honestly, Jack, I'm afraid the future is not as distant as we are thinking. Although this year's championship is in Button's hands, the Red Bull driver was flying on the track today. Who knows what will happen next year.’ - before repeating a thousand times to different newspapers how sorry he was about his poor performance, the team deserved better, he was happy about Seb - he even called him that, Seb -, blah blah blah.

Then, he grabbed his things and ran out of there. Just to encounter his loud teammate in the way, taking pictures and signing hats, smiling broadly, laughing with his eyes, snatching the feeling of victory, and keeping it close to his heart.

Now, Webber realized what it felt like. Now, he wanted it again. When the fans caught a sign of the other Red Bull driver standing there, there was nothing he could do to escape, plastering once again his media-approved smile on.

The pressing of their bodies together was driving him mad. He despised the way his skin flickered to life. 

Vettel put his hand on Webber's waist, leaving it there for every single snap of flash to capture. Too long. Sebastian touched him for too long until Mark was sure to be losing all grip on reality. 

Sebastian turned to look at him when they left the scene, smiling taunting Webber, making him want . ‘I'm glad you were there.’ The worst part was that he sounded genuine. After weeks and weeks of fighting, making digs, yelling, and even patting the other a bit forcefully on the back when they understood they could get away with it - now he was smiling again. With dimples.

Bloody hell, kill him now. 

Mark stopped walking, breaking the synchrony. ‘Why? So you could gloat?’

Vettels smile disappeared in a heartbeat. Webber would've felt bad about it if he had it in him to feel anything towards anyone that day. But he didn't, so. 

‘Jealous, Webber?.’ Familiar territory it was, then. 

‘Don’t you think I have better people to be jealous of? Please, Vettel, you are nothing  to me except an annoyance.’

‘One you can’t stop thinking about it, right, Markie? Don’t tell me that’s what caused that mistake yesterday. Let’s stop pretending right now, mate , I know how many times you stare longingly in my direction. So, yesterday. Were you thinking of me? ’

‘Of choking you, sure.’ Webber did not know what he had expected with that, perhaps some respect or at least to be left alone, but he should’ve known better.

‘You and all your kinks. Don’t let me keep you, pumpkin. I’m sure your cold shower awaits you, after all these pictures together.’ Sebastian winked just before walking back into the mass of fans yelling his name, leaving Mark to choke back on his response.  

☆☆☆ 

Christian wanted them all to have dinner together, in celebration of the win that brought back hope to their heart. Alright, the last part Sebastian had added himself, but he felt like it could only be true. And fair. 

He dressed well enough to not be judged by it, but he kept a fair distance from any suits. No, thank you. Ties, imagine.

When he approached the huge table they had reserved for the most important team members —Helmut and Christian sat together, while Newey sat somewhere in the middle, talking to Webber's strategist in hushed voices—all the seats were already taken.

So he was a bit late, who could blame him? Sebastian had lost track of time doing a couple of shots with a beautiful blond in the hotel bar before being intercepted by Button, who paid for more shots, did a couple himself, and then dragged Sebastian up to his room before he could even get the blond's number.

‘It's not her that you want,’ Jenson had said, but Sebastian was pretty sure he was wrong, he wanted her very much so. It didn't matter, though, water under the bridge, because as he approached the table he only hated Button for not getting him upstairs earlier.

Webber sat there, all high and mighty, laughing slightly at something Horner had yelled in his direction. For some reason, Vettel hadn't considered that possibility - meeting Webber. Which sounded very fucking stupid, it was a team dinner, of course, Mark would attend, yet it had truly not crossed his mind.

In an instant, their eyes met, all amusement leaving Webber's face the second they both realized their mistake. 

Great. They would be sitting side by side. Since none of them could change places without causing a scene - Horner had begged them not to cause a scene. 

So he sat down, murmuring his greetings to his teammate, and smiling happily at the rest of the team, who could not stop congratulating him. He would've minded if he didn't feel the tension emanating from Webber, it made the situation absolutely delicious. He nodded and thanked them all, winking at Webber discretely from now and then, just to entice him further.

Oh, it was so much fun.

They ate and they drank, and as much as Webber tried to pretend to be enjoying himself, Sebastian was way too close for the facade to work on him. He felt the other driver's hitch in his breath whenever someone mentioned the race. He felt his discomfort all around, and it made him buzz. It made his mind reel. He felt dizzy. 

The more Mark drank, the harder it was for him to hide it all. The more Sebastian drank, the cockier he became. They were the bomb and the fuse, finally close enough to ignite. 

And of course, they did. 

After Newey commented about the strength of the car and how happy they were with it, Mark clearly couldn't help himself anymore, to which he answered ‘It's a great car, Newey. No doubt the reason behind the victories.’ Vettel wasn't stupid. He knew what he had meant. 

So the car was great when it was Sebastian winning, but when it was Webber losing it was terrible. 

He finished his bourbon. He wouldn't make a scene. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to show Webber that he was not the immature child he kept saying he was to whoever would listen. 

He twisted his hands into fists on his lap, focusing his eyes on his plate. Sebastian would not react. He refused to do so. In front of them, Horner rushed to keep the discussion going, in the hopes Webber's comment would be brushed off. Sebastian was slowly getting back his control.

But then he felt Mark's hand touched his closed fists slightly. ‘Angry, Sebi?’ He ground his teeth. And yeah, he lost it. Using both hands to push himself off the table, he said, ‘I need a drink’ before leaving as fast as he could.

The drink tasted bitter on its way down, making Vettel gag a little. Fuck. How he hated Webber. He couldn't even stand the sight of the older driver. Yet, his eyes followed him when he made his way to the bathroom, also leaving the table with close to no words.

Before he even recognized where he was going, Sebastian was on the move, his second drink forgotten in the bar. He saw the bathroom door close behind Webber and followed close by.

He had less than a second to react before Webber noticed he had been followed, and so he stormed in, already pushing Webber with both his hands. Mark stumbled forward, having not seen Vettel at all.

‘With my back turned, really, Vettel? Low blow.’ He managed to say after holding the sink to stabilize himself.

‘Don't talk to me about low blows, Webber. Not after your little performance out there. What the actual fuck has gotten into you? Huh?’

Webber shrugged. ‘Perhaps I'm tired of not responding to your bullshit.’

‘Oh, that was you not responding to it? Wow, you certainly have a weird way of showing it.’

‘Don't lecture me, kid.’

‘Don't ‘kid’ me, Webber. You're not that much older and I'm not that young. It's funny, honestly, how you're always the one talking about being happy for the team and how childish I am, but in the first opportunity there you are, saying stupid shit.’

Webber laughed, nonchalantly. ‘Don't recall having lied, though. Now, if you'll excuse me…’ But Vettel wouldn't excuse shit anymore. Not after that attitude. He grabbed Webber easily when he tried to bypass Vettel and exit the bathroom, caging him between his body and the wall. God, that felt good. 

Not for long, though, because before he could even properly enjoy the moment, Webber had turned them around, pressing Vettel to the wall by his neck. ‘Don't you touch me?’ Mark growled in his ear.

They were so close, that Sebastian first thought Webber was going to kiss him. Then, he thought he would kiss Webber, as their eyes stayed locked in each other while Mark breathed heavenly. Sebastian felt it in his entire body.

His body reacted on its own, arching his neck to the side. He heard the whispered ‘What…?’ against his skin and shuddered. Webster's hand wasn't on his neck anymore, instead pressing him to the wall with his own body, and Sebastian wanted to not be affected by it. He could barely register what was happening, still flushed with anger.

He fought Webber's touch. It only made him hold on tighter to him. Their breathing was ragged, God, he felt like he was about to pass out.

Webber got closer, eyes on his, so so close… The bathroom door opened, voices entered the place while both drivers jumped apart. One second later, Webber was out of the door and out of his sight.

Vettel finally breathed calmly. 

☆☆☆ 

Well, that was awkward. Mark walked só fast back to his place at the Red Bull table his head spun - he felt out of breath.

What the bloody hell was that? Was he insane or had Vettel actually arched his neck to his touch? Fuck. What was going on?

He could still feel the pure rage the German had created, the desperate feeling that took hold of his body when Vettel pressed him to the wall.

It was too much. He couldn't sit beside him after this. Not ever again. 

Thankfully, some of the people were already leaving, and he had the perfect reason to disappear before Sebastian resurfaced from the bathroom.

Mark left without saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

Interlagos, Brazilian GP

October 2009

16th race of the season

‘Trying to behave but you know that we never learned how

You and me were raised in the same part of town

Got these scars on the same ground

Remember how we used to kick around just wasting time?

Won’t you stay ‘til the a.m.?

All my favorite conversations

Always made in the a.m.

‘Cause we don’t know what we’re saying

We’re just swimming ‘round in our glasses

Talking out of our asses

Like we’re all gonna make it’ 

- A.M., One Direction

‘Yessssss!’ Jenson was yelling in Sebastians's ear, jumping up and down. Some would say he was enjoying his win, even in enemy territory. It would be more than fair to say that both drivers had not been very well accepted in the nightclub, even when they were surrounded by celebrities. Jenson had just secured his championship in Brazil, winning it when his main rival was his teammate, Barrichello. 

Vettel knew a thing or two about that.

Jenson had requested the DJ to play ‘We Are the Champions’ by Queen, and although the man surely wasn't happy about the request, he agreed, resulting in an ecstatic Jenson, jumping, dancing, yelling, and oh god, was that a tear?

Vettel hadn't had the best race of his life, perhaps because since the Japanese Grand Prix, he hadn't slept much. Every single time he closed his eyes, he felt Webber's angry breaths on his neck, rage boiling back up.

He felt tired and sluggish, but he hadn't dared deny the most recent world champion when he had appeared at Vettel's door and announced they were going out - okay, so it seemed Seb didn't really have a choice in the matter, but he hoped Jenson would do the same when he got his first world championship. 

His friend was yelling the lyrics, head thrown back in what could only be a sign of extreme happiness. Sebastian decided, right then and there, that he would achieve that happiness. One day, he would know the feeling in Jenson's face. 

But, for now, he was going to simply celebrate beside him, grabbing him closer and yelling back the lyrics, laughing, jumping, falling to the ground. 

He swore he felt the moment the ambiance changed. There was the smallest shift in the air as if the whole world was holding its breath when Mark Webber entered the club. Vettel's eyes flew back to Button, not wanting to even look at his teammate after what he liked to call the bathroom incident. 

‘You didn't.’ He murmured, already feeling his temper rising. 

‘I'm sorry, man. It's his victory as well!’ Vettel nodded, trying to stay calm. He didn't need to interact with Webber. Actually, he didn't even need to acknowledge his existence. They weren't in the track anymore and he doubted any reporters there would be more interested in them than in the crowned world champion kissing everything that moved. Sebastian was about to absolutely keep his calm. People would forever mention that day as the day they didn’t fall for Webber’s bait, and, better yet, managed to steer clear of the other driver so well that he didn't bait Webber. 

He was done playing those hot and cold days with him. Sebastian was ready for it to end. He needed those months without looking at the Australian's face like he needed his next drink right that second.

As usual, Webber liked to ruin everything, so he marched up to both drivers, hugging Jenson closely. ‘Congrats, mate. Surely we'll deserve.’ Sebastian doubted very much Webber would use those words when he won his first championship. By that point in time, Vettel hoped he would not give a flying fuck about Mark Webber anymore, but, if he was being honest with himself, and the fruity drinks he had been consuming the whole night certainly helped with his honesty, he did not believe that would be the case. Something jn him believed he would be dreaming of Mark Webber until the day he died. In a bad sense, of course. 

‘Vettel.’ 

Seb wasn't the only one avoiding his teammate. Mark had also been running desperately from the room every time they were too close to each other, and Vettel had to pretend he didn't mind that at all since he was doing the exact same. Truthfully, he just wished he was the only one with the ability to bother Webber, but it appears that the asshole was just as good as him in that stupid little game they were playing. But then, suddenly, he was breaking all the unsaid rules they had put between them since the last race, speaking to Sebastian in that tone, teasing. Vettel knew exactly what was going through Webber's mind, and let it be said, he didn't like it in the slightest.

He left, going straight for the bar. If he thought about it, the connection between his worst fights with Webber had constantly to do with the drinks they consumed, but Vettel couldn't think about such things at the moment. So what if he managed to keep his cooler better when he was stone-cold sober? Sometimes, when he was sober, he wanted to strangle Mark more than anything in this world, so mean words thrown around seemed like a reasonable exchange. 

Not sensing the danger, or perhaps precisely because he did, Mark appeared right behind him, putting his hands on Sebastian's shoulder. ‘Mate. I'm sorry about last week. I shouldn't have-’ But Sebastian was done with that high and mighty attitude from him. He always fucked up and then apologized, only to make Vettel look bad when he wouldn't simply accept it like that. So what if Sebastian would never be the bigger man? That was exactly what made him the better driver. He didn't need to back down, he needed Webber gone. As simple as that.

‘No, you're right. You shouldn ' t have, but you did. So piss off now. Don't ruin my night just because you can't get any, Webber.’

‘Stop acting like this is always about you. We're here to celebrate Jenson, Vettel. Suck it up. I just came to apologize so we could bloody enjoy it together.’

Sebastian shrugged. He couldn't. He couldn't enjoy shit with Mark Webber when he was the only thing Sebastian could think about for hours on end. He obsessed over every single stat he could find comparing the two of them, over every single second that went down in that bathroom, trying to understand what his body was trying to bloody tell him.

He didn't know if he wanted Webber dead or in his bed and FUCK he had never actually thought of it purposely but it would be such a pretty sight .

He shook his head. Nope. No. Absolutely not, no. Coming back to meet Button and Hamilton throwing the weirdest dance moves around, he patted his friend on the back once more.

Jenson got his hands off a beautiful brunette and approached him. ‘Everything alright, man?’

Vettel smiled sadly. ‘Congratulations again. But I can't stay. I'm sorry, Jense.’ His friend smiled back at him, shrugging.

‘You do you, Vettel. Happy you came with anyway.’ He nodded, grateful for their answer, before waving at Lewis.

Pushing bodies to the side in a desperate attempt to get back to them, was Mark Webber. Their eyes crossed for a moment. The twist in Sebastian's belly was enough to solidify his choice. He had to leave. Now.

☆☆☆

‘What the fuck did you say to him?’ Button appeared in front of Webber's face, as he fought against the crowd to catch Vettel before he left the club. Forced to stop, he frowned down at his friend.

‘Nothing. I said nothing.’ Nothing out of the ordinary. Though Vettels face twisted into a shocked and confused expression, and Webber had the inexplicable urge to understand what that was about. He tried to bypass Jenson, who just grabbed him and pushed him back. 

‘Nope. No, you don't, mate. He's gone. He wanted to leave and you gotta let him leave. He didn't want to deal with your bullshit tonight.’

‘My bullshit? Has it ever crossed your mind that Vettel is the biggest shit-talker and the man with the foulest mouth I've ever met?’ Still thinking about his mouth, are you, Webber?  

Fuck, he hated himself. That last week had been absolute hell, he couldn't bring himself to think about anything else except every single one of Vettel's expressions and micro-movements in that bloody bathroom. He wished to set that whole restaurant on fire just to get rid of the imagery. But it was stuck there, and there was nothing anyone could do to take it out. Believe him, Webber had tried everything. Avoiding his teammate, trying to talk to his teammate, hooking up with random people, not entering any bathrooms for as long as he could - that one had been ridiculous, but he was truly desperate. 

‘Please. I know that. But he's always been able to deal with you. And now, he's running away like a scared little girl. Vettel. Running away from a party . So, I'll ask again, Mark. What happened?’

He sighed. ‘I don't know, alright? We discussed it in Japan. But,’ he was quick to add when he saw Button's eye roll, ‘he was fine! We were fine!’

Jenson nodded as if following the story. He took a sip of a drink that had magically appeared in his hands, taking Mark by surprise. Honestly, what was that place? People were dancing in perfect sync around them, yelling the lyrics he didn't understand for shit. ‘Interesting. I thought you had finally kissed him.’

Webber was suddenly glad no magical drink had appeared on his hands because he would've spat it all on Jenson's face. He felt all the blood leave his cheeks, thankfully, the flashing lights were still too low for Button to notice it. ‘What?!’ Jenson, thinking he hadn't heard it because of the song repeated the whole sentence, making Webber's heart beat out of his throat. ‘I hear you the first time, Button. I wanted to know where the bloody hell that came from ?!’

‘WHAT?!’ Jenson said, putting a hand on his ears. 

‘I said I don't know how you could have thought that!!’ Mark was louder. 

Clearly, it didn't work, because Button made the same gesture again, yelling a ‘CANT HEAR YOU.’ Before Webber could repeat the whole thing once again, the British broke out in a fit of laughter. ‘I'm messing with you. I heard you fine the first time.’

Mark scolded. ‘Prick.’

Jenson winked. ‘Man, I don't know. There's just this tension around when you're both in the same room. I know you, Webber, and I don't think I ever saw you this tense, ever.’

‘I haven't been. This tense, this angry, this annoyed, this tired, this confused. Ever!’

Jenson shrugged, ‘So.’

‘So what, Button? I hate the man, we can't stand each other. And you think we should what?’

‘Hook up!’ He offered, helpingly. ‘I think you should hook up, put all this frustration out in the open, and start the season like a new man.’

‘Wh- No. Fuck no, it's not like that! It's not, Button. How could I ever look him in the face anyway? No! Stop it, you devil!’

Jenson laughed happily. ‘Thought he was your personal devil.’

‘Yes, he is! That's my point.’

But his friend just laughed, as if the whole situation was amusing to him. ‘Don't say that doesn't do it for you? You've been obsessing over him since the beginning of the year!’ Which, okay, fair, but it was because Vettel was a huge threat to him and not because… whatever Button was insinuating.

‘Are you hearing yourself? He's a kid!’

‘He's twenty-two. Why? You considering, Webber?’ Mark threw his hands up, realizing there was no winning there. 

‘Forget it. He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fine. Go enjoy your night, please.’

Mark tried to escape. He had had enough of everything. The win that day had not felt as good as it could've. He was so goddamn tired of it all. 2010 may be better. But Jenson was still Jenson, with his heart of gold and his inexplicable obsession with parties. ‘Oh, no you don't. You just won, Webber! C'mon, we gotta celebrate!’ As if he had summoned them, Alonso and Hamilton were suddenly there, jumping, screaming, laughing around them both. 

Mark stayed.

☆☆☆

Yas Marina, Abu Dhabi GP

November 2009

Last race of the season

Oh God. Oh my fucking God. Second. They were second in the constructors championship. Even with all the mistakes and problems they had had during the entire season, Sebastian had just secured them second place. 

Fuck, yes. FUCK YES. Mark was jumping out of the car, smiling slightly, pushing Sebastian closer and it didn't occur to him to mind, ‘Well done’ he said, again and again, and Vettel could just nod.

What a way to end the year. Both Red Bulls at the podium, first and second, with the championship winner in the third step, after a triple header. 

It was all a bit of a blur, Mark's words to him while they climbed to the room, Horner hugging him, Jenson laughing with Webber, something about those last laps. But he was stuck on that moment, on the feeling of something else coming, of something big.

On the podium, the trophies were given away, and maybe Vettel's eyes were tricking him, but he was pretty sure Jenson kissed the cheeks of the man who had brought him his trophy. Webber laughed incredulously beside him, so yes, perhaps Button had done just that.

Then, he showered in the fake champagne, not even noticing. Webber's hands found his body, eyes fighting each other, heart beating fast.

‘Yes.’ He whispered. Webber grabbed his face. 

‘Hell yes!’ The older man said back. 

☆☆☆

Later that night, Webber struggled to fall asleep. The rain hit the window rhythmically, yet he could do nothing. He turned around, tossed and turned, again and once more, but still, nothing.

He couldn’t stop feeling Sebastian’s hug, couldn’t stop hearing his words echoing. It was like torture. Jenson’s words came back to him.

For a second, he thought about knocking on the German’s door, before brushing off the idea. In the room above his, Sebastian slept soundlessly for the first time since Japan. Of course, he did, it rained still. 

Chapter Text

Winter break 2009/2010

‘I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit

Been saying ‘yes’ instead of ‘no’

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinée 

You know the greatest films of all time were never made’

- the 1, Taylor Swift

The sun had yet to rise, and Vettel had been running for at least forty minutes at that point. The fresh air of the winter made for a comfortable race, he constantly found himself too hot for his own skin, and the breeze helped him move around without suffocating in the heat. It was the middle of the winter, and Sebastian was sure he should be more worried about his health than he was. Still, he couldn't sleep, and he found himself getting ready for a run before the sun was even up.

If Vettel's calculations were correct - which they very likely were, seeing as he hadn't been sleeping well for the past month or so, and had been living through that hellish routine since the last GP like clockwork -, it was close to around 5 a.m. at the moment. They still had some good hours before the sun started to show its face.

Sebastian loved winter in Germany. He loved a lot about Germany, of course, but the wintertime there just seemed a bit more magical than anywhere else in the world. Snow always kissed the pavement, covering it all in white, making all sounds go quiet. Marvelous, really.

Well, it was usually marvelous, but in the present situation, where the silence only made him hear Webber's whispered words on his skin on repeat, he would rather have the bright summer lights outside. Yelling. Noise. Sounds. People screaming. Kids all around.

But no such luck. He stood in the house close to Der Schwarzwald, no one around to bother him out of his thoughts. So he ran, ran until his feet burned, his skin was flushed with the cold, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, and Webber's voice had dissipated inside his mind.

Vettel had better things to think of. Better things to do. Books to read - he wouldn't read any -, movies to watch - he had no interest in them, any time he attempted to focus, flashes of a very familiar face took hold of him -, and training to do - he had every intention of beating Webber in the track if he couldn't do it anywhere else. 

But he wasn't thinking about his teammate. Not at all. Never. Except when he was asleep, then, he had no choice but to be plagued by the most bizarre dreams ever - where Webber would be crying, yelling, screaming. Where they were both trying to communicate, but it was impossible to understand the other. Where Vettel begged and begged for something, but the older man kept shaking his head. And then, there were the other dreams. But Sebastian wasn't going to think about that. Ever. Not ever. 

Either way, he woke up with his heart beating fast in his chest, adrenaline pumping, making it impossible to fall back asleep. Every. Single. Night.

Running wasn't that bad. He enjoyed the view around him, the snow in the big, dark trees, the wind kissing him, and yeah, no, he wasn't going there. Alright, fuck. It was impossible. He was going insane. 

He had to see someone. Quickly.

☆☆☆

Mark felt the summer sun hit his face. He smiled broadly. Yes, God, yes. This was paradise. How he had missed Australia while they had been away. It was like feeling an itch for months, never able to stretch it precisely right. 

For some reason, though, that itch was still there. Even after weeks in his hometown. Perhaps it was something else, then. Mark wouldn't worry too much about such things. He was happy, and satisfied, not competing against no one. He was aware that 2010 was just around the corner, and that Vettel would not make their fight an easy one, but he had more pressing business at the moment. Like, for example, which wine to choose to accompany dinner. 

He pushed the supermarket cart into the next aisle, running over what was certainly someone's feet. The feminine shout confirmed his fears. ‘Fuck. Hell . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-’ He stopped in front of a gorgeous brunette. She was grimacing slightly, although a smile quickly appeared on her face. 

‘Webber, isn't it?’ He shrugged, not happy to encounter a fan on his break. He loved every single one of them, but, God, thinking about Formula One made a blond devil appear in his mind and really, he did not want that at all. 

‘Sure. A pleasure to meet you…’

‘Lina. Hi. You're famous around here, Mr. Webber.’ Her voice made something in his chest calm down a bit. It felt like breathing for the first time after a long time. Too long. 

‘Around here?’

‘Sure’ She nodded. ‘Mrs. Kim is always talking about her golden boy who made it big.’ She pointed vaguely in the direction of the cashiers, where Mrs. Kim was standing like she had always been. It was true that the old lady had a soft spot for Mark, constantly stocking up on all the magazines that put him on the front cover. It made him slightly uncomfortable to think about how every single one of her customers had absolutely heard about him, but it came from the kindness of her heart, so he had never mentioned anything about it.

He smiled at her brightly. ‘Really? And would you, Miss Lina, be interested in having dinner with the proclaimed Golden boy?’ She laughed, and God, it was a relief to not hear any sarcasm behind it - although, weirdly, his heart had sunk the slightest bit, almost as if he was expecting something else. 

‘Alright, Golden boy. You can take me out for dinner.’

☆☆☆

‘Be honest now, Vettel, did you only call me here because you needed someone to kiss you at midnight?’ Jenson's voice broke him out of his stupor. 

Okay, alright, so when he had thought about seeing someone, he wasn't exactly thinking about Button. But honestly, it couldn't be that bad, could it? His friend brought some kind of stupid happiness he hadn't felt in a while, he would be lying if he had said it wasn't at least refreshing.

Jenson entered the kitchen carrying an expensive bottle of wine, ‘Is this good?’ Vettel shrugged. ‘Not much of a wine man, are you?’ Sebastian shook his head, concentrating on cutting the potatoes into squares. ‘Webber is.’

Sebastian scoffed, ‘Much of a man? Not really.’

Jenson laughed despite himself, putting the bottle down just beside him and turning down the heat in one of the stoves. 

‘Alright. What's going on with you, man?’ Vettel had nothing to say, so he kept quiet. Until Jenson's fingers found the place between two of his ribs and poked him there, causing an embarrassing yelp to escape him. ‘What the fuck?!’

‘I asked you a question!’

‘I have no answer, Button. Nothing is going on. I'm fine. It's fine. Great.’

Beside him, Jenson hummed. For a second, Vettel believed he was safe then, but of course, it was too much wishful thinking. ‘Yes, obviously. Because waking up before five in the morning is normal. Let me tell you something, Vettel.’

‘I'd rather you didn't.’ Evidently, Button ignored him.

‘I don't understand why you would call me here and you're like this - let me just tell you now, you're not my type, Vettel, but I understand your crush, I'm definitely my type too -when the remedy is right in your face.’

‘Jense, man. What the hell?’ Button just brushed him off. 

‘You need to get laid, mate. Like right now. I mean, not now now. Please, not now. I like you enough, Vettel, but not even I would be able to sleep while you go at it in the next room.’

‘Button, what is wrong with you ?’

He kept going, apparently on a roll, ‘I said the same thing to Mark. You all are wound up too tight, that's what's causing the problem. Obviously. ’

‘Sorry. No. Excuse me, what?’

‘What what?’

‘What did you say to Webber?’

Jenson laughed, delighted. ‘You can call him Mark, you do know that, right?’ Seeing Sebastian's expression, he sighed, ‘Alright. I just told him he should sleep around a bit.’

Vettel felt his whole face flush. What the hell? Since when did he get bothered by such subjects? ‘Don't even go there, Button. I'm not going to sleep with him!’

‘Hey! I never said that! Y'all should sleep with different people . God, Vettel, get your mind out of the gutter!’. Great. Absolutely fantastic.

He felt his cheeks redden even more. ‘Well, Jense, how else would I ever be able to talk to you, then?’

Button laughed, letting the subject go. Unfortunately, Sebastian didn't have the same capacity. 

☆☆☆

Ten. Nine. Eight . Lina was dancing in the living room, singing a song at the top of her lungs, long hair flying around, feet just barely touching the ground. 

Seven. Six. Five. Four. She closed in on him, where he was sitting down. She used both hands to push him up, and Mark allowed her to do so, urging them both outside. 

Three. Two. One. 

She jumped at him, legs immediately circling his waist. ‘Happy New Year, Mr. Webber.’

He smiled against her lips, kissing her deeply before replaying, ‘Happy New Year, Miss Lina.’ She laughed and he laughed, already leading them both to his bedroom.

Yes, 2010 would be a good year. Perhaps even a great one.

☆☆☆

‘I'm not kissing you, Jense!’

‘Don't pretend you don't want me, Vettel. We both know better than that. I heard you, yesterday.’

‘What are you even talking about?’ They made their way through the crowd standing in the streets, sunglasses on their faces, fingers crossed no one would recognize them. 

‘Last night. The walls are paper thin, man. Hope you at least had a nice time.’

‘What? Button, are you high right now?’

‘You can stop lying, Seb. It's fine.’ Seeing Sebastian's confused expression, he added, ‘Around 3 a.m.? No? Fuck, perhaps I was dreaming then. My bad, man.’

Three a.m.? The red clock numbers flashed through his mind from the night before. When he had woken up, around that time. After a precisely…well, heated dream. He couldn't remember who it was about, though. Jenson couldn't complain, not when he was the one who had been putting all those ideas on Seb's head the night before.

‘Yeah. Don't worry. You're fine.’

‘You don't say. Then why won't you kiss me?’

Sebastian rolled his eyes, even knowing his friend couldn't see it. 

‘Is it because of Mark?’

Sebastian stopped walking. ‘Mark? Why would it be because of Webber?’

Jenson shrugged, ‘Well, wouldn't he get pissed at you for kissing me?’ The image was instantly engraved in his brain, Webber red in the face, angry, yelling at him. 

All of a sudden, he felt out of breath. Weird.

‘Why…Why. Why would he ever…What?’

‘Because we're all friends, Vettel. Plus, we work together. It might make our hangouts a bit awkward, don't you think?’

‘If I kissed Webber?’

Jenson grinned wickedly. ‘No. If you kissed me. ’

Vettel shook his head, confused. ‘That's what I said.’

‘Ha. Whatever, man. If you say so.’

Jenson kissed a gorgeous redhead at midnight. Vettel just sipped his drink, not in the mood for any of it.

☆☆☆

Running at the beach felt so much better when there wasn't an obnoxious blond to yell at him. It might just be one of his favorite things to do when back home. 

Lina was still asleep back at his place, and Webber barely remembered feeling this good. This centered. His life felt so boring it made a part of him heal - the one part that had been in agony for the last months in that Red Bull. He didn't want to think about the looming presence of the future at the moment. 

But he was a bit forced to. In less than a week, he would have to go to Austria to meet up with the team before the season started, and discuss some manners before returning - then, Webber would be in training once again.

Soon after, the season would start. And although Mark loved racing more than anything in the world, he felt tense every time he thought of it.

The cars would be fast this year, he just knew it. That would mean he would be in the fight for the title, and so would Vettel. Desperation clawed at his chest. It was hard to breathe. 

Webber never wanted peace. He craved the adrenaline, craved the feeling of being behind a wheel, going over 250 km/h, craved those fights. But sometimes… sometimes he felt like he couldn't handle Vettel. Like the kid was in a league of his own that Webber would never be able to catch.

Ir felt like trying to grab water with his hands, keeping some of it, but never enough. Never enough.

It drove him nuts. So he simply didn't think about it.

☆☆☆

Seeing Webber again after over a month without a sight felt a lot like being shot. Vettel didn't know much about being shot, but he did understand the concept of shot plain and simple and wished he had had some before entering the headquarters. His chest ached with anticipation.

So he had tried to follow Jenson's advice - and failed miserably. Nothing came out of it. Sebastian, for the first time and hopefully the last, was feeling like he should've tried to listen to Jenson a bit more. He felt wound tight. Was it hot in there? Fuck, it was. Did no one ever open a window in this place? Jesus Christ.

‘Can you stop fidgeting?’ Mark's voice made him freeze. 

‘Paying attention to me, are we Webber? I'm honored, truly. But, see, we should keep this professional.’ The words were already tripping out of him.

Usually, Sebastian wouldn't mind, but then, he had the distinct impression of doing the absolute wrong thing. He didn't want to taunt Qebber anymore. He wanted to talk to him normally. To ask him about his holiday. Perhaps that way, when they kept a professional relationship, Sebastian would have more facilitated falling asleep at night.

Thankfully, before Webber could come up with a smart answer, Horner entered the room, closely followed by Helmut Marko and Andrian Newey, the man himself.

Sebastian was feeling it again, the unmatchable burn of anticipation running in his veins. He loved this. Loved every single part of each Formula One season. Vettel had been born to stand there, in that room. Forever. That's what he wanted. To die on one of those tracks so he would never have to live in a reality without it.

‘Alright. Seb, Mark. Good to see the both of you. Hope you all enjoyed the break. So. Let's begin, shall we?’

☆☆☆

This time around, Webber was the one following Vettel into a bathroom. He couldn't exactly tell the reasoning behind it, but he experienced the urgent need to speak with his teammate. 

‘A deja vu, Webber?’ Vettel didn't lose time saying the second he entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him. 

‘If memory serves me right, you were the one who followed me the last time.’

‘If memory serves me right, you were the one choking me last time. What? Come for a round two?’

‘Only if you ask nicely, Vettel. Preferably on your knees.’

Vettels eyes bulged on his head, Mark would be lying if he said he didn't feel an immense pleasure at the sight. ‘What?!’

‘What?’ Webber said, feigning innocence.

‘What did you just say?’

‘I said that I don't recall that happening in the first place, Vettel. Do you need to clear your ears?’

Vettel shook his head. ‘No. That wasn't what you said.’

‘But it was. Perhaps your English is a bit… let's say, ragged.’

Sebastian shook his head again. ‘No.’

‘No? That's the only thing you're gonna say? Damn, Vettel, I expected more thrill from you today. More of a bite. Perhaps this season will be easier than I expected.’

He had already forgotten what was so urgent about their interaction, and seeing as he was already feeling completely satisfied by the encounter, he winked, unlocked the door, and left quickly, before Vettel had any reaction whatsoever.

He noticed, for the first time, that that itch had disappeared. Perhaps the time with Lina had been more helpful than he had given her credit for.

☆☆☆

‘He's the devil, Jense!’

On the phone, Button laughed loudly. ‘He called me ten minutes ago to say the same thing about you. And, you know Vettel, for how much you made his life hell last year, one would hope you would be up for the same old games this season.’

Sebastian disagreed. Button did not see shit, but the firm shake in his head made him feel lighter in some ways. ‘I don't play games.’.

Jenson choked on something on the other end of the line. ‘Yeah. Sure, man. Listen, Seb. Whatever this is, it's between the two of you. Plus, the season will soon start, and you will no longer be able to come running to me to complain about your mean teammate.’

Vettel acknowledged he was right. When the races started once again, Button and him would be competing. Sebastian would never say anything that could compromise his career in any way, then. Even when he knew Jenson would never leak it to whoever, it was just one of those things.

He tried to pretend it wouldn't bother him, but, oh God, it did. Sometimes, the loneliness crept up on him, snuggling so close he forgot to ever push it away. There would be no more Jenson, not even Lewis to talk to at those times - and by that, he meant when Webber drove him so absolutely crazy he had had to force himself not to follow the asshole out of the bathroom and smack him right across his cheeks -, no one. Except for Mark Webber. 

Webber was his main rival, of that there was no doubt. But he was also, and very unfortunately so, the only person there Vettem could discuss the struggles of his team. About his personal life…well, depending on the week, he would call up Bhtton anyway, although it just seemed stupid, when he couldn't find it in him to be completely honest. It wasn't Button's fault. It was just the way that it was.

Dammit. 

When Sebastian hung up a couple of minutes later, he climbed into his warm bed, still staring at the snow silently falling outside.

He didn't know it yet, but on the other side of the world, Webber stood up in his darkened room, listening intently to Lina's breathing, watching the summer rain hit the ground. Something stirred in his chest, but he suffocated it before it could find a home in there.

Chapter Text

Bahrain International Circuit, Bahrain GP

March 2010

1st race of the season

‘What if I told you I'm back?

The hospital was a drag

Worst sleep that I ever had

I circled you on a map

I haven't come around in so long

But I'm coming back so strong’

• The Alchemy, Taylor Swift

‘After so many boring Sundays, Formula One is back everyone! How are we feeling about it, Jack?’

Vettel was pushing his fireproof up his body while the two reporters talked on the television. Usually, he wouldn't indulge in such stupid topics - they would say the same thing as they had said the year before, plus the year before that one, Vettel could even bet it went further back than that -, but he would do close to anything to brush out of his mind Webber's happy strut into their garage earlier that day. 

‘Certainly exciting, isn't it? A new season. Who knows what can happen this year-round? Will, can you tell me a bit more about the stats?’

‘Of course I can. From what we have seen in the pre-season, Brawn this year isn't as fast as they had hoped for. However, both Red Bulls seem as acutely synced with the track as we saw in 2009. Some brilliant races for both of those drivers, wasn't there?’

Jack - Vettel refused to learn more than his first name and had refused since he had first entered F1 - agreed vehemently. ‘Surely, surely Will.’ Because Seb could no longer stand another second of such bad television, he turned it off, before running back to the garage, already carrying his helmet. 

Secretly, he hoped Will and Jack were right. The car did feel good under him, but you could never exactly tell when it would take a sharp turn and make the season shit.

Webber was making the season shit. Fuck. Was that the best he could do? Pitiful.

With the help of multiple mechanics, he got into his car, ready for another season.

☆☆☆ 

Webber struggled to sit quietly. A storm was forming on the horizon, and he was so sure something bad was coming that it was impossible to concentrate properly on anything else. 

His engineer was talking to him. Bloody hell. ‘What?’

‘Vettel behind you, in a fast lap.’ Mark nodded, moving his car to the side so his teammate wouldn't crash and burn with both of them stuck in their cars. 

Surprisingly, it was a great metaphor for what he was sensing. It was like being in constant fear of what his younger teammate would put him through, unsure of his footing with his team, unsure of anything, really, when it came to Sebastian.

Mark wasn't stupid. He saw the chess board for what it was, and he could make out all of the pieces and precisely where they stood. Horner was an ever-lingering Queen, ready to take anyone out. Marko was the king, of course. Sebastian and him? Well, they were both pawns, seeing who would get to the other end of the board first and become a Queen. 

But the vision was distorted. There was something intrinsically important Webber was missing. 

It didn't matter how much he dug, a huge possibility he couldn't account for looked at him in the face and laughed. 

After whatever that qualifying section was, Mark stuck around just for as long as he was needed, answering questions here and there about his expectations for the new season, his goals, and less importantly, about Vettel. ‘He's fast. But you can see that. Everyone can.’ He chose not to lie but also not to say exactly what he wanted.

He's fast but I'm faster. Yet, sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, unsure of the truthfulness of my own words. 

No, he rather preferred to keep such things locked at seven keys inside of himself, never uttering a word of it to anyone. Not even to Lina. Never to Lina.

Suddenly, he realized that while he had mentioned Formula One in general more than once to her, he had never once uttered the name of his teammate. Couldn't bear the thought of doing so. It was weird. It felt incorrect, almost immoral. But he still had no desire to do so, so when he called later that night, he talked about anything except for the long looks Sebastian threw his way, and how it had made his entire body feel mushy. 

Why would she want to hear of such things anyway?

☆☆☆

Sebastian grimaced at Button. The British grimaced right back at him. Beside them, Lewis Hamilton coughed. ‘This is awkward.’ He noted, which was fair. It was awkward. But Button was being inconsequential and Vettel didn't have to stand for it.

‘Ask your teammate to give it a rest then.’

‘ Ask your teammate to give it a rest then .’ Mimicked Jenson, like a literal five-year-old. ‘I'm afraid you can't say such things when you avoid Mark like a plague.’

‘I'm afraid you're an asshole.’

‘Well, I'm afraid you're a coward-’

Lewis put himself in front of the two. ‘Wow. Okay. Alright. Perhaps give it a rest?’ When both drivers just scolded him, saying nothing else, he added, ‘Jense, if he doesn't want to go out, then he's not gonna go out. Vettel. Why are you even fighting him?’

Jenson lifted his finger like the nerdy asshole he was. Sebastian rolled his eyes before he even opened his mouth. ‘Allow me to tell you why, Hamilton.’ Both men groaned. ‘He's a coward. This man right here drives cars faster than 300km/h with no fear whatsoever, but you mention a bar out with Alonso and he loses his shit. We're supposed to be friends.’ Jenson accused back at Sebastian, even going as far as pointing his finger at Vettel's face. 

‘Not really. We're supposed to be rivals.’

It was Button's turn to roll his eyes. ‘Sure, Seb. When we're inside those cars. Not here. Not anywhere else.’

‘You don't like Fernando?’ Lewis asked, interrupting what would probably turn into another round of discussion. 

‘Nothing against the man, actually. No, my problem is with who is going to be there with him.’

Last season, a reluctant friendship appeared between Alonso and Webber. Still, the New Year had barely started and it was already evident that the bromance still had some chapter waiting to happen. 

‘He's not even going to be there!’ Exclaimed an exasperated Button.

‘Don't lie to yourself, Button.’ Vettel rebuked. 

‘I'm not. I'm lying to you. It's very different.’ 

‘Whatever. We have nothing to celebrate anyway. Neither of us was on the podium.’ He glanced back at Hamilton, who had gotten third place to Vettel’s fourth.

The Englishman raised his hands, ‘Don't hate the player, man. Hate the game.’

Button laughed, ‘Well, Lewis, the game is his career. I'd say it is kinda obvious he would rather hate you.’ Vettel nodded along, although he had no hand feelings towards Lewis at the moment - that last bit was important. Seb was sure to get back to his room later to ruminate on his downfall, his inability to do the bare minimum, and, honestly, hate on Hamilton for a while.

‘I'm not going, Jense. I want to stay here and enjoy my night peacefully.’

Fortunately, Jenson nodded. ‘Alright. But next GP. Me, you, Hamilton if he's not busy doing his girlfriend. Bar.’

Smiling slightly, Seb agreed. Lewis waved his fingers at him as they left the hotel bar, finally leaving Vettel alone. He finished his drink and went back upstairs. It would be one hell of a night.

☆☆☆

‘Button. Hamilton. Where's the devil himself?’ Mark was in a very crowded nightclub in the middle of what could only be the morning by that point, seeing Fernando Alonso drink himself numb in celebration of his most recent win. 

The music was so loud, it was hard for Mark to hear his own thoughts. Which meant he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Hamilton, unexpectedly, laughed. ‘Ah, man. You should've seen the spat those two had. Like an old married couple.’

‘Seb can be very unreasonable sometimes. It's not my fault if it brings out the worst in me.’ Mark felt that remark down to his bones. 

‘He's not here, then?’

Jenson shook his head, ‘Nope. Lucky you.’ Webber was lucky Sebastian wasn't present to ruin his night once more. Although his heart twisted painfully. Disappointment, could it be? Maybe he was expecting the younger driver in the hopes of burning out his frustrations with one of their famous disputes. 

He looked back up to find Jenson examining his face closely. He stepped back. ‘Yeah, sure, man. Fernando is over there.’ He pointed the Spaniard doing a roll of shots. Jenson giggled happily and quickly disappeared in that direction. Lewis stood there a moment longer.

‘I don't know, man. There's something super weird going on here.’ 

Mark was forced to agree.

☆☆☆

Albert Park, Australian GP

March 2010

2nd race of the season

He shouldn't have kicked the car. That much was obvious by the biting pain on his right foot, making him limp pathetically back to his hotel room. He had been doing everything right, dammit. How could that be fair? 

His car had failed him exactly when he needed its help the most. Fuck. Dammit, shit shit fuck. What a terrible day.

He just wanted to pass out and die. Hopefully die. Really. But he had made a promise to Button, and although the last thing he wanted was to see Webber one second more than he truly had to, he had promised. After that amazing victory Jenson had scored as well, he had no choice. So he took a long shower, trying to convince himself it wouldn't be so bad. He hadn't promised Jenson he would stay for very long, just that he would go.

Things would work out. He wouldn't even see Msrk at that time.

A knock on his door, and he was ready. Lewis Hamilton stood there with a very unhappy expression. ‘He got to you too?’ The Englishman nodded. Vettel patted him on the back. ‘Sorry, lad.’

‘It's alright. Let's both just hope not to encounter your teammate dearest.’ Vettel wanted to laugh. He had forgotten Webber had collided with Hamilton earlier on the rave, compromising both of their taces. He didn't have an honest opinion of who had been in the wrong there because he tried not to watch Webber driving when he could avoid it, but his immature and uninformed self said it was 100% Webber's fault.

‘Cheers to that.’ Vettel turned a shot of whiskey, offering the other one to Lewis, who shook his head.

‘I'm fine, man.’

Sebastian shrugged. Alright then. More for him. If things worked out, though, it would all have been in vain, because Webber would be asleep in his room. 

When they got there, the first thing that Vettel noticed was that Webber was not, in fact, asleep in his room. The drinks had been very much needed then. He swirled away from a couple of people, putting himself safely behind Button when they approached Mark. A mistake, he realized, as soon as Jenson stepped aside to show Sebastian very clearly to his teammate. ‘Ha. Here you go, Markie. Your personal devil. Brought him for a stroll.’ Webber rolled his eyes, but the brunette in his arms laughed happily. Sebastian took a second to analyze them. She had long, dark hair, going down to her waist, a bright smile, and goddammit, she was gorgeous. Mark held her hands, not her waist, her hands. So this wasn't a hookup then. 

‘You must be Vettel. It's a pleasure to meet you.’ She offered him her small hand. For a second, Sebastian was stuck staring at it, before taking it on his. 

‘It's a pleasure. Webber.’ He nodded to his teammate. No reaction. Very well then. They both knew he couldn't let them slide. ‘Fun race, huh, guys?’ He looked pointedly at Lewis, who groaned.

‘Lad, what the bloody hell? We're here to have a good time and you're-’ But he was interrupted by Jenson, who had just come back with an astonishing amount of booze. 

‘Incorrect, Hamilton. We're here to celebrate me. So, pick your poison lady and gentlemen.’ Vettel couldn't help the smile that broke out of him. Fuck. He liked Jenson. Like, genuinely liked the man. When had that happened? People weren't friends in Formula One, and yet, there stood the group, always finding their way back together. ‘Also leave Vettel alone. He just got dumped.’

Sebastian's head snapped back up. You know what, forget it. He hated Jenson Button. 

‘Oh, you poor you!’ Cooed the brunette he realized he did not know the name. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Uuh. No. Not really, seeing as it didn't happen. Button's just being a shit stirrer.’

She nodded sadly at him as if she didn't believe one single word that had just come out of his mouth.

‘Not so fun when someone else does it, isn't it, Vettel?’ And there went Mark.

‘Well, it depends on what you mean by it . I can think of a couple of things I would rather you do in my place, Markie.’

Beside him, he heard Lewis whisper to Jenson, ‘Are they fighting or flirting?’

Jenson whispered back, ‘I don't know! Fascinating, isn't it?’

Vettel tried to ignore them both. Perhaps stupidity was a British thing, who was he to discriminate? 

‘Can I?’ He asked Button, gesturing to the drinks. 

‘Knock yourself out. Not literally though. I'm not carrying you back to the hotel.’

☆☆☆

Webber was unsure he had ever seen Sebastian as pissed as he was. Not even so many months ago, walking back to the hotel in miserable conditions. From the moment he first asked Jenson for permission to the moment the sun started to rise, he hadn't stopped for a minute, drinking non-stop.

Something was bothering the younger driver, although it was hard for Mark to believe in such things when it only appeared to him that Vettel had everything he wanted when he wanted.

Jenson was also drunk out of his ass, and too enticed pushing his tongue down someone's mouth to care much about the stumbling blond bomb he had left behind. Hamilton was nowhere to be seen, certainly having left the nightclub in the first second he realized his presence wouldn't be missed. So, there was Webber, Lina - both stone-cold sober, tired, sleepy - and Sebastian. 

Mark strongly disliked his teammate, he made no secret of it. He was also sure Vettel wasn't falling head over heels for him either. Só, it should've been easy to just up and leave with his gorgeous girlfriend back to the hotel like she had been begging for hours. Mark wouldn't comply. He looked at Lina, all peaceful and graceful, and then at Sebastian, slurring his words. And he couldn't move. His body wouldn't let him.

‘Mark.’ Lina finally said. ‘I'm going home.’

He nodded. Yes. Fuck, they absolutely should go home. ‘Yes. You're right. Let me just grab Seb and I'll get us a cab.’ She put a delicate hand on his arm. He knew it then. Vettel would ruin everything good in his life until there was nothing left. 

‘No. I'm actually going home. I'll get a cab to the hotel and grab my things. It was a pleasure, Mark. Really. You're a great guy. And I get it.’ She smiled sadly at Sebastian. ‘He's a funny one.’

Webber wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about. ‘Lina. I'm sorry. I really am. I do like you, a lot.’

Lina got on his tiptoes, pressed a quick kiss to his cheeks, and hugged him tightly. ‘I like you a lot as well, Mark. But this ’ she gestured leisurely around them ‘has your undivided attention. It's fair. I'm not asking you to change, so.’ For a second, he thought he loved her for it. He thought he would die with that feeling stuck in his throat. ‘If you ever need a friend. To talk about it, she said it but it sounded so much like him , ‘You have my number.’

It sounded so genuine. Mark saw it in her eyes, she meant it. Perhaps she felt about him the same way he did about her. Like his heart would die in his chest if something bad ever happened to that woman. Like he would kill and die to make sure she would still be standing at the end of it all. But he did not wish to come back home to her. Not like that. It had been fun, pretending he could live with such peace around him.

Mark Webber needed adrenaline like some people needed alcohol. It was his drug of choice, and Lina was right. It wasn't fair for her to ask him to change, and it wasn't fair for him to ask her to stay anyway.

She slipped away from his grasp so gracefully he barely noticed. In the next second, she was gone.

☆☆☆

So Markie had a girlfriend. A gorgeous girlfriend. A thoughtful, sweet girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend. Everyone knew about it except for him. He wasn't upset about it. Not in the least. He didn't care about Mark Webber. He could have a thousand girlfriends for all Sebastian cared.

But every time he saw the two of them close together, whispering sweet nothings, he felt the urge to drink more. Then, he kept drinking just for the sake of it. The usual giddiness that took hold of him when he started to get drunk was nowhere to be seen at that time. Just an incredible melancholy he wished someone would write about. 

Somewhere after four in the morning, all the drinks started tasting the same, all the faces were blurring, and he could hardly tell things apart. The sun was rising and a beautiful woman was laughing at him excitingly. He didn't remember being this funny. He didn't feel that funny. Still, her laugh was contagious and soon he had her all over him in the back couch of the nightclub. Her dress was very short and rising, and Sebastian thought-

‘Vettel. Cmon. Let's go.’

Sebastian was sure he could kill Mark Webber. Letting the woman go for a second, he stared back. ‘I'm a bit busy, mate. Piss off.’ But when he turned back to her, the idea of kissing her again seemed so unappealing compared to the prospect of annoying Webber. 

‘Sebastian. I'm not asking again. You need someone to get you back to the hotel, as you can hardly walk straight. I'm doing you a favor.’

‘I don't need you fucking favors, Webber.’ It had sounded harsher than he had intended, truth be told. Perhaps he was the slightest bit bitter.

‘But I think you do. So. Let's. Go. Now. ’

Vettel got up, the woman on his lap long forgotten. ‘Or what, Markie?’ The older man got to his face in a heartbeat.

Yes. Fuck yes. Sebastian's whole body came alive. ‘Or I'm dragging you, asshole. I have no time for your bloody games right now, okay? We need to go.’

It stung. God, how it stung, being once again treated like a misbehaving child. He supposed he was misbehaving, but still, he hated feeling inferior to Webber in any way, shape, or form.

Somehow, and Vettel truly wasn't sure how, they both ended at the last floor of the hotel, looking Melbourne from there, both sitting in plastic chairs pushed together. Webber was quiet. He had been ever since Vettel had asked him about his pretty girlfriend. 

He sat down with his head on his hands, so defeated it hurt Sebastian a bit to look. ‘Fuck.’ He murmured under his breath. Seb only heard because he was completely obsessed with every single action from Mark Webber. 

Before he even knew what he was, Sebastian felt himself kneeling in front of Webber. ‘What? What happened?’

Mark shook his head, staring into Seb's eyes as if he couldn't precisely grasp what was going on. ‘Sebastian, you can't drink like that.’

‘That's why you're grunting and moaning, Webber?’ It was disappointing, really.

‘No.’

‘Then, why ?’ Vettel didn't think he had ever needed to understand something more in his life. It was like Mark held gold on his hands and shook provocatively in front of Vettels eyes. 

‘I don't know .’ But his voice broke and goddamned him, Sebastian didn't want to care. He could deal with wanting Webber in every other sense, but not that one. 

The next second, he was sitting just beside Mark, faces close together. ‘You ruined my hookup, Webber.’

‘Well, you ruined my relationship. So.’ Sebastian didn't want to feel happiness at such news. He didn't want to but he absolutely did. ‘You going to choke me again?’ Mark laughed, and it took him so much by surprise he jumped away from him, heart galloping on his chest. Webber’s laughter felt so precious and fragile at that moment, without any sarcasm or irony to it, just sheer surprise and delight. Sebastian was afraid he would shatter it. He was always afraid he would shatter things, people, whatever got close enough. 

‘Only if you ask nicely.’ Mark finally said, and it felt like Vettel had been holding his breath forever, like standing on the very last step of a cliff for so long you just start wondering when will you ever fall over. You don’t consciously mean to do it, nor wish for it, but it's there, in front of you, the danger, no matter how much you try to deny your intentions standing there.

‘You know, Mark.’ His voice was breathy, had lost that certainty that accompanied him everywhere. Sebastian was stepping into unknown territory, and God, it was so thrilling. Almost as if he was driving his car through the finish line, almost . ‘I just might.’ They were standing so close now. Sebastian couldn't tell which breath was his and which was Mark's. Either way, both were ragged, fighting to keep eye contact. 

Fighting, fighting, permanently goddamn fighting. They didn’t know how to be any other way. 

Webber touched his face, so lightly it felt like a feather brushing his skin, a peck of a touch, nothing more. Sebastian closed his eyes. Fingers grazed his lips. Vettel wanted to be strong enough to make his hands move, to feel the fabric of Webber’s shirt when he pulled on it. If he had gotten just two more seconds, he would’ve been but then- Then, the fingers were gone, alongside the body heat emanating from Webber just seconds ago. Because they didn’t have any more time, it was constantly running out. Vettel dared to ask for a second if it wasn’t their own making if they were the ones who rushed time away, too afraid to deal with the freedom it left them with. 

Vettel opened his eyes to find the Australian standing, fingers on his hair, pulling it. It seemed to hurt, but Sebastian was hurting as well, an insistent swell on his chest making it unthinkable for him to breathe correctly. ‘Fuck. What the hell.’ When he noticed Sebastian looking, he strode back to him, offering a hand. Sebastian wanted to hit it away from him. He hated not knowing where he stood, but it was like that with Webber. One moment they were yelling at each other, going at the throat, fighting, and the next.

God. Sebastian didn’t want to think about it. ‘Cmon. I'll get you back to your room.’ The politeness took him by surprise. It shouldn’t have, he knew Webber enough by that point to understand exactly what he was doing there. Distance. He was creating a comfortable space between both of their bodies and minds, while Vettel fought so hard to annihilate it. It was so unfair, yet he had no more energy to fight against it. Not against Mark, not against these bubbling need they both had.

Because Vettel knew Webber felt it too. How the air buzzed around them.  

Sebastian had no funny dig in him this time. He simply shook his head, saying he knew where to go, and left Mark with his asshole attitude and cruel games.

☆☆☆

Fucking hell. What a hellish night. Every single second of it. He felt Lina's absence down to his bones, his hands shook slightly from holding them back from the biggest mistake of his life. And Sebastian? Sebastian was drunk and undoubtedly just trying to mess with him. 

And he had allowed it. He had almost kissed him. It had felt so incredibly good to be on the receiving end of those fluttering eyelashes and big, devouring blue eyes, he had forgotten himself. What the hell was wrong with him? God, oh God. He had almost kissed Sebastian Vettel. While he was drunk . 

He deserved death. He wanted death. If death came for him, he would welcome it so much. He would even offer him tea. Him ? Fuck, the Devil and now Death, both taking a very familiar shape in his mind. He would never be free of it, would he? 

Mark walked back to his room when he was sure not to encounter his nightmare in walking form after opening his door and practically shoving him inside the room. Alright, so he had run a little, who could blame him? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

No. Nope. No. He wasn’t going to accept it. Mark was good at a lot of things, but great at only a handful of them. Thankfully one of them was avoidance. And he could be polite. For the sake of their team - and his peace of mind - Mark Webber would act normally in front of his teammate for the rest of the season. Nothing bad was going to happen and they would have a barely there relationship until one of them decided to retire. 

Sebastian would probably forget the whole thing before waking back up, to be fair, and then all Webber had to do was avoid avoid avoid. It couldn't be that bad, surely.

He would do it. Absolutely. Easy peasy. 

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? It was torture, pure mindblowing torture, having been that close to Sebastian Vettel and having to understand and accept the fact that it would never again happen. They couldn’t allow it to happen. Scratch that, Webber couldn’t allow it to happen, not when he knew Vettel well enough to understand his tactics. He went through romantic partners so fast that even the press did not keep it. Sebastian knew what he was doing. He was playing with Webber . And Mark had allowed him to do so . It had only taken a wink here and there, a smile, and a dirty comeback, and Webber had been all over the younger driver.

Fuck. 

Perhaps it was the situation with Lina that had put him at his limit. Perhaps the incomprehensible feelings swirling inside of him were not related to the blond at all, but to the girl he swore he would have for at least a while longer that had so easily left him. 

He needed to sleep. But even after tossing and turning, his body wouldn't calm down. It was like he had gulped three Red Bulls in a roll. He closed his eyes and saw Sebastian's big blue eyes staring at him longingly. He opened them and felt the texture of his lips on his fingertips.

Oh, someone kill him. Please, someone kill him. Please. 

Chapter Text

Sepang, Malaysian GP

April 2010

3rd race of the season

‘X marks the spot where we fell apart

He poisoned the well, every man for himself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

You were driving the getaway car

We were flying but we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me’

- Getaway Car, Taylor Swift

Mark Webber had the distinct impression he needed better friends. Perhaps some who did not know every single detail of his life. Or possibly ones that weren't involved with his work. Probably that last one. Definitely that last one.

Fernando was in his hotel room when he had absolutely not invited him, lying around in his bed, wearing his usual grimace. ‘Mate,’ he had gotten the habit of using the expression for spending so much time with Webber - since he had made it his life mission to avoid Button whenever the British were with his devil-like teammate, unfortunately, that meant almost every single day -, although his accent was strong enough to make sure no one would mix up who was talking. ‘You're telling me you were second in this race while I DNF'd and you're sulking? Cabron , what happened?’

Mark shrugged, turning the TV up loudly to avoid having to look directly at the Spaniard. So, because life wasn't fair, Sebastian Vettel was flirting with the reporter, smiling happily, champagne still running down from his hair. ‘It was a very good result for the team. Mark and I both pushed hard, but it was important to stay focused and not make mistakes. I think we showed what the car is capable of today.’ 

Ha. Okay. 

Mark just couldn't believe he would go there. Good results for the team. Yeah, true enough, one and two, sure. But Vettel wasn't stupid. He knew what he was saying, he knew what he was feeding the press with. The car was great, yet he had won . It said it all, honestly.

‘What a wanker’ He whispered, incapable of holding it back.

‘Vettel said nothing, Mark. This is a standard answer at its finest. You know that.’ Webber jumped a bit, having completely forgotten about his friend still in his room.

‘Don't be blinded by his pretty curls, Alonso. I know what he's doing. And he wants me to know it too. He's playing with me.’

Behind him, Nando laughed. ‘Are you sure you're not making this up? So you can justify your scorned attitude? What happened, anyway?’

Mark brushed him off, ‘Yes, I'm sure. Look at the glint in his eyes. He's taunting me.’

Fernando shook his head. ‘I don't see no glint.’

Mark scoffed, exasperated. ‘IT’S THERE. IT’S RIGHT THERE, ALONSO.’ He pointed firmly at Vettel’s eyes. 

‘Alright, muy bien, hombre . If you insist, but I see nothing. He's just being polite, Mark.’

But Webber wasn't stupid, therefore he was absolutely not buying it. ‘Vettel isn't polite. He's fire, he's anger, he's rage, he’s all of these things. He's manipulative. He's not polite. And he's playing with me.’

In the bed, Nando shrugged. ‘I don't know. It looks to me that's what you want to see.’

Mark threw him out of the room soon after turning off the TV. 

☆☆☆

‘Sebastian had a great start, so from then on, it was about managing the race. It’s obviously disappointing not to convert pole into a win, but we got a strong result for the team, and that’s what matters.’ Said Webber on the television, a pleasant smile on his perfect ass face. Fuck this. Fuck him. 

Sebastian turned the television off. He had had an amazing start, managing to pass Rosberg and his teammate before the first corner, leading the race basically in all of its laps. He had won fair and square on top of Webber, so he was hophoped for a more interesting comment than thatnted him to throw a tantrum or be proud, whichever sounded better for the Australian at that moment. But he had given him exactly what he knew would disappoint Seb most, a bland-ass answer. 

Apparently, it was Webber's new game. Now, he acted squeaky clean around Sebastian, as if stepping on glass, always polite, always that media-trained smile, never stepping one foot out of line. It drove Vettel insane. 

He wanted Webber to feel . Anything. He didn't care if it was fury, annoyance, or pure goddamned passion. But he needed the older driver to react back, to taunt him again. 

Sebastian Vettel had just won a GP and in all honesty, he couldn't care less. Just because Mark Webber had the audacity to pretend like they were nothing more than teammates to the press. Like they weren't at each other's throats at every opportunity.

Like he hadn't almost kissed him.  

Oh, he was fuming. But it was fine. Two could play that game. He would be so godammned polite, Mark would have been choking on his sugar-sweet smile. 

Sebastian had a really difficult choice to make then. He could either go look for his Australian asshole, or he could call Jenson to discuss the Australian asshole. And because he was really trying not to fall for the Australian asshole's antics, he chose the last option.

‘Did you even see that ?’ He squeaked as soon as Jenson picked up.

‘The man that just tripped on the street? Yeah? Wait, where are you?’ Jenson's voice was mixed with a lot of sounds, making it a bit hard for Sebastian to make out his words.

‘Home.’ He said it almost like a question. ‘And no, not the old man tripping, you devil.’

‘Why devil? I didn't even tell you I laughed.’ Sebastian didn't hold his laughter in.

‘You didn't have to.’

He could feel Jenson's annoyance from the other side of the phone coming in waves. ‘What do you mean home ? Did you fly back to Germany without me ?’

‘No, Button. Why would I? Like, fly with you in the first place.’

Sebastian was paying through his room, smiling slightly. ‘Because I'm a good flying companion.’

Vettel scoffed, ‘Last time we flew together you fucked the flight attendant in the bathroom just beside my seat.’

Laughter filled his ears, ‘Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the show.’ Vettel just sighed. Jenson could think whatever he wanted. ‘Why did you fly home anyway?’ The noises in the background just kept getting louder and louder, and Sebastian was almost sure that they were not, in fact, speaking English.

‘I didn't !’

‘But you just said you were home!’ Before Vettel could answer, a noise came from the other side of the line, interrupting their conversation for a moment. ‘Wait, Seb, gimme a sec.’ Soon after, ‘Okay, go ahead.’ 

‘I just meant the hotel, Button. I'm at the hotel.’ Sebastian wasn't very interested in discussing the scenario, but in order to express his aversion to his teammate in a very excited tone to his friend. 

‘Did you call it home?’ Jenson insisted, clearly not letting it slide. 

‘Yes?’

‘Well, then.’

‘Don't you call it home?’

‘To my hookups? Absolutely. To you? Not really.’ Seb giggled. Fair enough. ‘What do you want, anyway? Honestly, I'm a bit busy.’ To accentuate his words, Jenson yelled something out, following his words with an excited woo-hoo. Seb raised his brows, confused.

‘Dude, where are you?’

‘Bingo. So I don't have the time for your drama. Speak fast and speak now.’

Vettel sighed loudly. He wasn't going to ask. He really wasn't. ‘Did you hear what Webber said about my race?’ Jenson didn't say anything for a couple beats, before groaning ‘Jense?’ Vettel was starting to feel unsettled, walking around his room as if disorientated, Webber's words coming back to him until it was all he could hear. It made his chest expand in attempts at deep breaths. 

‘One second… Okay. No, I didn't. But it's fine I'm sure you memorized it anyway.’ Suddenly, Sebastian wasn't in the mood for Jenson's playful tone. He wanted someone to rage alongside him, and he was already aware he had chosen the wrong person. Button wasn't one to rage , but rather scold at everything when he got annoyed at something. Plus, he had already said a thousand times that he couldn't understand his relationship with his teammate. Vettel tried to explain that he didn't understand it either, but Burton had brushed him off, asking him to tell them both the truth or leave it be.

But what was even the truth? He didn't understand how he and Mark worked anymore, this was uncharted territory for them, unmarked land - pun absolutely not intended, but he kinda wished it was.

‘How dare you?’ 

‘ He said that? To you? In the press?’ Jenson's voice was high-pitched, surprised. ‘Fuck, man. What happened ?’

‘What? No. I meant how dare you say that about- Forget it. He said my start was great. And that it was only about managing the race .’ Vettel could feel his cheeks heating, his fist closing strongly on the phone, teeth biting his lower lip until he felt the metallic taste of blood. He was losing it. 

‘Yes…and?’

‘That's it.’ His voice was strained as if it took everything on him not to snap at Jenson. Fuck, he just needed to understand. He needed to talk to someone who would understand. And, yeah sure, perhaps that person was only Webber himself, and Vettel refused to go there. He still had it in him to act like nothing had happened - for at least another week. But Sebastian was who he had always been in that sense - bloody hell, how he hated being ignored. His public calm wouldn't last long. He needed to know someone would be there when it exploded, someone would be able to see it wasn't unprovoked.

‘Vettel, I'm sorry to tell you this but he was absolutely polite and fair about it. It's a standard answer when you lose a race to your teammate, man. Congrats, you bothered me for no reason. Bye now, I've got a bingo to win.’

He hung up. Vettel threw himself on his bed, pressed a pillow to his head, and groaned. Yeah, okay, standard answer his ass.

☆☆☆

Circuit De Barcelona-Catalunya, Spanish GP

May 2010

5th race of the season

Alonso was jumping up and down, spraying champagne all over him with excited laughter as his people yelled his name so proudly it was difficult to make out any other sound around. Mark was smiling brightly, the anthem of his country still reverberating inside him, making it impossible not to share the Spaniard's joy. 

Having Nando there alongside him on the podium made it easier for him to ignore the looming and imposing presence of his teammate, who smiled politely to the fans and waved at the people around the track, congratulating Webber in the most monotone of tones, a carefully crafted expression on his face. It bothered Mark. And he wasn't supposed to be bothered by Vettel anymore. Frankly, he wasn't supposed to feel anything surrounding the German at all, and yet he felt the absence of his gaze every second they stood there. 

He hoped, for the team's sake, that no one would catch up on the weird behavior between the two, mostly because he had no intention of explaining the reasoning behind it to Horner. Ever. 

He risked just one look at Vettel, he just needed one second, to remind himself why he hated the man, why he needed to stay away. Sebastian's eyes immediately felt the weight of his inspection, and they locked gazes for a moment. The sun shining above their heads made Vettel's dark blue eyes just the slightest bit brighter, and he couldn't help the absolute disgust that rushed through him. It was a nightmare, to even be standing close enough to Vettel that he only needed a couple of steps to be touching him.

Nando touched his shoulder blades, a quizzical look on his face. ‘Okay?’

Webber nodded. ‘Yes. Perfect, even.’ 

He let the Spaniard lead him off the podium.

☆☆☆

Schumacher was staring at him like he was quite insane. Perhaps it had happened, finally. Mark Webber had finally driven Sebastian out of his fucking mind with only one simple glance his way. 

He felt his entire body itching. Hurting. Burning. And he had to talk to someone right that second, otherwise, he was sure to walk up to Webber's room and rest his fists against the Australians face. Again and again and again, until they were both bloody and Mark had no choice but to fucking acknowledge him again.

‘I'm sorry.’ Said the older German, doing something somersault in Sebastian's chest. Hearing his native language always helped him calm down. The pressure of having to understand what you were feeling alone was too much, imagine it in another language. ‘Is this about Webber?’

Sebastian cocked his head, unsure of what Michael's tone meant. ‘Yes.’ It sounded more like a question, but Vettel tried not to look too deeply into it.

‘Sebastian, everyone knows something is going on there. Even the press is starting to pick up on it. Of course, he's making digs at you, are you going to pretend you're not doing the same?’ 

Seb shook his head, ‘No. I'm totally doing the same, but it's not the same thing. Ignoring this-’ he broke off because honestly, he had no precise word for what their relationship was at that point, ‘ this . That's his thing. He knows it gets under my skin.’

Schumacher laughed. ‘Kid. Everyone knows it gets under your skin. To be fair, we are all Formula One drivers, we want to win no matter the price and we want all eyes on us.’

Vettel was already shaking his head. ‘Not Mark. Not like this.’ Michael nodded carefully as if asking him to continue, ‘He doesn't care about the stuff I say, he's never been bothered by anything in his entire life.’

‘C'mon, Sebastian. You know that's not true. That man can hardly stand to be by your side without squirming away. He's bothered. Very much so.’

‘Then why won't he fucking talk to me?’ Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he had felt so strongly the urge to cry. He had so much frustration stuck in his throat.

What had he done wrong? One second, Mark was whispering in his ear and touching his cheeks, and in the next, it was like he was see-through. He could deal with Webber's hatred, he could deal with Webber's inconsistencies. But he could not bear being ignored like that.

Schumi stood over him, staring down a bit confused. ‘Does it matter?’ When Vettel nodded fervently, he repeated the same gesture back. ‘Okay. Then why don't you go talk to him? He's an okay dude, he'll talk to you if you're coherent enough about it. Bring him some champagne and congratulate him on his win. Truthfully, Seb. Not just because you want him to talk to you. He had a great drive today and we both know it. Perhaps don't act all high and mighty in front of him. Just… ask.’

And fuck him very much, that sounded like one hell of a plan. 

☆☆☆

Mark only opened the door because he was waiting for Alonso to show his face. After what seemed like forever of taking pictures and going to interviews, the Skaniard had disappeared in search of his family, without much words. Mark didn't resent him in the least, but he had to admit he was hoping for a more interesting evening than staying in his room watching reruns of Friends. 

When his eyes met the very familiar shade of blue that chased him in his dreams, Webber wanted to bang the door shut. Perhaps that was what Vettel was expecting him to do since he put his foot between the door and the threshold. The German was wearing a baggy t-shirt and washed-up jeans, looking anything but comfortable at that moment. It made Mark's heart throb a little.

‘I brought you champagne.’ Vettel offered, cocking his head to the side in a silent request.

Mark wanted to hit his head repeatedly against the wall until Sebastian disappeared or passed out from the pain. He was still considering it when Sebastian cleared his throat, a hopeful look on his face making Webber step aside. ‘Fine. Come in.’

He tried very hard to pretend that seeing Vettel look around his room didn't make his breathing fail. 

Because the brat didn't know how to be grateful, he said, ‘You're so sugar sweet Markie.’ With his accent, it drove Mark simply crazy. Perhaps this had been a mistake. But who was Mark trying to fool? He knew from the moment Sebastian blinked slowly at the opening door that it was a mistake - one he would make anyway.

‘Leave.’ But he didn't mean it and Sebastian could tell, only smirking up at him. ‘What do you want, Vettel.’

‘To talk. Just talk.’ The mood in the room was slowly shifting into something darker, and dangerous, as both drivers circled each other, Sebastian daring to get close while Webber stepped back as fast and casually as he could. 

‘Send a letter next time.’ Vettel laughed humourlessly. 

‘Why? So you can continue to ignore me? No, thank you.’ Without him noticing, Vettel had managed to back him against his bed, the back of his knees pressed on the comfortable mattress. He had nowhere to go when the younger driver approached this time, almost in slow motion. It was fascinating, watching Vettel that close. His perfect curls framed his chiseled cheeks, which burned in a pinkish color. His eyes flashed with a mix of annoyance and rage, making Mark's blood pump faster. Perhaps, one day, he would have Sebastian's face pointed and framed, and would call it the look of rage. The nostrils flaring, the fists opening and closing in a failed attempt to keep calm. Mark wanted to give him the small push that was missing. Yet, he shouldn't. ‘It's over now. Don't ignore me again.’ And fuck him if it didn’t make him want to laugh.

Sebastian Vettel was an amazing driver, there was no speculation on that, it was the truth plain and simple. But Mark was almost 10cm taller than the German, many years older, and not adorable at all. Vettel's face was so perfect it reminded Webber of an angel - if he ignored the demoniac behavior. And so his attempt to intimidate Webber into getting back to their antics was not, indeed, working.

‘I was not ignoring you mate. You're making shit up on your head.’ Sebastian was fuming . That was one hell of a victory gift. If Jenson had any involvement with his teammate's presence in his room, Webber promised himself he would finally accept Button's offer to play bingo together. Not that he would ever say it was for that. He was still trying to pretend not to care much about his younger teammate to whoever would listen. The press was eating it up, and we'll, apparently it was eating up Sebastian. So what if that gave him a thrill?

Sebastian snarled, unaware of what it did to Mark. ‘Don't fucking do this, Webber. I'm warning you right now. I'm not going there with you anymore. So stop fucking lying for a fucking second and look at me.’ 

‘I am looking at you.’ His voice was monotone since he was trying so hard to hide every single emotion flickering through him. Sebastian would bask in such knowledge and Webber was incapable of forgetting that they were rivals. Vettel wanted to win and would do anything to achieve the status of world champion. Fuck, so would he. Meaning he had no business letting on anything to his teammate. 

Vettel was shaking his head, the pretend calm he had arrived with forgotten by the door, he advanced in Webber's direction with such fury in his eyes. ‘No. Look at me like how you did on the podium. Like you can't stand me. Like you can't stop thinking about me.’ He would be lying if he had said it didn't take him by surprise. They had been dancing around the subject for so long by then that he thought Vettel was unaware of the situation. Surely someone like him wouldn't let this slide. Suddenly, though, he was calling Mark's bluff and the Australian had nowhere to run to. But oh, how he wanted to. So badly.

‘You drunk, Vettel?’ 

‘Yes. Maybe. Fuck, it doesn't matter.’ If he had it in him to worry about any other thing than Sebastian's proximity to him, Mark would've felt bad for the younger driver, the confusion in his voice, God, the hurt. ‘Webber. Please. ’ 

All he wanted was to scream. To push Vettel back. To make him promise to not come close again, never again, never again. He wanted to cry out and take out his own hair, he would've done anything to make Vettel disappear from his life. Giving up on everything just to get rid of the confusing feelings. ‘Could you not…’ He started, just to take a sharp breath when he touched his arm firmly. So the message was clear, Sebastian wasn't leaving. Great. Bloody perfect. ‘Vettel.’

Sebastian sighed. ‘I hate this, Mark. I hate whatever this is.’ It did something to him, to hear his name whispered like that. So tiredly, so hopelessly. 

‘And you think I like it? No, mate. I don't like it.’ He allows Sebastian's hand to roam freely over his body, exploring, delicate fingers tracing maps on him. He shudders. ‘But it has to be like this. It has to .’ 

‘No, it doesn't!’ Vettel snarled at him. 

‘Don't be a bloody spoiled brat, Sebastian. We cannot even look at each other without wanting to yell or taunt or hurt.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So it's better when I ignore you.’

Sebastian shook his head, astounded. ‘Better for who?’

Mark had the answer, they both did, so there was no reason for him to hide it. ‘Me. For me. And don't act like you would ever put me first in this when you're right here, right now. I don't want to fight you anymore, Vettel, anywhere but the track. It's done. This is what we are now. This is it. ’

Sebastian pushed him, nails digging deep into his chest. ‘Because you said it ?!’

‘Yes. Because I said it. 

In a moment, they're standing eye to eye, in the next, Vettel's fingers are gone from his chest and circling his neck, bringing his lips over it to bite sharply into Webber's flesh. Mark pushed him away forcefully, making the German stumble back a couple of steps. His neck burned where his teeth had bitten. ‘What in the bloody hell are you doing?’ 

‘Don't you ever ignore me again, Webber? I mean it. I don't care what you think is better for you, we are fucking teammates in this hellish sport and you will not act like I don't exist. You can bad mouth me to the press, you can yell and scream and cry, but you. Do. Not. Ignore. Me.’

‘You bloody bit me you savage!’ Mark was yelling, finally losing his temper. Something that looked so much like victory flashes in Sebasfians crazed eyes. 

‘Want me to kiss it better?’ 

Mark Webber never thought he would think such things, but thank God for Jenson Button and his partying habits, for he was sure he would have killed his teammate if a knock hadn't sounded at the door.

☆☆☆

His head was a mess. His heart was even worse, and yet, Jenson Button stood in front of him with a puzzled expression as if Sebastian was the one who shouldn't be there.

‘Wow, am I deja vuing right now?’ He asked, in a surprised tone laced with sarcasm. Vettel bit the inside of his cheeks to make sure he wasn't going to slap his friend for ruining his moment. He had been following Schumacher's advice to a T when Button had decided to rudely interrupt them. Sebastian had been this close to cracking Webber. 

‘No, you are deja leaving.’ Vettel's French wasn't good enough for many things, but fortunately, the joke did not fly above his head like it did Jenson’s. He held his chuckle in, though refusing to give Webber the satisfaction.

‘Funny. But really, weird feeling.’ Button gestured around them. 

‘It's the weed, Jense, not the deja vu.’ Sebastian murmured smugly, earning a happy giggle from his friend that made his heart beat a bit easier. Sometimes, when he stood too close to Webber, his heart rate got so high it felt like or was going to explode. Or simply cease. It felt good to go back to the normal rate again, although his chest still ached a bit from the effort of keeping very still.

He did not want to spook Webber, not when he was pretty sure the older driver hadn't yet realized he was brushing his hand up and down Sebastian's back. If he had sensed Vettel's desperation subconsciously, or if it was just another way to mess with him, it didn't matter, Sebastian only knew he never wanted him to stop.

Not ever.

‘Incorrect.’ Jenson announced proudly, making Sebastian's eyes snap back to his friend, ‘The weed only makes me hungry, so we're going out to chase’ 

Behind him, Vettel felt Webber's body rumble with laughter, and fuck him if it wasn't the best feeling in the world. ‘How the fuck do you get away with saying weird suits like this?’

Button yawned theatrically, pretending to be bored. ‘Honestly? Probably because I'm hot and rich. So. Let's?’

If he was being honest - and he had trying to be honest with himself, because Michael had said he couldn't expect other people's honesty when he couldn't offer the same -, he had no desire to move a single muscle, but he had been in Button's life for long enough to know when the British wouldn't drop the bone for nothing in this world. So it was better to give up sooner rather than later. Because they would have to give up at some point.

He had to respect Button for it though, even when it annoyed the shit out of him - after all, that was exactly how he had managed to snap the championship-winning only in the first half of the last season.

Throwing his hands up in a clear sign of defeat, he said, ‘Alright, fine, but you're paying for my food.’

However, Jenson appeared to be confused, looking between Sebastian and Webber with a questioning gaze. Mark's hand suddenly froze on Vettel's back. If Seb had to bet, he could say the older man had finally realized he had been caressing his teammate for the past ten minutes and so after claiming to completely despise him. ‘Who said anything about food?’ Jenson asked when he managed to drive his eyes away from where Wevber had been touching Vettel.

‘Fuck, Button. You're weird.’ If you stood close enough and paid enough attention, you could sense the restraint and carefulness of Webber's tone, scared to bring attention to his mistake. Even when he knew Button had already seen it. 

‘Ha, exactly. Thank you Webber for following. Fucking. That's where we're going. Like, right now. Unless you want to stay?’ And because he was still Jenson Button, even when he was trying to be discrete - Sebastian knew it was killing him to stay quiet about Webber's slip-up, and he was eternally grateful for the effort -, he winked charmingly.

‘What the fuck, man’ Seb murmured, trying to beg Jenson with his eyes to be cooler about it.

‘Fine! We can eat first. Eat-’ 

Webber jumped in front of Vettel, to put his hand on Jenson's mouth, muffling the words he was so set on getting out. ‘Don't even finish that joke.’ Mark took his hand away so fast it hit Vettel in the face. He groaned. ‘Did you just lick me ?’

‘Oh, but when Seb does it it's fine? This is favoritism Webber and I will not stand for it!’ It took a lot to shock a man like Sebastian Vettel, mostly because he was usually the one doing the stocking, and when he wasn't, he still hung around Button. Until that moment in time, he believed no words that came out of Jenson's mouth would have its desired effect of startling him when he had heard so much shit over the year. But that? Yes, that had done the job perfectly. Seeing both gaping months, Jenson giggled, proud of himself. ‘I'm joking, don't worry. I understand the favoritism, Markie. I've shared a fair amount of walls with Vettel, and if the moans are anything to go by, he is very good at it.’

Vettel could feel his body dying from the inside out. He had no smart comeback. He had no words when Mark Webber turned to look at him, wordlessly.

‘What.’

‘What do you mean ‘what'? I'm afraid you're gonna have to ask him if you wanna know the tactics, I know I did and-’ 

Webber interrupted him again, although this time keeping his hands closely fisted by his sides. ‘Stop. Just, please, stop.’

Button laughed joyfully. ‘Alright, Mark. I won't finish the sentence if you lie to me right now and tell me you weren't kissing in there.’ The British driver cocks his head in the direction of Mark's room.

Webber, seemingly tired of his shit, sighed. ‘We were not kissing in there, mate. You know this.’

Jenson gasps, putting a show for the totality of no one. ‘I hope you didn't like these pants. Because they're on fire, you liar!’ Then he dissolved in a fit of giggles.

‘Dude, what are you on?’ Seb asked.

‘Happiness. And a shitton of alcohol.’ He turned his body roughly in Mark's direction. ‘You won.’

‘Perceptive, aren't you, Sherlock?’

Scoffing, Jenson answered, ‘Don't call me by my first name, don't you know that's rude? You can only do that to people you're basically hooking up with. It's common knowledge, Markie.’ When the Australian opened his mouth to talk, Button was quicker, ‘Ah ah. No. You don't speak, we had already established that. Didn't we, Vettel?’

‘We absolutely did.’ Sebastian was starting to feel better. It might've been the gulps of champagne he had been taking from now and then every time Jenson said something particularly stupid - which meant he was drinking a lot -, or just sheer joy from bothering Mark once again after so many days without wrenching any reaction from the man.

‘Good. Knew you weren't much of a talker in bed.’ Jenson concluded, happily. 

Webber froze, ‘Wait, what?’ He said, at the same time Vettel agreed, ‘He's genuinely not.’

Seeing that Sebastian was in on the joke finally, Button seemed to tire of it immediately, changing the subject back to what he had come to do, ‘So, we're going to celebrate tonight. Alonso is already on his way, don't worry about it, Markie. You can do your weird bromance thing if you feel like it. Kissing in the bathroom stalls and holding hands under the table.

‘What has gotten into you?’ Wondered Mark, voice so low behind him it gave Sebastian chills all the way down his spine.

‘I'm prophetic. Did I never tell you that?’ Sebastian had to fight hard not to let a chuckle escape, not when Jenson seemed so comfortable in his fake beliefs. Let Webber figure out how Button worked, he refused to be any help whatsoever. 

Truly, falling back into the familiar pattern of spatting and joking with his friend was probably what was keeping him from locking Mark's door and not allowing him to leave until he explained word for word, detail for detail what the actual tuck he thought he was doing with Sebastian. Because it was getting embarrassing how long he kept thinking of the Australian in any given situation.

‘Yeah alright. Who's winning the championship this year, then?’

His friend gestured around, eyes rolling back in perfect synchrony with Sebastian’s, ‘Don't ask me unimportant shit, Vettel, you know better.’

‘Unimportant sh-’ He was about to question, just to be rudely stopped by him, using his hands once again to silence Seb.

‘Ask me what you sincerely want to know.’ Since he is an impatient shit, Jenson is already leaning his way, pulling slightly away from Webber's looming presence behind them to whisper words in his ears. ‘You guys want to fuck so bad it's embarrassing.’

His whole face alighted in a matter of milliseconds as he cursed his friend away from him.

Proudly, he announced, ‘Uh huh. I'm not actually prophetic though, I'm just not stupid.’

‘Don't lie to yourself, Jense. It's unbecoming’

Behind Sebastian, Webber's presence became once again suffocating, ceasing every other sensation in Vettel's body not related to the man. He only felt his hands moving slightly even without having to look, he felt every single one of Mark's movements when he wasn't even close to brushing them against his skin. It made his stomach curl, his head spin, and his hands fist. ‘Do you only know that word?’ By that point, the Australian's voice murmuring close to his ear wasn't supposed to make him shiver like he did, it was truly embarrassing. But Sebastian was nothing if not a shit stirrer and he used such abilities to his will. 

‘No, actually. I know some others. Like Please, and Sorry and,’ he turned around them, not wishing to continuously stare into Jenson's content expression, ‘ Go fuck yourself. ’

Mark's eyes melted. Sebadfisn felt stupid for noticing, yet it was just in front of him. The greenish color mixed with burning hatred turned them into a very interesting tone, one he wished he had more time to analyze.

‘Never heard any of those, except for the last one, really. Don't kid yourself, if that was a dig at me, you are losing your touch, Vettel. I never once saw you being polite.’

‘We'll discuss polite when you're on your hands and knees, asshole.’

So Webber laughed, unbothered. ‘I think it funny that you honestly believe this will work with me.’

Sebastian's expression morphed into an innocent smile. ‘Not even if I say ‘please’, pumpkin?’

‘Not even if you're the one on your knee,s Vettel. Now, stop playing your flirty games with me, and go find someone who will truthfully want to play.’ It stung. However, Seb was already too used to Mark's harsh tone to let it show on his face. And anyway, this was better than being ignored. 

‘He has a point, you know?’ Jenson murmured, making Sebastian scold.

‘Thank you, Button.’ Mark said, pleased.

Jenson shushed him so quickly it made a surprise laugh escape Sebastian. ‘Don't talk to me, you asshole. I already know you're gonna push me against the wall in the next race. My prophetic senses are telling me.’

‘Sure, race . Don't pretend you don't want to be pushed by Webber against the wall right now’ the German somehow found himself saying. Goddamn Jenson Button, for always bringing out his most immature self.

‘You projecting, Vettel? Let me just tell you, that's unbecoming.’

Sebastian rolled his eyes. ‘How about I unbecome your face with my fist?’

‘How about I kick you in the groin?’

‘Oh, how about you shut the fuck up before I knock you out?’ 

Walking towards them with a puzzled expression was Lewis, stopping just beside Webber before whispering, ‘Are they fighting again?’

Mark, who also stood close and observed the scene as if it was two animals fighting in a zoo, said, ‘I don't know. I really don't.’

Humming, Lewis said, ‘Sometimes I wish they would just hook up and get it over with already.’ Vettel, too worried about dodging Button's hands, didn't pay much attention to Hamilton at all. At the end of the day, he and Jenson had been fighting the gay allegations for longer than he cared to remember. 

‘Hm.’ Came Webber's answer. Sebastian wished Jenson would stop jumping around so he could pay closer attention to the conversation between both of their teammates. 

Thankfully, Lewis must have felt his despair, because he quickly stood between them, saying, ‘Okay kids. We're leaving. No more booze for any of you.’ He grabbed the champagne bottle from Vettel's grip, and he was still so glad, that he didn't even fight it ‘Where's Nando?’ Lewis asked, this time turned to Webber, who shrugged vaguely.

‘I'm not his keeper mate. Don't know.’ For some reason, his answer made Sebastian incredibly radiant, a dazzling smile comfortably resting on his face. 

‘Lie to yourself if you must.’ Lewis indicated Sebastian with the bottle, adding ‘At least your sidekick was already here.’

‘How do you even know that?’ 

Nodding in Jenson's direction, Hamilton revealed ‘We heard you spatting from down the hall.’ Pure and blinking joy took hold of him when he saw Webber's cheeks taint with red. It was so absolutely satisfying, that he had to bite down on his tongue not to point out the red bruise on Webber's neck. So everyone would know . 

Clearing his throat, Mark claimed ‘He's not my sidekick though. The closer he gets to it is simply kicking my side.’ So funny. So incredibly funny seeing Mark so flushed he was tripping on his own words. Lewis was staring at him like he was insane, he had completely lost his mind, kindly tapping him on the back.

The ambiance was so awkward that Sebastian wanted to laugh. Jenson held no wish back and chuckled freely. ‘Are you gonna start up your comedy show soon Webber? Because I'm afraid the tomatoes are too expensive currently to waste them throwing at you.’

Trying to banish the red in his cheeks and the awkwardness in his voice away, Mark murmured, ‘You're a millionaire, mate.’

Button gasped. ‘And what if I wasn't? You inconsiderate shit!’ Alright, so perhaps Sebastian had allowed his friend to take some gulps of the Champagne when no one else was looking. But what type of friend would he be when he was having fun and drinking while Jenson stared at him with those damned puppy eyes.

Lewis stared quietly for a second. Then, ‘What.’ It was hardly a question, indeed.

‘They're drunk.’ Mark pointed out.

‘You don't say.’

‘Let's just go then. Cmon. Let's go.’ He grabbed Sebastian by his arm and he could barely contain his happiness. Yes. He might not even realize it, but for Seb, it was evident that the older man could barely keep himself from being close to him. After so many days of acting like Sebastian was barely there, Madk was finally back where Seb wanted him, fighting and flirting- even if Mark would never call it that.

But Sebastian was drunk and happy, with his teammate's hands all over him, so he would call it whatever he wanted to call it, without worrying too much. The next morning he could take back every single impure thought him, but the sunrise was hours away.

Since he was in too good of a mood, Alonso strolled down the hallway, black jeans hanging low on his hips making Sebastian stomp his foot at the Spaniard look at me attitude. Who the fuck even dressed like that?

Of course, the first thing he said was directed at Mark, who retreated his hand from Vettel's arm so fast Sebastian barely felt it ‘Webber, I see you thought about what we talked about.’ He looked pointedly at Mark's neck, who brought his palm and pressed against the bruise. Alonso's eyes met Sebastian's. He didn't waste any time smiling slowly, almost daring Fernando to say anything. 

‘Shall we?’ Mark didn't wait for anyone to answer, practically running away.

☆☆☆

Webber was not looking. He was not looking . Absolutely not. Never. His eyes were anywhere but at Vettel. Really. Honestly. He wasn't going to look. Because he didn't want to look. He had no business looking. Not when the younger driver was moving his hips in a very impressive way. Not when Jenson Button was cheering him on from the sideline, expression lax. 

It didn't take long until both drivers were dancing together, yelling lyrics Mark was sure he had never before heard at each other's ears. Why did they have to act like that? Worse yet, in public.

They knew what the press said about their friendship. Even Mark was starting to believe it. There was no other explanation for the way they were dancing. 

But, anyway, Mark wasn't looking so. It didn't matter.

Chapter Text

Circuit de Monaco, Monaco

May 2010

6th race of the season 

‘I've got some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Never wanted love

Just a fancy car’ 

- cowboy like me, Taylor Swift

Four safety cars. Four. Mark managed to start over again and keep his lead in every single one of them, keeping every single car behind for the totality of the Grand Prix. In Monaco nonetheless. Very little things felt as good as this: the rush of the adrenaline in his blood, the rapid breathing. It reminded him a lot of being in love. Not that Webber had ever been in unadulterated and genuine love, not like this. Nothing had ever compared to the feeling of driving your car through the finish line before any of the other drivers. Pure ecstasy flew through his veins when the last Safety Car left the track and he finally crossed the finish line with Vettel behind him. There was no doubt, he had given his team an amazing drive.

Two races in a roll. Two. Back-to-back victories, just like that. The car was flying on every single one of the tracks, and every time he managed to finish in front of his teammate was just a bonus ‘fuck you’ to every single one of the people who questioned his place behind the wheel of a winning car.

The Australian anthem was playing, and although the fans were screaming so much the ground shook, it was the only thing he could hear. 

He showered his team with champagne.

What a great day. 

☆☆☆ 

Co-leading the championship. Tied in the first position. The two of them, both with 78 points. Just there, side by side on that podium. Red Bull had their fair share of points in front of Ferrari, people were screaming and celebrating, and Sebastian Vettel was leading the driver’s championship.

He was leading the championship .

Beside Mark Webber.

Sebastian looked up to the sky, tasting the champagne still on his lips, and smiled. He couldn’t remember feeling this happy after not winning a GP. 

Somehow, Webber found him, putting his arm behind his back and returning Sebastian’s smile. ‘Not bad, Markie.’

‘Right back at you, kid.’

Whenever Sebastian looked back to these times, this was one of his favorite memories, when he and Webber had their fight and tension already but hadn’t yet taken so much out on each other that they had it in themselves to share the happiness of the moment. Right before they fell into the path of hurting and never letting go. He wished he could talk to his younger self and explain that, sometimes, it was better to let it go.

If he had let slide his need to spend that evening with Webber, perhaps what was to come never would’ve happened, or simply wouldn’t have hurt as much.

He supposed he would never know. 

☆☆☆

The weight of Sebastian’s body against his made him stumble forward just a bit, fortunately not enough to push him over the edge and directly into was certainly very cold water. Webber managed to step away from Vettel fast enough that the German didn’t have time to stop his own body from falling and splashing water all over the reporters behind Mark.

He laughed - he simply couldn’t help it anymore.

It felt so strange to share such joys with Sebastian Vettel, just like that, pushing each other into celebratory swims, cold hands and hot breaths mixing, Sebastian was pushing him in in in, and god, Mark really didn’t want to, still too scared to stay that close to his demon of a teammate.

He should’ve already learned, though, that what Vettel wanted, Vettel got. Soon after, they were swimming together. It tasted like champagne, salt water, and bliss. Even a bit of sunshine - if he focused enough on Sebastian’s face and laughter.

Mark was almost sure to be sentenced to yearn for that sound again for the rest of his days, just Vettel, laughing to him , water running down his perfect cheeks, blue eyes the same color as the ocean, laughing laughing laughing, holding Mark close and laughing .

He remembered thinking he had never seen anyone so intent on happiness, no one knew how to smile like Sebastian Vettel, and Webber was tired of even trying to find someone else who could laugh like that. Who could rage and yell just to smile so honestly the next week, who had fought him tooth and nail just the last week and then was pressing both hands on Mark’s face, cold cold hands, pushing Webber’s hair out of his eyes, delight dancing on his face. He blinked, fast, just for a moment, and Mark wanted to beg him to open his eyes back up, he wanted to keep observing such pure joy, he wanted to memorize it forever.

‘Leading the championship, man.’ Sebastian murmured right next to his ear, shivers upon shivers. God, the water was colder than he had expected it to be in May. Mark wasn’t sure if he was talking about the Constructor’s or the Driver’s, knowing Vettel, it could very well be either.

Because it was true, they were leading the championship. One they could win together, while the other…But it wasn’t like that at that moment, not when Sebastian had both hands grasping Webber’s fireproof, not then . There were a few moments where Mark Webber and Sebastian Vettel weren’t rivals in first place and teammates in second, but that was one of them.

In Monaco, that year, well, it seemed for the first time in so long - and last time ever - that they were both in the same team - and not in completely different worlds. Mark had the breathtaking impression that he needed to keep that, grab Sebastian and pull him closer, that those smiles would soon disappear when the Championship advanced and he would never again have the privilege of witnessing that laughter.

It was addicting, Webber couldn’t look away. Shudders every time he heard it again, echoing all over his body. ‘Do it again,’ he found himself begging. Sebastian gazed at him, nose to nose for the first time, with a questioning look. ‘Laugh just one more time for me, Sebastian.’

But he didn’t, instead a pink flush crept on his cheeks. ‘Don’t say shit like that, Webber.’ Mark giggled at his tone. He was just that happy. It clearly took Sebastian by surprise, since he swam just a small bit away to have a clearer view of Mark’s expression. ‘I don’t think I ever saw you this happy.’

‘I don’t think I ever seen you this happy, Mark.’

‘I don’t think I ever been this happy, Sebastian.’

☆☆☆

‘No. Nu-uh. No way.’ Sebastian was peeking up at Webber with a mischievous grin on his face. The Australian just shook his head again, biting his lower lip - Seb scolded himself for noticing -, before holding Sebastian back. ‘No, Seb. No.’

‘Please?’ He tried. Mark cursed.

The afternoon sun was right above their heads, sunlight inching its way into Webber’s dark curls, making him seem less like the dark, brooding asshole he tried to pretend to be. It was a pretty sight, Sebastian had to admit. A grinning Mark Webber was sure to outshine a laughing Sebastian Vettel any day of the week, just because his happiness was that much more special for some reason.

He was so guarded around Sebastian, constantly weighing his words - unless when they were arguing, then he was the first to get out of the rails… Okay, so perhaps that wasn’t true at all, perhaps it was Sebastian himself that did that, but still, Webber could be very mean with his words -, nearly scared of them. Of Sebastian. So to see him standing there, just so close, smiling, goddamit, it felt too good.

Great, even. Sebastian didn’t want it to end. He wanted to hold Webber hostage until he promised - promised - they could forever be like this. This happy, this close. There had been signs since the beginning condemning both drivers to never be nothing to each other, there would never be a void between them, they simply couldn’t handle such emptiness. Sebastian wanted someone in his life who could accompany him from beginning to end, who could fight alongside him and fight him, someone so intent on staying that nothing he ever said could make them leave.

And Mark Webber had stayed. Through their harsh disagreements, arguments, hands in throats, and heated discussions in bathrooms, Webber had stayed, had talked to him again and again, had sprayed champagne, and allowed them to be close by.

Perhaps what Sebastian needed was a friend, someone who knew his worst and still managed to talk to him the next day. He adored Button, but they were too deeply aware of their limits to spend their worst moments together. 

Some could say that Webber didn’t have a choice in dealing with Sebastian, but Vettel decided to believe that to be a lie. He could enforce an absolute professional relationship, and yet they only found themselves stuck together repeatedly. No one could convince him of coincidences. 

‘I’m not doing it. Where’s Jenson? He likes stupid ideas.’

‘He’s currently sulking in his hotel room, so unless you are ready to comfort him - don’t look at me like that, Webber, you know the man! -, he won’t be coming out to play any time soon.’

‘Fernando?’

‘Not his biggest fan. And, also probably sulking.’ Seeing his teammate’s careful expression made him insist, ‘C'mon, Webber. It’s just a car.’ They stopped to stare at the magnificent creation in front of them, eyes almost glued to the glass, mouths slightly agape. The exclusive Renault Mégane R26.R stared back, Vettel could swear it was smiling at them.

‘Don’t say that! It might hear you.’

Vettel nodded, mesmerized. ‘Yeah. Sorry. It’s beautiful.’

‘Fuck. It’s gorgeous.’ Mark agreed.

‘Don’t you want it? Not even a little bit? Look at it, Mark. Look ! It’s ravishing.’ It was beautiful enough to make Sebastian use words such as ravishing without having to think twice.

‘I am looking. But we shouldn’t.’ Webber stopped gaping up at the car to lock eyes with his teammate, before sighing, ‘We shouldn’t, Seb. But we are going to.’

Vettel’s surprised laughter quickly turned into an excited squeak as Webber entered the store. Fuck yes.

☆☆☆

The wind blew through the open window as Mark Webber drove his new car in downtown Monaco. When people think about Formula One, they think about fast cars and Monaco, surely, but they have never been in a fast car in Monaco after winning the race alongside his teammate, with salt water drying his hair in weird directions, laughter bubbling out of him like expensive champagne.

No one, no one knew how it felt to be there in that exact moment except for Sebastian and him. He could hear the ecstatic shouts of his teammate as they accelerated through the old streets together.

Mark hoped it would last forever - even when he wasn’t naive enough to believe it would. That was Sebastian. Mark Webber always expected the next storm to hit. And God, hit it would.

☆☆☆

‘A toast!’ Announced Jenson later that night, holding an actual flute of champagne and pointing it to the ceiling, while Seb stared blankly at himself in the mirror, wondering once again who had been the asshole who invented suits. Sebastian wanted to ask him what the hell was he doing in his room and how had he gotten in, but he was still reeling from the afternoon with Webber, so he merely shrugged and grabbed the flute from his friend’s hand. His shiny new car was parked in the hotel garage right beside Webber’s and it certainly didn't mean a thing, but didn’t it? Only thinking about it made him giddy. 

Then, thinking about his afternoon, the suit didn’t seem half as bad. He stepped back to see his reflection better before stealing a glance at Jenson, who stood proudly, perfect in that bloody suit. Sebastian just looked stupid.

‘To…?’ Seb finally said, raising his glass alongside Button, too delighted not to indulge in his friend’s jokes, trying not to compare himself too much when Jenson was the famous ladies man who dressed to impress on those types of events - when Vettel went for the booze and because he was kinda obliged to. 

‘Not me, that’s for sure.’ Jenson groaned dramatically. After a DNF right at the beginning of the race, he had had enough time to moan and groan ‘til he had inevitably found his way into Sebastian’s room.

‘Cheers to that.’ Button grimaced, annoyed, making the champagne taste just sweeter. ‘How did you manage to get in here, though?’

Button hummed while he swallowed the whole glass in one gulp. ‘Not important.’ Vettel could argue otherwise, ‘We’re leaving for the gala. And then, for the nightclub.’

‘Is that all you do? Party?’ Sebastian asked as he buttoned up his shirt. No tie, of course. 

‘No, I also win championships, which you don’t, so. Stop fussing, Vettel, and let’s go.’ When Sebastian continued to play with his clothes, he added, ‘You look just spiffing. Now. Go ahead.’

Sebastian wasn’t exactly sure what ‘spiffing’ meant, or if it was even a compliment, but he sensed he wouldn’t feel comfortable no matter how much he tried to fix the stupid suit. He gave up then, following Jenson out of the room, taking his keys a second before Button slammed the door close. ‘Hey! Dude.’

‘Not sorry. Let’s go, Nando is waiting.’ Sebastian groaned loudly. ‘Mate, what did you think was going to happen? Webber wins in Monaco and you thought he wouldn’t attend the obligatory gala before partying with us?’

‘Not Mark. Alonso. I’m afraid he’s not my biggest friend.’ But Jenson was already grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, not hearing any other words that came out of Sebastian’s mouth.

‘ Mark is it?’

‘Don’t Jense. Not today, okay?’

Jenson threw his hands up and put on the most innocent expression. ‘Not today, understood. But you are buying me coffee tomorrow morning. Nay, scratch that. You are bringing me coffee tomorrow afternoon because I plan on being too hungover to walk.’

Vettel shrugged, knowing that if he did appear the next day searching for Button, he would be met by a closed door and an annoyed British man probably only in his underwear. And although surely that was a kink for some people, Vettel was nearly sure he preferred Australians anyway.

‘Webber agreed to this, has he?’ He asked finally, as the elevator slowly took them to the first floor. 

‘Bringing me a coffee? Are you kidding me, he would smack me if I even suggested it.’ Sebastian chuckled. Yeah. Yeah, he would. 

‘No, I meant partying after the gala. Are you sure he knows how to do that? Last time, I’m pretty sure he just stood there watching us with an annoyed expression before leaving at one in the morning. No goodbyes, no nothing.’

‘Why do you care so much? Did you cry about it to your mum on the phone, Vettel? Oh, wait, no, you call me to bitch about Webber, not Mummy dearest. Listen, Seb. I love you, I really do. But this hot and cold thing is getting old.’

‘Trust me, Button, I know. It’s not a lifestyle choice.’

Jenson smiled, ‘You don’t say. With the way you follow him around now, it is kinda hard to see the stick up your ass. But I see it, Vettel. I. See. It.’

‘Um. Okay?’

‘Perfect. Glad we agreed. Let’s go now,’ he held the elevator door open for Sebastian, whispering, ‘Ladies first,’ after the German had passed him, earning himself a smack on the head.

☆☆☆

Mark had heard multiple people in his life say stupid things, but the saying that you can feel someone's eyes roaming your body? He had completely laughed it off, because there was absolutely no way, right? How could someone even know when the other person was looking? And feel it ? Cmon, everyone knew it was utter bullshit.

Well, he had believed it to be, until Sebastian entered the room. To be fair, many of the things he thought impossible before meeting his teammate were quickly proven wrong by the brat himself, but this one was indeed unexpected. Because, bloody hell, it was true. Just like swimming around and feeling the water move to embrace your body perfectly, Vettel's eyes followed his movements to perfection, the cock of his head, the twitch of his left hand, the breathy laugh Nando got out of him. 

Since the moment they had arrived, Mark had tripped twice, choked on three different beverages, eaten something, surely - although he could not remember what it was, even less the taste of it - and bit the inside of his cheeks one too many times. 

He was being quite literally watched, and goddammit, it was not fun. Even from across the room, Webber was sure he could see the perfect shade of blue from Sebastian's eyes taunting him, he could feel the cheeky smile - and it did things to hum.

Fernando was talking. Fuck. Fernando had been talking for God only knew how long, yet Webber could tell you nothing of what he had said. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes, you want me to slap you right now?’ Alonso asked, his thick accent not helping Webber understand him when he was so focused on not focusing on the intent glare on his back. ‘No?’ He said then.

‘Did you drink too much, hombre ?’ 

‘I– Uh. No. No, I'm sorry. I was just distracted.’

Fernando nodded knowingly, it was incredibly disruptive, ‘Yes. Distracted by that teammate of yours, huh?’ 

‘No. I– Yes. I mean, no. Fuck, yes, maybe. Yes.’ By the time Webber managed to string the questionable sentence along, Fernando was already laughing - Mark was almost sure even that he did with an accent. ‘Can you feel his gaze too?’

Nando stared at him quietly, obviously unsure of what to say next. ‘ ¿Cómo? Feel his gaze? Perdón, I think I misunderstand.’ Fernando was the only person he knew capable of not understanding a basic concept and using the word ‘misunderstand’ so casually. That might have been a bit mean, now that he thought about it, Alonso had made it clear his English was not his priority when he had more championships to win, and Mark respected that point of view too much to ever make a joke about it. But sometimes, when he was stressed, he wanted to shake his friend until he made a bit more sense. 

Mark sighed. ‘Nothing. Forget it. It's just something that he does.’

‘You seem to know a lot about what he does or doesn't do, Mark. Why is that?’

Webber groaned, ‘Because he's always following me!’

‘And you're always looking back to make sure he's still there. Ha!’ His friend said, making him jump back. ‘Just like you were about to do right now.’ Webber might have complained about Sebastian's stubbornness, yet he felt just as reckless at that moment, not wanting to hear Alonso's words in the slightest.

If they were true or not, what did it matter? Sebastian was still following and he could be damn happy about it if he wished to, and no one could say a thing after the hell that damn blond had made out of his life. 

The burning sensation of being watched didn't leave him when he stumped away from Fernando, although the glance became certainly calmer, making it easier for Webber to kove around. He could still hear Nando's laughter ringing in his ears, mocking his childlike behavior. Mark was trying very hard not to care, but there were too many things to care about. 

And he had been trying for too bloody long. Trying not to react to Vettel's digs, trying not to watch his every step as if the German was a number one threat to his mere existence, trying not to feel out of breath when Sebastian skipped his way over to Mark to murmur indecent things, trying to be calm, cool and collected in front of the press, and trying very hard not to come back to where Fernando was still laughing and kick him in the groin.

It was too much trying for too little reward. He was starting to wonder if it was even worth it. He didn’t need to deal with Sebastian’s bullshit - he was just founding out that he might just want to.

And God, what a terrible discovery that was. It ate his insides, made his breaths come out shorter, and his head spin. He wasn’t good at trusting, and he wasn’t good at wanting. Webber had been so self-sufficient his whole life, a career requirement for sure. He traveled for nearly the entire year by himself, had all the closest people to him as his rivals, and no one he could actually trust. His team could - and would if needed - get rid of him in the blink of an eye, his friends could become his biggest rival in the matter of two races, and information shared was information out, which could only negatively impact his driving.

This was Formula One. He knew what he was there for, he knew what he had promised his team, he knew what he had to do, and, most importantly, he knew what he wanted; to win. The second he didn’t deliver, he was out. And the second Vettel delivered in his place…well. It was obvious, wasn’t it? 

It didn’t matter that the German made him laugh and it did not matter how much he wanted to trust him. Sebastian was there to win, and so was he. But there could just be one winner, couldn’t it?

☆☆☆

‘You said he would be here!’ Sebastian complained to Button, who simply pretended not to hear shit as they entered the nightclub, hand theatrically in his ear, a slow grin appearing when Sebastian repeated his sentence three times in a row. His shirt was already opened and he held the hand of a gorgeous brunette. Truly, how the hell was he so fast at those things? Vettel could've been impressed if he wasn't so utterly pissed at his friend’s bald-faced lie. Because, really, how dared he? Misinformation was a real issue in modern society and Jenson did not seem to realize its danger. 

‘I thought he would be here’ Defended Jenson, although not very enthusiastically, causing Vettel to be wary of his truthfulness. ‘My bad. At least you can be happy now, be free little Spiderman.’ Seb wasn’t very good at English or anything, but he was still pretty sure that was not how the saying went. However, who knew, really, and, more importantly, who cared? He had a serious manner in his hands to solve, and Jenson was not acting as if he cared in the least about Sebastian’s problem. By problem, he meant the disappearance of his target of the night, who would he bother then? Button was no fun, Alonso hated his huts and Lewis was already calling his girlfriend in the corner of the room. ‘Or whatever the saying is. Go roam around now.’ If his words weren't enough to push Sebastian to wander away, the way Jenson started kissing that girl and pushing her against the wall would have been. He had shared some insanely weird mments with the other driver, but that one? Nope, he could enjoy it all on his own.

Sebastian would remember, though. This betrayal. 

Before he could even register what he was doing, Sebastian had his phone out and pressed on his ear. Calling Mark Webber when they could not be trusted to stay in the same room without severe consequences - Sebastian was nearly sure he had bitten him the last time they were behind closed doors, and although it had been severely graceless of him, he had no regrets regarding his attitude that day whatsoever, Webber had gotten what was coming for him for ignoring Sebastian for so long - was a bad idea, but he had no one to interfere and was feeling a bit reckless.

‘Hello?’ Said Mark's voice on the other side of the line. Sebastian wanted to giggle.

‘Hi, Markie. Why aren't you here?’

‘Vettel? Mate, I can't hear shit. Where the fuck are you?’

Before leaving the nightclub and going into the pleasurably warm Monegasque night, Sebastian checked to see where his friend was, just to be met by the vision of Jenson Button practically devouring the mouth of the girl from earlier.

‘Out.’

Mark’a voice was deeper than normal, making Sebasfian giddy with the idea that he was currently in bed. ‘Out.’ He repeated, before yawning.

‘Yes. Out.’

‘Alright…Is everything okay?’

Sebastian hummed in agreement. The win picked up, making his hair fly in front of his eyes. He groaned, pushing his fingers through the curls. Goddamit, the chance of him looking like a mess when Webber inevitably came to see what was up was suddenly very high. ‘Where are you?’ His accent was so strong in that sentence, probably because he was fighting the wind and was not precisely worried about sounding comprehensible. He cringed. Fuck, everything was going to shit. He was supposed to sound mysterious and appealing, not like a random kid who could barely speak broken English. 

Someone choke him, please. And by someone, fuck, he frankly meant Webber. 

‘At the Hotel,’ Webber took a deep breath, ‘Sebastian, listen.’ He tried to pretend hearing his name like that was doing nothing to him, but oh god, it was indeed messing him up, wasn't it? For over a year by that point, he had had Webber close enough to touch, close enough to yell at, but Sebastian was finally aware of how much he yearned for that attention. Finally aware of how much his teammate affected him - and how much he wouldn't let the opportunities run away anymore. ‘What do you need? I was nearly asleep and would like to go back to it soon, so.’

‘Come down here. Let's talk.’

Webber laughed bitterly. ‘Last time you wanted to talk to me, I walked out of that room with a bruise on my neck, Vettel. Not a chance, mate.’

Sebastian smiled despite himself. The memory was, undoubtedly, one of his favorites regarding his teammate. ‘It's not funny. I had to buy bloody make-up so the others wouldn't pester me with weird questions - Sebastian!’ Webber yelled in his ear while Vettel laughed openly. He hadn't thought much about the consequences of his actions - because when did he ever, truly -, but now that Webber mentioned it, he had noticed some weird glances directed at Webber in the club the week before. 

‘Don't expect me to say I'm sorry, Webber. I'm not.’

‘No shit. I'm not talking to you again, Vettel. I don't know what exactly yells naive in my face to you, but there's no way I'm falling for this.’

Vettel nodded, resigned, ‘Then just come here. We'll be in public. C'mon, don't be old and boring.’

‘Go play with Jenson, Sebastian. I'm tired. Goodnight.’ Play with Jenson? What the actual fuck? Webber still thought of him as a fucking kid, great. Perfection. 

The girl who stood beside him on the sidewalk squeaked and jumped away when he sighed dramatically. He would have to take matters into his own hands, then. Turning on his heels, he made his way back into the club, taking a deep breath before sing-songing ‘Alonsoooo!’

☆☆☆

‘I will pay you. Please, please, Webber. Come get your devilish blond. I am begging you. ’ 

When the phone rang again, Mark was sure not to pick up. He knew Sebastian Vettel wasn't known for giving up on things he wanted, and after the gala and the intense glances, well, it was clear he wanted something . And that he wanted it badly. But he refused to waste too many hours thinking about it. Or any hours at all. Or any second. He wasn't thinking about Sebastian. Actually, he was so good at not thinking about Sebastian, that he only dreamt about him - and he did so every night. 

It was infuriating and frustrating, and although it was mostly set in many podiums they shared together or replaying their most torrid fights, he was more than ready to have one good night of sleep.

So when he got woken up by another one of those dreams with his phone intensely ringing in his ears, he was merely glad. Sentiment that persisted when it was Nando's name on the screen and not his teammate's. He picked up. And then immediately regretted it.

‘No. No. Nando, man, what the fuck. No!’ He wanted to rage and hang up, but something was holding him back. By something, he meant the inhibitions he was supposed to have that disappeared whenever Vettel was involved. 

‘Mark, cabron. Por favor. He won't leave me alone. It's been hours. Just come and grab him. I'll owe you one.’

‘You'll owe me til the day that I die.’

‘Fine. Just please. Come fast.’

☆☆☆

Sebastian smiled brightly at the Spaniard, rather not interested in acknowledging the scoff he was gifted with, he was happy with his accomplishments - Mark was coming down from his room to see him. ‘Thank you, Nando .’ Mocking Webber’s accent was so second nature to Sebastian that the other man didn’t even need to be in the room for him to do it. Sometimes, when he was talking to Jenson, he would let a ‘ mate ’ slip out, resulting in a puzzled Button - which only made it funnier. 

Alonso scolded. ‘Just leave me alone, now.’

Sebastian skipped happily away, standing by the door waiting for the annoyed Australian to make an appearance. When he finally did, Vettel jumped up. ‘Markie. Fancy meeting you here.’

Webber rolled his eyes. ‘Let's go. We're going. Right now, Vettel. And I am not carrying your drunk ass back to the hotel.’

Sebastian scoffed, ‘I'm not drunk.’ When Webber stared doubly at him, he said, ‘Just happy. So happy, Markie. Take me home.’

‘Stop calling me that.’

‘Sorry, pumpkin. But we're in public, I can't call you what I want to call you here.’

‘Stop flirting with me, Sebastian. It's not funny.’ Stop stop stop, always stop, never go ahead, Sebastian, never please keep going Seb, never You're doing great! Just stop. Unfortunately for them, Sebastian was very bad at stopping, and, truthfully, he was even worse at wanting to stop. Sebastian shook his head as they walked upon the streets of Monaco, as he skipped through the pavement while Webber grunted behind him, words lost to the playful wind - and they could stay lost, Sebastian was pretty sure he knew the type of thing Webber had said and decided that ignorance was, indeed, a blessing sometimes. ‘First of all, it is funny. Incredibly so. Even more when you get all grunty and embarrassed. Second of all, and this is very important, crucial information Markie, that was not me flirting, it was a threat, fuck you very much.’ Webber laughed. Sebastian's whole body froze as he stopped walking, fascinated. Oh, what an amazing night that was. ‘So you are capable of human emotions!’ He announced proudly, a satisfied grin permanently stuck to his face while Webber contorted his expression on what he surely believed to be a pleasant neutral face.

‘Not everyone likes to shove their emotion on everyone's faces, Vettel. Some of us have some self-control.’ It was so extremely ironic that Seb had to bite down on his lips not to burst out laughing. Webber liked control, sure, but he wasn't very good at it, was he? Personally, of course, because when it came to controlling every single thing he could about Vettel, oh God, he really enjoyed himself.

‘Not you, though, pumpkin. Though it is clear that you do have some feelings about control. Care to elaborate?’

‘Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?’ There was an evident amusement in his tone. Heat flooded Sebastian, making his cheeks come alive. A communicating and joking Webber was something knew, something he had yet to learn how to deal with - but wasn't mad about it. It was pleasant to have a conversation like this, laughing, not worrying about which words would cause more harm.

‘No?’ They had already made it to the hotel, the night sky then hidden behind the big beautiful windows in all the walls of the place, big chandeliers with gold everywhere, it was hard to decide where to look first. Webber stared right at him.

‘Okay. There we are. You're safe and sound. Now, go to sleep.’ Vettel tried to suffocate the disappointment that pumped through his body. They had just started talking, it seemed too stupid to stop then. Sebastian had so much to say. So much he wanted to know. 

He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they were running out of time like this peaceful environment was escaping right through his fingers and he simply could not hold on to it. It was a weird sensation when Mark stood right in front of him, actually smiling, talking, listening.

‘Always so demanding. I like it.’ Webber groaned when Vettel made no move to enter his room.

‘Stop it, Sebastian.’

‘Ooh, another order. C'mon Markie, lay it on thick for me, please.’

Mark laughed and shook his head, astounded. ‘Sleep, Vettel.’

‘Fine. But you like me. Ah! Don't lie to yourself, Markie boy. We're friends. 

Webber rolled his eyes, ‘Look, Seb. I'm not sure we can keep what happens on the track there. So, no.’

‘What happened in the bed ! Mark Webber, are you trying to get into my pants?!’ Vettel pretended to be scandalized when in truth he could barely hide his satisfied grin. ‘Argh, okay. If you insist. Come on in!’

Webber pushed him out of the room and closed the door firmly as if looking at it offended him personally. ‘Can't you take anything seriously, like, ever?’ It was an interesting question, one Sebastian had a very clear answer to: he took a lot of things seriously, he just didn’t allow them to cloud his judgment as Webber did - plus, he was also fairly good at ignoring the seriousness he did not wish to deal with.

‘Can't you have any fun like ever?’ He shot back. Mark blew out an annoyed breath, shooting a warning at Sebastian with his eyes. Pure ecstasy down his veins. ‘Don't taunt me like this, Markie. You know I love to see you lose your shit.’

‘I do know that, Vettel.’

‘Great. Then you are also aware I will make your life hell until you say it. So, do it. Cmon Markie. Do it, do it, do it.’ 

‘Fine! Bloody hell, stop touching me. Fine. But I say this once and you go to bed. Immediately. No more funny comebacks. Just sleep.’

Vettel put his hands up, he made a gesture of locking his lips and throwing the keys away. Webber sighed, ‘We're friends, Vettel. We are.’

Sebastian could barely contain his joy. Nodding, he opened his hotel door and closed it behind him without another word. 

Then, he turned around and said against the door, knowing Mark would hear him, ‘How dare you friend zone me after everything I did for you! Don’t you remember that time I su-’ 

Webber groaned, purposefully interrupting his sentence, and marched away.

Friends. Fuck, Sebastian could live with it. He had to live with it because this was just as far as they would ever get. It didn't matter that his heart didn't seem to stop racing even minutes after Webber left, nor that his fingertips, the ones who had pressed against his chest, still tingled a bit. 

Friends. They could do that, right? Absolutely. Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber would be the best of friends.

Chapter Text

Istanbul Park, Turkish GP

May 2010

7th race of the season

‘So why'd you have to rain on my parade?

I'm shaking my head and locking the gates

This is why we can't have nice things, darling 

Because you break them I had to take them away 

This is why we can't have nice things, honey

Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me?'

-This is why we can't have nice things, Taylor Swift.

Friday

Two weeks. Sebastian had had two weeks to get rid of any reeling thoughts of Mark Webber’s laughter. In that time, he had called Jenson one too many times - his friend had a newfound interest in bingo and had spent most of his free nights somewhere trying to win stupid prizes -, went to the gym, cooked weird ass means, and well, just didn't sleep. He remembered being terrified of the dark when he was younger, not being able to fall asleep unless he had a bright light in his room, and having to listen to hard rock music now to even be able to close his eyes for more than a second before dreaming of the bloody laughter was a weird and yet accurate parallel. 

The days passed by slowly, dragging its feet, making Sebastian wish he could hurl his head off of his body. He wanted nothing more than to leave his house. Normally, he loved those weeks without races, even if only to lie in bed for hours on end and do absolutely nothing. Vettel loved to race more than anything in this world, being in his car, accelerating, making the corner at high speed, it all felt amazing, but there was nothing like a resting week.

When he was allowed to rest, that is. Because since he had gotten home, he had not indeed been met with any peace whatsoever. All he saw was Webber, all he heard was Webber, all he thought about was Webber. There was nothing else, there was no in-between. It was Webber yelling at him, or Webber laughing with him, or the grin, or champagne splashed all over them. Hair plastered on his face, dark green eyes brightened by happiness. 

It had taken too long. Too fucking long. 

But now there they were, after having arrived in Turkey the days before, they had finally the first session of the weekend and Sebastian could not be more excited. Hopefully, they would end up paired up for an interview where Mark would be obliged to peek at him the day he had two weeks prior, and Vettel would finally be able to decide that such a smile did not deserve to be the fixation of his dreams for the last couple of weeks. He would then, of course, move on with his life and manage to spend hours talking normally to his teammate if needed. Like friends did.

Sometimes.

It was all he wanted. Just a couple of interviews together just so he could remember that Webber was, in fact, also human, therefore the growing of his skin, the brightness of his smile, the perfect curls of his hair, and the intense-looking eyes were nothing more than his imagination playing with him.

Unfortunately, Webber was not notified about Sebastian's plans and was just as handsome as Vettel last remembered him to be. Plus, fuck, he smelled great. Which was fine. It was okay. So Mark Webber was a good-looking man, and that didn't change anything. They were friends, and, most importantly, teammates. Plus, Sebastian knew a bunch of good-looking dudes. Jenson for one. Who could notice Button and not realize how unquestionably gorgeous he was? Beautiful eyes and, a good smile. Funny. The whole package, really, of course, he slept with a new girl every night. 

It was logical.

Admittedly, he was not only prettier than Mark, but also than Sebastian himself, and Vettel did not feel bad about that statement whatsoever. If the standard was someone like Jenson, they were all fucked anyway.

He was also used to Jenson. They saw each other a great deal, they talked a lot and, to be frank, there were always photos of the two rolling around. Beauty shouldn't be a problem with Sebastian. And it had never been.

Until he met a smiling Mark Webber. What a curse! He wasn't interested in him like that. He liked Mark, which, duuh!, they were friends. And if he was being honest, he had had thoughts about his teammate more than once way before Monaco - but that was only because he was very frustrating and annoying. 

There was nothing more to any of this. Not even when Webber started flirting with the reporter in front of them and Sebastian had to bite down on his own tongue not to stare openly at his teammate - and drool. His heart rate was skyrocketing, and fuck, he missed the days all he felt towards Webber was pure hatred.

Although when was that really? The more he thought about it, the more he remembered little snippets of moments where he had been stealing glances at Webber. In some of them, the Australian had done the same back, but Sebastian was classifying all of those as mere wishful thinking.

It was insane to stand there beside Webber after the weekend they had had in Monaco, cheeks heating, heart racing, and know the man beside him barely wasted one single thought on him. Worst of all, if Webber had wasted any thinking time on Vettel before Monaco, he was sure not to be anything precisely nice. Alright, it was probably a straight-up foul. 

Vettel supposed he had made his bed tormenting Webber and might as well just sleep it in then. Whatever this insane heating was inside of him - since no, he was not naming it -, it would go away soon. 

Very soon. He was sure of it.

Perhaps he should just spend some time with his gorgeous and amazing friend, Jenson. Yes, that was certainly the answer.

☆☆☆

The nervous energy Sebastian Vettel was emanating beside him during all the press interviews was driving Webber up the walls. The German was so bothered by something that he could barely keep still, moving around nonstop and biting his lower lip intentively. Mark was almost sure he had seen a bit of blood dripping from them before Sebastian licked it away, shaking Webber out of it. Even when he had tried putting a calming hand on his back, Sebastian had jumped away from the touch, standing a couple of inches further away from him for the rest of the day.

The weird situation seemed to continue during the whole of the interviews, almost as if Sebastian was suddenly deathly scared of Mark, always just far enough to avoid being touched. It was an unexpected development development their relationship, Mark had to admit, even more so when Vettel had been so insistent on being called his friend back in Monaco. 

Since then, things have been…different. The tension that was certainly there before had shifted into something else. Something dangerous. Sebastian was careful around him, and the usual dancing around each other had turned into a more purposeful attitude from them both.

Cautious , that was how Sebastian was acting. Like Webber was out to get him, which was crazy because until Monaco that's exactly what had been happening and Vettel had had no problem with it whatsoever. They had been so much worse together, clashing in all senses of the word, and when they were finally okay, Vettel started to act like Webber was threatening to kill puppies in front of him. 

Mark couldn't make sense out of it. And when he tried to, closing in on Sebastian to whisper an annoyed ‘ What is going on?’ , the other driver scrambled so fast to get away he tripped on the microphone wires. He would've fallen straight on his face if Mark hadn't grabbed him, hands on his arm, pulling him back up.

‘ Mate. What is going on?!’ Sebastian just shrugged it off. When the interviews were finally over, they smiled politely to the reports and Vettel quickly disappeared between the mass of people around. 

Oh, fuck no.

‘Vettel! Hey. Sebastian.’ The blond darted back for just a second, freezing in place, and that was all Mark needed. He caught up to him in a second, pushing him inside the RBR lunch room and closing the door. ‘Did something happen?’

Sebastian shook his head. Took a couple of steps away from Webber, and stared at the wall. His breaking was ragged as if he had just been running a bloody marathon. His cheeks were tinted, pupils blown wide. ‘Are you on something right now?’ He asked, whispering. They weren't supposed to use any type of substances, top-notch health, and all of that, but it was not exactly surprising to see a Formula One driver using whatever Sebastian was on , not with the type of pressure they were all in during months in a row. 

‘No. No! I'm fine.’ When Mark stared at him skeptically, he said, ‘Really. I'm just tired. Long couple of weeks, you know.’

Mark didn't know, actually. Those weeks away from Sebastian had been perfection . Not having the blond breathing down his neck at any opportunity, not worrying about where he was or what he was doing. And sleeping . Okay, perhaps not sleeping that well, the German still plagued his dreams, but now he was able to sleep through an entire night, even with the nightmares. It had been an amazing couple of weeks, and Webber was more than ready to be back, hopefully winning again.

‘Sure, mate. Whatever. But you're acting weird.’ Sebastian nodded furiously, agreeing. 

‘Yeah, no. You know. Nerves. Difficult race tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow is Saturday, Vettel. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to… sit down?’ Mark pointed to one of the tables, where two chairs were close together, pointing in the same direction. 

‘No. No. Nope. No need, Webber. I'm okay. Just… gonna go now. Good day, mate.’ Before he could leave, Mark stepped forward, locking gaze with the German. It was like he had just held him in place, Sebastian went rigid all of a sudden, not moving a muscle. Mark could barely tell that he was breathing, although very slowly and silently, scared of frightening him closer. Webber tried another step, seeing Vettel desperately close his eyes and press his own body against the door, hoping it would allow him through just like that. 

The tension in the room was flaring. Sebastian's Addam's Apple moving up and down, his hands tight in a fist, knuckles white with the pressure he was putting. Eyes blown wide, making Mark's heart stutter a bit. His lips were blood red, surely because of how much he had been biting them. Mark's stomach coiled. His breathing failed. His head was starting to go dizzy, his fingers tingled. He wanted to press them against those lips. Mark urged Sebastian silently to bite them again, just one more time. He was opening and closing his fists, scared of what he wanted to do with his hands, and Vettel stood there, observing the movement quietly.

Just one step closer , he thought, moving slowly, so goddamned slowly, inching closer by the second. However, Sebastian chose that moment to snap out of whatever he had been in, throwing the door open and closing it behind him with a loud bang! Webber's heart twisted with surprise and disappointment. He didn't understand whatever game Vettel was playing then. He hated it, though. 

The way he had been staring at him, the pressure in the air, the blown pupils, the desperate breathing. Oh, God. Now Mark couldn't breathe himself. 

Sitting down on one of the chairs, he pushed his head down until he could rest it on his palms, forcing his breathing to calm down - it was just Vettel for fuck's sake. Just his stupid teammate acting weird. What was new about that anyway?

He could handle Vettel. He had been handling him and his games for over a season by that point, and never never had had any breathing problems like that one before. 

Fuck, he was losing it. Actually losing it. 

What the fuck was going on?

☆☆☆

‘I told you once, I told you twice, now I tell you again. You need to hook up!’ So perhaps going to see his dear friend Button hadn't been the best idea. Vettel's lips curled into an unsatisfied grin, annoyed by how much Jenson could read his thoughts in the worst possible moments. Why did he need to remind Sebastian of such things? Weren't they friends? 

His heartbeat was still accelerated, having yet to calm down since whatever the fuck had been going on in that fucking room. Because, honestly, what the fuck had been going on in that room?  

Sebastian took a tentative sip of his coffee, cursing at the temperature when it burned his tongue.

‘I'm not fucking Webber!’ He said, finally, exasperated, whispering furiously, eyes flying around the Cafe to make sure no one heard them. Thankfully, the place was packed and people did not seem to understand what they were saying most of the time anyway. 

‘Who said anything about Webber?’ Jenson shook his eyebrows playfully, receiving a kick from under the table for his indiscretions. 

‘ You did !’ Hissed Sebastian. His friend smiled wickedly, not saying a thing. ‘Seriously, Jenson. You just did , you said we should fuck. In a packed coffee shop.’ He added just for dramatics. No one was paying attention anyway. 

‘Yeah, I know. I was messing with you. And yet. Bold of you to assume you would be doing the fucking, Vettel.’ His heart stopped on his chest. Literally full stop, no breathing, no moving, no nothing. There was something so intrinsically fucked up with Button, it was hard to keep up.

‘What?! What is wrong with you, Jense? Oh God.’ He hid his heating cheeks on his hands, biting slightly at his fingers. What an absolute disaster.

Jenson laughed delightedly. ‘Don't act like you're a prude, Vettel. We both know you've been there.’

Sebastian shook his head violently, ‘No, I've never been there. I've literally never been there!’

‘Not there there . I just meant that you are constantly thinking about him. Like that.’

Sebastian made a disgusted face that he hoped to God looked convincing enough. ‘Sure, Button. Whatever you say. I'm not discussing this with you anymore. I just came here to spend some friendly time with you. Just us. Cheers.’ He took a long gulp of his hot coffee, the hot beverage burning on the way down. It took him a great deal of patience not to spit it all up. 

‘So you wouldn't mind if I called Webber, correct? Just so we can talk for a while. Put something in the open. You know . ’ 

Sebastian hit both hands on the table, stressed, ‘You wouldn't.’ He had had a bad day. Maybe even a terrible one. He had made a fool out of himself in front of the press. Plus, in front of Webber. Which seemed worse than the press, weirdly enough. Then, Mark had pushed him - alright, he had gone willingly, but who wouldn't have when Mark Webber was staring at you with those beautiful green eyes and had his big lean hands touching him - into a room, talked to him on that deep tone of his and made Vettel completely lose his mind. Surely that was what that was: insanity. 

Vettel tried to remember his most recent accident on the track, seriously considering the possibility of having hit his head hard somewhere. There was no other explanation for this, he feared. It was either insanity or serious injury. 

Because let's face it. Mark Webber was not even that hot. Alright, he had pretty eyes. So did Sebastian. And okay, his hair appeared to be obscenely soft. And, fair enough, his brooding expression could be someone's cup of tea - not Vettel's though, but someone's . The sarcastic grin ruined the whole thing, though. Or when Webber did that thing where he pressed both lips together as if to not insult Sebastian's whole bloodline. And the scoff . God, Sebastian loved that scoff.

Fucking hell. Great. Now he was thinking appreciatively about Mark Webber's mouth. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck?! 

Jenson giggled like a fucking schoolgirl, possibly reading Vettel's disgusted expression. ‘You know I would. But I won't. Seeing as communication would do you two good and you are still my competition. However.’

‘No however .’ Sebastian groaned.

‘ One however.’ Jenson put his finger up, turning it precisely to point to something behind Vettel. ‘He is already here. So.’

Vettel turned his head so viciously he could've truly hurt his neck. Of course, there was no Mark whatsoever, and when Sebastian turned his gaze back to Jenson, he was laughing so loudly people stopped to stare.

‘Go fuck yourself, Button.’ Jenson was still laughing when Vettel left the place.

It was time for him to make some better friends.

☆☆☆

Saturday

Qualifying had been exactly what he wanted; another pole. It would never get old, would it? Flying on the track, being the fastest one out there? Fucking hell, he could get used to that quite easily. 

Webber smiled proudly at the flashing cameras. Just for his gaze to get trapped with his teammate’s once again. The blond unraveled curls were what had made him peek. Now, he was stuck. The air frizzled around them.

Someone pushed a microphone into his hands. When he looked back up again, Sebastian was nowhere to be seen.

☆☆☆

He just needed one glimpse. One single second of a smiling and proud Mark. Just one. He would go away afterward, he just needed to see him first.

There was so much going on then, so many lights coming from different places, so many people talking in so many different languages, a sea of people and screams, callings of his name in every single corner. It would've been too easy to not see Webber, to not find him anywhere. Yet Sebastian's feet guided him exactly where he knew he needed to be, close enough for him to watch Mark, chills running down his spine at the smile playing on his lips.

It was hypnotizing. The noise grew and grew, a crescendo just like the beating of Seb's heart, a wave of voice approaching.

Everything went deathly quiet all of a sudden. Sebastian almost scanned his periphery in order to understand the sudden change, but then. Then, Mark was peeking at him, and it all made sense. 

Logically, he was aware that people continued to move around, talking, yelling, celebrating, or cursing, but for him? During those seconds? Everything stopped. It was just the two of them, staring, examining the other from afar. No words being spoken, no touch being exchanged. Although Sebastian didn't need that, he felt breathless just from that one stare. He wished Mark Webber to be as distant as possible, while he begged for the Australian to come just a bit closer - and then never stop approaching him. Invade his space just like he had invaded his mind those past weeks.

The moment lasted hardly over five seconds. A lifetime. No time at all. Examining Webber was the same as playing with time, an hourglass that stopped and rewinded itself, just to rush forward whenever Sebastian least expected it to. They were constantly running out of time even when they had nowhere to be. Time had no meaning anymore. Sebastian was losing all meanings, all of them, whenever Mark wasn't close enough to tell them to him.

It made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he had cared so deeply for someone he barely knew. Sure, there were some small snippets of Mark he kept hidden close to his heart, but intrinsically, he knew nothing of the man. 

Except for how he liked to kick when he was fighting. Which was so unfair. Everyone knew kicking and biting was a no-go. Vettel also knew how he took his coffee - black, no sugar, please -, what song he hummed when he was bored - Never Tear Us Apart by the INXS -, how his eyes got greener the madder he got, what every single one of his distressed expressions meant. He knew what Webber's anger tasted like - identical to his, ironically -, how much family meant to him - he called his mother after every race -, and how he wanted to learn more languages - Spanish was the first one on his list since Vettel sometimes heard him practicing it, but for the sake of his mental peace he chose to believe it was because of some distant relative and not because of fucking Fernando Alonso. He was familiar with the Australian's way of speaking and walking - confidently but never pretentious unless he was speaking to Sebastian -, and he knew how much he hated tea - any type of tea, which was actually insane. Webber argued once that different sorts of tea were equal to different types of coffee, so if you hated one, you hated all of them, and Button had almost had a heart attack. He saw his need to win and the anxiety on his brows making an appearance just before he pushed down his helmet. Sebastian recognized his car - duh -, his cologne - dammit -, his footsteps - PTSD surely -, his sighs - the force of habit since Webber seemed to sigh a lot in front of him. 

Dammit. Apparently, he was familiar with quite a bit of Mark Webber's quirks - worse yet, he liked every single one of them. Sebastian was acutely aware, then, of how difficult that race would be. Yet, he still couldn't have guessed what would soon take place between the two.

☆☆☆

Mark was exhausted. With Sebastian's erratic attitude, his mind was working in overdrive, resulting in an acting body at the end of the day and a destroyed mind. All he yearned for was a long and hot shower. 

After the interviews, Webber had unsuccessfully tried to find his teammate, even daring to ask Horner if he had seen anything. The answer had been a firm ‘No.’ that had crawled its way to Mark's slow-beating heart and slept there the whole afternoon, every beat vaguely slower, more painful. 

It was getting to him. Whatever they were playing at, fuck, it was undoubtedly getting to him. That one speckle of fiery gaze fixed itself at the front of Webber's mind, daring not to leave no matter how much he tried to expel it out. 

The hot water was perfection, hitting his sore muscles in the exact places he needed. A small groan escaped his lips, head falling forward, allowing the water to hit his back. His breathing slowly calmed, going back to its normal steps out of his lungs. For the first seconds only, it was heaven. Then, well.

Then, his body wasn't tightly coiled anymore and hurting permanently, sharpening his attention back to Sebastian's weird behavior those last days. 

Mark had never endured the necessity of understanding as much as he did then. Having Vettel in his life, the constant bother, resulted in a need for comprehension he had never before experienced. Perhaps because it lacked severely, or perhaps it was just the reaction the German caused in people.

The last thought didn't sit right with Mark, though. In all honesty, it consumed him so much he could hardly think of anything else. If it was true - and Vettel did indeed affect people that way -, then Webber was just another one in the queue of people impacted by it. What an unpleasant thought.

The right to Sebastian's attention and the consequences of such was not reserved to him. Had never been reserved for him. So why did Mark so ardently wish for it? He could even accept those circling thoughts about his teammate if it meant it was all reserved for him. 

He wasn't overthinking it though. Not at all. Even when his body so ardently protested, he turned the water off. Mark's thoughts constantly went wild in there, and he had just realized he couldn't afford such a thing at that moment. 

He had other things that were severely more important than Sebastian Vettel in his life.

☆☆☆

Sunday

Lap 40 of the Turkish Grand Prix. Sebastian was right behind Webber, having stayed there since Red Bull had patted both cars, managing to make Sebastian leave in front of Lewis Hamilton. 

He was ready to take the lead.

He had seen the gap. It was there, what could anyone expect from him besides going for it? Sebastian was in Formula One to win. Nothing else besides that. If Webber had been leading the race until that point, well, what did it matter, really? The faster one should win, and Sebastian knew he was the faster.

He went for it. Because of course, he did. The next thing Vettel knew, his car was spinning and spinning, his eyes unable to focus on anything. He felt the gravel being crushed by the weight of the car. Sebastian could barely believe it.

Mark Webber had closed the door on him. He had seen the gap, he had fucking seen it. It was there. Plus, he had the line. It was fucking his! 

The rage was so blinding, that the words left his mouth before he could think much about it. ‘Fuck!! What the fuck are we doing here?! What a stupid action! I'm going home. Fuck you!’ 

Webber was insane. Nuts. Absolutely crazy. His action wasn't only stupid, it was also dangerous. None of them was blind. 

Sebastian looked at the closest camera and made sure they saw him as he twirled his fingers beside his head. If Webber wanted to play that game, Sebastian would not stand quietly down. Not ever. If he expected him to, he had lost his mind. 

Which, honestly, perhaps he had. 

Once his helmet was off, he did it again. Honestly, fuck Mark Webber. Fuck him.

☆☆☆

Webber just managed to avoid Vettel's car. By millimeters. His heart was in his throat, he could barely believe him.

What the fuck was wrong with Sebastian Vettel? They had been leading the bloody race together, when all of a sudden Vettel tried to pass him in the most weird place possible, taking the inside of a curve as his moment of stupidity. 

Webber managed to re-enter the track, behind Hamilton and Button. His car didn't have any grip, thanks to his teammate, he swerved around a bit before regaining all its power. He could hear Christian cursing in the background of his radio, his engineer asking him something he could not answer.

He was stunned. Stunned out of his mind. How dare he? To be so incredibly selfish all the time? Sebastian just couldn't let him have it, could he? He had to ruin it all with his immaturity. 

When Webber stepped into the lower step of the podium, all he wanted was to drink the champagne and then go directly into something stronger. The cloudy sky was all he could stare at, otherwise, he would completely lose his shit. This was a fucking shitshow. Every single pair of eyes darted directly at him, paying attention to his very expression. 

He could see his team down there, trying to act collected when everyone knew things were about to explode at the headquarters. 

Mark did not see Vettel anywhere, which was just what he needed. If he came face to face with that fucking asshole he would immediately smack him. And then kick him. Repeatedly. Because what the actual fuck. 

His immaturity had already cost them so much in the past, that one could only hope he would've learned from them. He hadn't. Obviously not. 

Truly, he had no words. No fucking words. But God, would someone just give him a chance to express himself with actions? In a closed room. With the devilish blond just standing there.

He had felt anger before, a lot of it directed straight to Sebastian Vettel, but not like that. Never like that, never before. It went beyond rage, Mark Webber suddenly loathed Sebastian Vettel. He despised him, he disdained him.

One thing was clear, now more than ever. They were against each other. They always had been, of course, but for a moment there Mark had truly believed they could leave the fight on the track. No, worse than that, he had wanted to believe it. 

Now, it was obvious. Vettel didn't know how to lose. And it would cost him everything. Webber would make sure of it.

☆☆☆

He had said what he had said. And, anyway, it was already too late to take anything back. Not that he intended to since Sebastian had been nothing but honest. Sure, his media training had kicked in when he was forced to talk to the press directly, calling it an unfortunate accident like he was talking about the crash when really he meant Webber's birth. No one could know that, though. Just him. And hopefully, Webber. Fuck, he hoped so. 

The moments that followed the race had been nothing short of nightmarish. So many people wanted to talk to him, the impregnating stare coming from Horner every time they crossed paths, and the icy endeavor of his teammate caused his heart to stutter and freeze on his chest. He couldn't understand why Webber looked pissed when he was the one who had made the mistake. He had closed the fucking door on Sebastian and had ruined both of their races, just to act all superior, obviously believing to be free of any fault. 

Sebastian wanted to scream. Generally, yes, but also at Webber. He wanted to scream and shout, to kick stuff, and to shake the older man so fiercely that Vettel wouldn't be able to read any of his expressions no longer.

As he entered the Red Bull stand for what he hoped to be the last time that day, a pair of strong hands grabbed him from the side, pushing him into a badly lit corner, between discarded tires. Sebastian yelped like a scaredy cat. 

‘What the fuck were you doing?’ Was snarled nastily at him, calming Vettel's desperate heart. So, it was Webber and not a murderer. Although seeing the expression on his teammates fade, he wasn't sure the distinction was as clear as he had hoped. 

‘What was I doing? Racing, Webber. Like some of us do. Not you, though, you would rather just collide with your teammate rather than fight fairly for the first place!’ They were gonna go into it then. Perfect. Vettel had been hoping for that moment since their collision earlier. 

‘You call that racing? You could've killed us both, you imbecile!’ Sebastian ground his teeth until he heard the unmistakable clack of his jaw. He still had to remember that although the corner was in fact dark enough that he could barely make out Webber's furious expression, it was still a very public place, and all the media wanted was to see them killing each other. He didn't punch Mark with his fist like he so dearly wished to. 

However, that was the limit of his control, evidently, seeing as the next words out of his mouth had all the intention of throwing more gasoline into the fight. ‘If you're too scared to race, Webber, then you should just go home to mommy. Don't play a sport you can't handle.’

To be fair, Vettel was already perched against the wall, staring ardently at Webber, but the weight of the Australian’s hands pressing him back further, sinking on his collarbone resulted in a surprise gasp. He could feel Webber's satisfied grin. Sebastian couldn't have that, could he? He pushed hard with all the strength he could muster. They had a very unfair height difference that helped Webber in many situations, sure, but then it served only to destabilize him. He didn't expect Vettel to fight back fiercely, it was evident. Shame on him, he really knew nothing of Sebastian then. 

The stumble back allowed Vettel to take a lung full of air, coughing the smallest bit - he refused to give Webber the satisfaction. Though before long the older man was back at it. 

‘You are such a bloody spoiled little brat, Vettel. If the race isn't going your way you just decide to take us both out. Amazing teamwork asshole, really top-notch!’ His words were full of hatred. Chills ran down Sebastian's spine at the ferocity of them whispered in his ear. 

‘You still got the podium, Webber. I don't see why you are complaining when you took out your biggest rival for the championship.’ He snarled back. The air was filled with something Sebastian couldn't exactly name. It was clear an explosion was on its way, and God only knew how the bomb would've gone off if Gorner hadn't interrupted.

The team principal found them in a compromising position, so the disbelief in his eyes was more than justified. What Vettel did not find justified, however, was the way the man pushed them both into the Red Bull stand, threw them into a room, and slammed the door.

‘Have you two absolutely lost your minds? Have you no respect for this team whatsoever? Don't you understand you're little show today was already a huge problem for anyone here?! Oh, tell me. Please, someone, tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing out there!’

None of them spoke, although Sebastian heard Webber snorting beside him. 

‘No, because surely there's an explanation besides utter stupidity. Honestly, no. Don't talk. I don't wanna fucking hear. I don't know what has gotten into the two of you lately, you're both adults for fuck's sake! So, you know what? I'm fixing this right now. The team, all the mechanics and engineers that make sure this team achieves what it has been achieving, they all suffer from this immaturity. The room is soundproof. Neither leaves it before I'm sure you have worked through your problems.’ When Sebastian groaned, Horner's gaze zeroed in on him. ‘Don't. Not a word, Vettel. Yell, scream, scratch, kick, hit, fuck, make out for all I care! Just fix this.’ He stopped by the door, turning back to them, ‘Just no face wound.’ When Webber opened his mouth, Christian yelled, ‘No face wound, Webber! What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? Solve this. Right now!’ The door slammed shut. Then, they heard the keys turning.

Fucking perfect.

☆☆☆

Vettel did not lose one second - although Mark didn't expect anything other than that from him, it still got on his nerves a bit -, jumping closer to Webber the second the lockets were in place. ‘I had the line!’

It was easy to fall back into his all-consuming distress, even more so when Vettel was screaming like that, indeed sure of his stupid move. ‘What line, Vettel? What fucking line?! I had to make the curve! Or did you already forget how driving fucking works?’

‘Don't be fucking condescending, Webber, it does not suit you. I had the inside line, the one normal people use every single fucking day. You saw me, Webber. And you chose to fuck me over.’

‘You think I did this? I did not in fact see you. Because if I had, umm, let's think together, shall we? Perhaps I wouldn't have caused a collision that cost me a win!’

Sebastian grinned wickedly then, ‘So you do admit you caused the collision, then. Good.’

Oh, that sleek motherfucker. 

‘You know what your problem is, Vettel?’ Mark said, slowly inching closer to the other driver. 

‘No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me soon enough, Webber.’

He nodded because, yes, yes he would. ‘You think you can do no wrong just because you have a pretty smile and a couple of dimples. Just because this team sees you as fucking Jesus himself does not make it true, Vettel. You won nothing to act this cocky. You are nobody , and yet you act like people owe you things. Let me make myself very clear, alright? Clean your bloody ears. I do not owe you shit. Not a track position, not a forced friendship, and not even my respect. Just steer clear of me. And if your English is not good enough for you to understand this, then buy a fucking dictionary!’ By the time he was done, Mark was out of breath. The flash of hurt in Sebastian's eyes was gone so fast that Webber decided he had hallucinated it. 

‘You're not as smart as you think you are, Markie. Yes, let's think together ,’ he repeated Mark's words back to him. Webber couldn't stop the scornful expression on his face. He had truthfully hoped his outburst would be enough to shut Vettel once and for all, but he had been mistaken. ‘If everyone acts as if they owe me something and I'm the best-goddamened thing that ever happened to this team, well, perhaps it is just the truth. Where were you before I got here? Not even one single maiden win, Webber. I managed that in a fucking Toro Rosso, and yet. Nothing.’ 

Mark wanted to take several steps back. Suddenly, their fight was not one of their usual conflicts, Webber had known the accident on track would've changed things, but the things they were saying? He finally understood there would be no going back after that. Whatever happened later would be forever tainted by what was said in that room.

And fuck him if that didn't hurt. 

‘Fuck you, Vettel. I fucking hate you.’

Sebastian scoffed, ‘Well, guess what, asshole. I fucking hate you more.’

No more words were exchanged after that.

☆☆☆

Jenson was rolling in his bed, in a fit of laughter. ‘He did not say that!’ They stood in Button's room after Horner had finally opened the door and let them leave. Sevastian had run out of there the second he could, not stopping until he found solace in his friend's company, telling the fantastical tale of Mark The Asshole and Horner the Destructor of Lives. He made it all seem funny enough, he dared not think about how much his chest was heaving, how much his lips hurt from all the biting, how much Webber's words had stung.

‘He definitely said that.’ Sebastian was standing, he could not bear the thought of letting himself go as much yet, scared he could allow a tear to escape. He did not care about what Mark Webber thought about him. He truly, honestly, obviously, didn’t. The man was a dick anyway, why should he care?

More laughter. Sebastian wasn't exactly in the mood to find humor in Horner's words, but Button seemed to be having the time of his life. 

‘Christian Horner, team principal, told you and Webber to make out?’ He howled louder. He could pretend, was absolutely going to continue pretending, but there was no denying the zap of pain that came from hearing the name. The echo of I do not owe you shit. Not a position on track, not a forced friendship, and not even my respect was certainly annoying. Vettel could seem to get rid of it. Not even when he closed his eyes and pressed his palms on it, breathing for a second before shaking it all off. He had come to spend time with Jenson exactly for that reason, he didn’t need to think about Webber seriously anymore. They were done, completely and undeniably so. 

Why did it matter anyway? He was fine. 

‘To be fair, I don't think he meant it. He was just that desperate I guess.’

‘I won't even ask you if you followed through with it. You wouldn't have that annoyed expression if you had.’ When Sebastian arched a brow at him, Jenson said, ‘I heard he is a great kisser.’

Vettel shook his head. ‘How do you hear this much?’

Button sighed, throwing his hands up, pretending to be admitting to the worst possible crime, ‘Fine. I ask around. But don't act like the information I bring to the table isn't important.’

‘You… Sorry. Forgive me. I'm afraid I misunderstood. Did you just say you asked around if Webber was a good kisser ?!’

The hotel room had a beautiful view, and Jenson seemed to be lost in it for a moment, before nodding a bit, a second later shaking his head. ‘Not exactly, but yeah. You know, it's stupid to ask questions like that, then you already tell people what you want to hear. I'm nearly sure my question was: How would you classify Webber's kiss? But I was wasted so it might be the slightest bit inaccurate.’

‘And the answer - sorry, no, the information you collected - can't? You trust your drunk mind to remember it perfectly when you can't even remember your question?’ Sebastian wouldn't lie, the imagery of Button asking that stuff around caused a giggle to escape. There was no such thing as boring days when you were friends with Jenson Button, truly.

‘I mean, man. Look at him. Don't you think he's a good kisser?’ Sebastian shrugged dramatically, disinterested. 

‘Don't know, don't care. Let's not forget that man destroyed my race today. Plus, I don't know if you had a trustworthy source.’

‘It was Lina. She's trustworthy.’

Sebastian had forgotten about the beautiful brunette. He had wanted to forget and so he had, and Jenson reminding him did nothing to help his already foul mood.

‘She was his girlfriend, dude. She had to answer that.’ Sebastian pointed out that he definitely did not need to believe Mark to be a great kisser. Definitely not. Not after the earlier fiasco. ‘And, anyway, why are we talking about this?’

‘I don't know, Vettel. Why are we ?’ Sebastian stared back blankly. 

‘What?’

‘It's called reverse psychology.’ Jenson announced, passing Vettel unceremoniously to go to his bathroom and start washing his face. Sebastian turned around to face his friend. ‘No, it doesn't. That's not reverse psychology.’

‘You would know, German asshole. Just because Freud was from your country doesn't make you the owner of the truth.’ Button spit a bit of water when he talked, his outrage evident with the way he had stopped washing his face when he still had soap all over the place, water running down his neck. 

‘Who the fuck is Fred?’ Vettel asked.

A surprised laugh sounded behind Jenson and Vettel. Both jumped, turning to find Lewis Hamilton standing there, chuckling.

‘It's Freud, asshole.’ When Jenson started to snicker, Lewis turned to him, ‘Who are you to laugh, Button? He's not German. He was from Austria.’ 

Sebastian grimaced. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I read.’ Lewis certainly noticed the skeptical glances in his direction, seeing as he soon murmured, ‘Fine. I had a girlfriend that was into that shit. Okay?’ Both drivers lost it, howling with laughter as Lewis stood there, rolling his eyes. ‘Whatever. I don't care. I just came here to see if Vettel was okay, but I actually don't give a fuck. Have a good night, bloody assholes.’

Jenson and Sebastian continued to laugh long after Hamilton had closed the door on his way out. Vettel had almost forgotten all about his fight with Webber. But the discomfort was still lingering there, in the back of his mind. God only knew it would never really go away. 

Chapter Text

Valencia Street Circuit, European GP

June 2010

9th race of the season 

‘Did I paint your bluest sky the darkest gray? 

A universe away 

And when I got into the accident 

The sight that flashed before me was your face But when I walked up to the podium 

I think that I forgot to say your name’

- coney island , Taylor Swift

Friday 

If someone had asked him how the last weeks had panned out - someone did ask, Jenson, and Sebastian had kindly asked him to fuck off - between Webber, him, and the team, he would have shrugged and said ‘Just fine, thank you.’ Webber's punishment in the Canadian Grand Prix earlier in the month had secured him the safety of not really racing his teammate at all, focusing completely on his own personal racing. The weekend hadn't been incredible , but it had certainly been without incidents between the two - Sebastian had managed to avoid the Australian in a surprising manner, slipping by as unnoticed as he could, even hiding in a closet once when he had heard the unmistakable steps of Mark Webber approaching and he had nowhere else to go. Had it been tiring? Of course. Being able to escape his teammate demanded that he stay highly aware of Mark's presence anywhere and everywhere. All the fucking time. It was starting to mess with his head a bit.

But Sebastian wasn't one to be pessimistic and entered the new racing weekend with renewed hope. This time around, not only he would avoid Webber physically altogether, but he would also manage to not think about the Australian at all. Those plaguing thoughts would not touch him in Valencia, no Sir! He would go to bed and fall asleep instantly, and not stay awake for hours hearing back the echoes of Mark's words directed at him. He would walk in the paddock with nothing to fear whatsoever and no voice whispering in his ears that he was an absolute fraud. 

It was almost like a new dawn. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing the precisely correct amount, and the temperature was hot and sizzling. Valencia was just as gorgeous as always, the atmosphere was on point, the public was excited and the car was fast. Nothing could go wrong. It was already the perfect weekend and it had barely started.

Horner had made sure the two teammates wouldn't meet as much as possible in the interviews and games they played around, and for that, Sebastian was eternally grateful. The handful of times he had seen Webber, the older driver had frowned at every single opportunity. Vettel could hardly judge him for it when his expression was set into an eternal grimace in Webber's presence. It didn't matter though, he judged still. Moaned and complained about it to Jenson, who would pretend to choke himself to death every time he mentioned Mark's name. Not that it changed anything, Sebastian still complained, and Jenson was still of the opinion that they should hook up.

It didn't matter how much he called Button names for it, he was set on what he believed to be his truth - and yet he called it: ‘the universal fucking truth, Vettel!’ -, saying the answer was right in front of their faces but they were just too stubborn to see it. Vettel denied it and denied it and denied it once again, but the more he talked the more condescending Jenson got, and the less Vettel believed his own words.

He didn't need Button's solutions. He had already solved their problems. Sebastian Vettel would avoid Mark Webber until his last breath. Until that point, he had done it, so he couldn't see how it wouldn't work - seeing as it was already working. Jenson was skeptical, sure, but what did it matter what Button felt? Sebastian was the one in the situation and therefore he knew better. 

It was fine. 

Vettel would just enjoy the weekend and the sun, and then everything would work out. 

Except, when Sebastian turned the corner into the team quarters, he went face-first against someone. He didn't need to look up to know who it was, he could already feel the frown on Webber's face. 

Fuck .

☆☆☆

Until that very exact moment, Mark Webber had had a reasonable day. The free practice went alright, the car seemed to be fast and he was more than ready to step back into that podium. The sun was high in the sky and the weather felt perfect. A bit like being back home, which he yearned for ardently.

All he needed was to be back in Australia, far away from all that drama, surf around for a while, and just enjoy his family. Although it would be winter, Australia was never truly cold, not like most of the European countries they raced at. Mark could nearly taste, the peaceful atmosphere. His skin itched for it just at the thought. 

Just a couple more months. Then he would be free. 

The Canadian Grand Prix hadn't been exactly what he had hoped for, but Mark wasn't about to allow it to throw him off his game. For some reason, he had been suffering from the incapacity of focusing as intently as he used to - mostly when he was in the Red Bull garage. He couldn't pinpoint why. It hardly mattered anyway, he was choosing to believe that problem to be behind him.

Valencia would bring him a newfound hope. He was sure of it.

Or at least he had been sure of it until Sebastian Vettel walked straight to him. Mark had hardly seen his teammate since their incident, obviously, Vettel had been avoiding him like a plague - Mark was strangely thankful for it since it sounded like such a tiresome task to achieve, and yet Sebastian had achieved perfection until that point in time.

If Webber kept in mind that gratefulness when they crossed paths? Of course not, there was no reason to, not when rage still threatened to boil him alive whenever Vettel was close by. 

Mark wanted to yell. He wanted to push the other driver off. Perhaps kick him once or twice.

But he breathed in and out. Allowed just one single peek at Vettel. That was his mistake, right there, those blue eyes staring up at him. He swallowed, unable to avert his eyes. There was so much there, so much anger and desperation, and god, was that regret? 

He couldn't do that to himself. Webber wouldn't do that to himself. Sebastian couldn't give less of a shit about him, about his chances of the championship - which, okay, was slightly fair, but Webber refused to go there. - and about their team. Meaning, that Mark refused to care one bit. Not in the slightest. Not at all. He wasn't caring. No, he meant he didn't care. He didn't. He didn't even know how to care. He was clueless about any caring whatsoever and - what the actual fuck. 

Someone had to teach him how to quiet his thoughts because it was starting to alarm him. 

He didn't say anything to Sebastian. He didn't know what to say . Without a single word, Mark Webber just kept walking. 

☆☆☆

Saturday 

Sebastian's cheeks were flushed, the sun blinding him, while he tried to pretend to smile at Jenson. The British were not buying it, rolling his eyes to prove it. ‘Do you wanna repeat it one more time? Just once?’ He asked.

‘It's fine! Really, Jense. It's gonna be over in like, thirty minutes tops.’

The day had barely started when it got ruined by none other than Mark Webber - or Christian Horner, but Vettel would rather blame Webber anyway -when Sebastian got the news that he should attend a planned interview with his teammate to quiet down the rumors that the team was falling apart. Which was bullshit, Red Bull was as fast as they had ever been. If they were talking about the relationship between him and Mark though, well. Then, perhaps they were right, but fuck! Seb would give anything to avoid sitting close to Webber at any given time. 

But he had chosen positivity. After encountering Webber in a God-awful way the day before, and having the older driver ignore him as if he wasn't standing right there , Sebastian had decided once and for all that he did not give a fuck about Mark Webber. He could ignore him all he wanted, Sebastian had better things to worry about. Like winning that race just to rub it in Webber's face. 

‘And how much more is that than the usual amount you two can tolerate each other for?’ Sebastian scolded Jenson. He was not liking the negative tone. 

‘Approximately twenty-nine, but who cares?’ A skeptical eyebrow raised. Jenson was getting really fond of that move and Sebastian was really tired. ‘ I can be professional, Button. The question is: can he?’

Throwing his head back, Jenson laughed. ‘Yeah, alright man. Remember when you threw a fit because Mark wasn't talking to you? And then went to his room and proceeded to bite his neck ?!’ Jenson had extracted that information out of Sebastian after a night of one too many shots, and Vettel had finally understood how Jenson had so much information about people. He just got them drunk and smiled that devilish smile at them until they squirmed and told all of their secrets. Much like Sebastian had done. 

‘You promised never to mention that again!’ Sebastian whisper-yelled, feeling the betrayal burn on his chest. ‘How dare you?’

‘I'm sorry, Seb. But this is just too good. You won't last one minute without losing all professionalism. And don't try to pin this on Webber when we both know you are just as fast in losing your temper.’

Sebastian sighed. ‘I don't wanna think about it. I have a pole position to get, man. I need to focus.’ Jenson shrugged, not bothered by the dismissal at all, winking at two different people as he walked away.

☆☆☆

Second place. Second. Usually, P2 would not feel as bitter, but the knowledge that his teammate would be starting in front of him soured the taste of accomplishment right in Mark's mouth. Like being stuck in a nightmare, Mark couldn't brush off the incident weeks prior, all he thought about was Vettel's car connecting with his. Even when all he wanted to do was not think , he saw the imagery clear as water, happening again and again in front of his eyes, the swerve of the tires, and the sharp turn of the wheel to avoid his teammate's car in the gravel. 

His results in Canada were hardly his fault, and, logically, Mark knew that. Yet he had found that Sebastian Vettel made him completely illogical and irrational. 

This Grand Prix was supposed to be his chance to get that car back up again, to prove that the collision did nothing to his pride nor confidence - although he wasn't as sure of it anymore as he had once been -, and he had blown it. Because if Sebastian got the pole, we'll, it meant he could've also, the only difference between the two cars being the driver behind the wheel.

Webber was being foolish. The race was the next day, and he would have plenty of opportunities to pass Sebastian. For some reason, he still couldn't brush off the sensation of pure disappointment with himself. He was faster than Vettel, more experienced, and less immature - in general, not only behind a wheel. He had everything, and yet he still found himself behind Vettel. 

One pole, Mark. This is just one pole position . But it felt like a loss, and he hated feeling that.

It would be an understatement to say, then, that the moment the two teammates encountered each other for the interview Christian had organized for both of them was tensionless. The unease was so poignant Mark could nearly smell it. 

The reporter was already there when Mark arrived, carefully crafting his expression into a neutral one, making a subtle scene of congratulating Vettel for the pole. His teammate smiled sarcastically at him. Mark wanted to slap him immediately. He didn't. 

The questions were what you would expect for a planned interview between the two, favorite moments together - Sebastian had had the audacity to mention Spain after the race, telling the reporter all about how he had met up with Mark in his hotel room to congratulate him on his win. Webber's hand flew to his neck, exactly where he knew the bitemark had been for days in a row. -, the track they liked the most, how they were feeling about the upcoming races. 

And Vettel found a way to dig at Webber in every single one of his answers. Although Mark had to give it to him: he had managed to do so without sounding sarcastic or condescending once. Mark was certain he would be the one to pick on Vettel's taunts.

However, the way their bodies were pointing in opposite directions, the strained smile on Sebastian’s face whenever Webber said something to him and the way Mark's legs insisted on trembling slightly, well, it gave it all away. They weren't comfortable or happy to stand so close. Anyone could see it. 

Well, Horner wouldn't be happy. But Mark had given his best, he had appeared, answered all the questions, and not kicked Vettel for the Spain comment. Even when he wished dearly to do so.

The second the camera stopped rolling, Mark jumped out of his chair, leaving as fast as he could. But he should've known that even if he was fast, well, it was the saying, wasn't it? The devil would always be faster.

☆☆☆

Fine. Alright. He admitted it. Sebastian had folded the second he had seen Mark's neutral expression congratulating him. He just wouldn't be capable of being professional it seemed, Sebastian had to crack him. It was a need more than anything. He itched to do it. 

And fuck him, he had tried. But the expression stood firmly through all of his sparky comments - even when he mentioned their encounter in Spain, Sebastian really thought that would be the one -, causing him to get more antsy as time went by. He could hardly be blamed, not when Webber knew what being ignored did to him. Actually, if you really thought about it, Mark had been the one who had started everything, when he had pretended Sebastian did not exist the day before.

When Webber left the room like it was on fire - and he hoped Sebastian would die a very painful death in there. Not cool, Markie! -, Seb had no other choice. He simply had to follow him. After all, the guarded expression was still there and Vettel would be damned if he didn't see it cracked.

He had gotten pole position. It was evident that Webber was intrinsically bothered by it, if not for the general meaning of it, then for the way he had congratulated him minutes earlier. It should be enough of a win already. But there was no such thing for Sebastian Vettel, and there never would be.

He didn't think much before closing his fingers on Mark's arm, which was revealed to be a mistake by the somber look his teammate sent him the second he turned around. That was already so much better. See, Webber was already bothered. Sebastian could giggle. 

‘Markie. Don't leave just yet, we didn't have a chance to chat.’

Mark, as expected, said nothing, he stood there, looking between Seb's eyes and his hand, still clasped on his arm. Sebastian did not take his hand away. He didn't feel like it. The heat emanating from it was pleasing and the brow furrowing equaled pure delight to him. 

‘Do I leave you speechless, love?’ Then, Webber lost it. Sebastian got the satisfaction of seeing the exact moment his resolve broke, the annoyed face turning immediately into straight-up nastiness. ‘Leave, Vettel. Now.’

Sebastian sighed, barely capable of containing his giddiness. ‘We already discussed this kink of yours, Webber. Plus, a please would go a long way…’ He batted his eyelashes. Mark rolled his eyes.

‘Please.’ He all but grunted, teeth grinding. Interesting. Webber must desperately want to get rid of him then, to go to extreme lengths like that.

‘No, thank you. I'm fine here.’

Webber was one wrong move away from punching him. It excited Vettel insanely. ‘What do you want, Sebastian?’

‘Back to Sebastian , are we?’ Webber ignored him. ‘Okay. No need to be rude.’ A brow raised. Seb could hardly believe his eyes. Was that some type of disease that was spreading around? The brow thing? He couldn't do it for the life of him, and therefore announced it to be completely stupid. ‘You have been spending some time with Jense?’

Mark scoffed, ‘No. But if you're worried, then just keep a smaller leash on your boyfriend.’

Sebastian laughed delightfully. ‘You jealous, Markie?’

‘ Markie now, is it?’ He shot back.

A grin. And then, ‘When was it ever not Markie to me? It's our thing!’

‘You came to apologize, Vettel?’ He was well aware of Webber's tactics by that point. What he was aiming for was annoying Vettel enough for him to leave on his own accord. Unfortunately, being aware of it did not help him not fall for the bait. Because how could he not?

‘I have nothing to apologize for, Webber.’ How impressive it was; the time it took for him to lose his temper around Webber. ‘ You fucked us over. Might as well admit it now, I promise I'll forgive you if you ask nicely.’

The laughter that escaped Mark did not have one single touch of humor in it. ‘You are delusional. Well, Sebastian, just don't let it distract you tomorrow. I mean, I know the win is already mine but at least allow me to have to fight for it.’

Mark was lucky they were in public. Otherwise, Sebastian was sure they were already rolling on the ground, kicking and biting. The way they usually end up anyway. 

‘ When I win Mark. I'll stand at that podium and I'll look for you in the crowd - because, mind you, you won't even be up there with me -, and you will know exactly what I'm thinking. Because you'll be thinking too.’ He ripped his hand of out Mark's arm, approaching him to whisper, ‘You'll understand that his championship is mine and you never had a chance to start with. Because I'm simply better than you.’

After that, Sebastian didn't linger.

☆☆☆

Sunday

Mark was better than the petty vengeance attitude. He really was. However. However. Fuck, he just had to win that race. For the first time since he started racing in Formula One, the win meant more to him than even finishing the race. He would pass Sebastian Vettel in the first corner and go ahead to win that race. If he has to play dirty just like the German was used to doing it, then so be it. 

When the lights blinked off, Mark did not hesitate. That feeling, the adrenaline rush, becoming a part of the car, letting it guide you just as much as you guided it, it would never get old. Webber trusted it, he trusted the car and he trusted himself. 

And in the first corner, Hamilton was already in front of him, Alonso quickly following him. Fuck. He felt his heart sinking. Car after car passed him, and before the first lap even closed, he was in seventh. 

Sebastian was still in front because of course he was. 

Button was at him before long, both cars almost touching, he threw his car off, losing even more places. Ninth. The first lap closes and Mark Webber is in ninth place, after starting just beside Sebastian Vettel. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. Stuck behind Hulkenberg, Mark started to get frustrated. His heart kept sinking and sinking, Vettel's convinced words coming back to haunt him. 

The European Grand Prix had barely started and already Webber felt like a fraud.

He begged his engineer to do something. Begged them. Then, they got him in the pits, an fucking ruined the pitstop. Mark wanted to stop. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. He was losing his cool, his head was starting to spin, and his heart wouldn't let on. He was biting his lips so fiercely, he tasted copper. 

Kovalainen was just right ahead, driving in his Lotus. In the end, it was the nervous beat of his heart that made him go só confidently at him. It was a Lotus and Kovalainen should just move out of the way fast enough. 

But he didn't, and the next thing Webber saw was the bright sunny sky. He felt it before it even happened, the car was about to flip. Mark closed his eyes, just for one moment. Fuck, he hoped it would be just for one moment. He heard, distinctively, Vettel's laugh in his ear, and then the German said Hand off the wheel, Markie! Don't forget to take your hands off the wheel. 

The second his hands were off the wheels, his car hit the ground, the impact making his entire body shake, although it didn't come to a stop. Second later, after hitting the barrier, Mark could finally breathe again. He threw the wheel out before he could even think much of it - because, honestly, fuck Sebastian Vettel. Then, he rested his head and breathed. In and out. In and out. His heart was beating desperately in his chest, threatening to jump out at any second. 

Fuck.

The marshals were there, asking him if he was okay. Hands guiding him up. His entire body was shaking. The adrenaline that made him move so fast quickly faded.

Mark made it to the medical center before he allowed himself to even think about it. Then, the blue sky, the impact of the flipping car, the voice begging him to take his hands off the wheel. It was just stuck there.

Mark closed his eyes. He did not want to think about anything anymore.

☆☆☆

Sebastian saw it happening. Perhaps that was the worst of it all because he saw the accident clearly but was already too far away to see Mark stepping out of the car.

He saw the wrecked car, he saw the car flipping, hitting the ground, and turning around. And then, he saw nothing. 

His hands were shaking. Vettel thought he could honestly pass out if no one said anything soon. Yellow flag. He slowed down his car. Sebastian should ask. He needed to ask his engineer if Webber had walked out of the car, he needed to know what the fuck was going on because if no one said anything in the next fucking second he was going to fucking lose it, he was already fucking losing it, fuck, what if Mark was hurt, would anyone warn him? Fuck, Vettel needed to know , yet he did not have the guts to ask. Because what if. What if the answer was terrible and what if he had to live with that knowledge and no, Sebastian did not want to know and yet he needed to know. His radio was on, and someone was speaking. He could barely focus. The colors were coming at him at a weird speed. ‘Sebastian.’ The voice repeated. It all came rushing back. He gasped. Right. ‘That was Mark. Yellow flag, the safety car will be out soon. He's fine, he's out of the car and walking.’

Sebastian nodded. Then he remembered no one could see him. ‘Right.’ Nothing else. Because he did not know what else to say, not when he was too focused not to drown in the fear that was eating him whole.

Sebastian knew the risks; they all knew the risks. To be racing in Formula One, well, you had to have seen the biggest accidents. You were aware of the deaths and the explosion, the fire, everything. It had been years since the last driver had died. And it was impossible to be a driver and not know the story of Ayrton Senna.

So they were aware. Terrible accident, death. It was a possibility, one they had to deal with rarely - and still, whenever some accident like that one happened, it made them all freeze up. It made Sebastian break apart. 

He went on to win that race. And when he stood at the podium, he did look for Webber down there, just like he had promised, although when their eyes met, the only feeling Sebastian could muster was pure and unadulterated relief. He was alright. He was standing down there, eyes ablaze with annoyance, no cast in sight, no nothing. If he had already been released from the medical center, it meant Qebber was all in one place. Perfectly fine.

Sebastian couldn't believe it though. No one walked out of an accident like that unscathed. Still, there stood Webber, whole. Against all fucking odds. The knot in his throat lessened just the smallest bit.

Yeah, no. Sebastian needed to know for sure. And he was simply too far away right then to do so.

☆☆☆

The very last thing, and he absolutely meant the last possible bloody thing Mark wanted at that moment was to see Sebastian Vettel. His day had been too insane already. He was tired and achy, his head was still spinning and sometimes, when he moved too fast, he got out of breath. 

Of course, when he got to his hotel room, Vettel was sitting on the floor, humming a melody Webber did not recognize. 

Perhaps he had hit his head, but Mark was almost sure they had been there before. And it hadn't exactly ended well, had it?

His sigh made Sebastian's eyes find him immediately. ‘What you doing here, Vettel? Came to brag? Just get on with it, please, I need to sleep.’ Vettel was up in a second, walking straight up to him until they were close enough to touch. 

‘You think I came to… brag?’ Mark had hit his head then. Why else was Sebastian looking upset? 

‘Didn't you?’

‘What, Mark…? No! I did not! How could you… I. No. I'm sorry, no. I didn't. Come here to brag that is.’ Webber's head moved on its own accord, cocking a bit while he all bit stared down Sebastian. He did not know how the German still managed to surprise him even after so many situations. 

He opened the door to his room, silently gesturing for Vettel to follow him. They were still on thin ice with Horner and he would rather not do whatever Vettel was planning in public. Because Vettel was planning something.

‘Spit it out.’ Webber said, lazily lying on his bed. His head was hurting and his stomach was turning and fucking hell, he was tired. If Sebastian wanted to talk, he could, Mark could listen just fine like that.

‘I saw it happening. The accident.’ When Mark stayed silent, Sebastian bit his lower lip. ‘In my mirrors.’ Silence stretched out. Webber did not know what to say. What was he supposed to answer to that?! He wasn't even sure how to act about this puppy-eyed Vettel. ‘Your car touched the banner. And then it glipped and it hit the ground and-’

‘I was there, Vettel. You don't need to narrate it back to me.’

‘Right. Sorry. It was scary.’ The last bit was whispered. It took a few seconds for Mark to make out the words and then he was back to being breathless.

Sebastian was there because he had been scared. He had seen the accident and he had gotten scared for him . It was such an unexpected story, he almost didn't believe it. But Vettel's hands were shaking, and he had never heard him say Sorry before in his life.

‘It comes with the job, Seb. You know that. It's part of the price we pay, this risk.’ His tone was sweeter than he wanted it to be, but there was something about Sebastjan right there and then, he couldn't bring himself to be vicious. Of course, he didn't want Webber dead or seriously hurt. Yet, the surprise of it all was causing Webber's heart rate to skyrocket. 

He shook his head. ‘What did they tell you at the medical center?’

‘That I was lucky.’ When Sebastian cringed away, like Webber had slapped him across the cheek, Mark regretted his word choice. ‘And that I'm okay. Totally fine. In one piece.’ Vettel nodded his understanding. But he didn't move and, surprisingly, Webber did not want him to.

For a while, they breathed together. Sebastian stayed where he was, eyes fixated on Webber's chest, watching the rise and fall of it with each breath. Then, his eyes roamed Mark's entire body. Webber's gasp was almost inaudible. Checking. Sebastian Vettel was checking his body to make sure he wasn't injured.

It was too much. This backlash, this back and forth. Mark could never pinpoint where they stood, the ground was always too unsteady with Sebastian. He stood still though, allowing the younger driver to have at it. 

‘And your hands?’ He finally asked. ‘You took them off the wheel?’ It robbed Mark of his breath. When he had heard Vettel during the accident, he had felt terrible, believing his imagination to be fucking with him when Vettel had no reason to give a fuck if he broke his hands. If he was hurt at all. Actually, he might even hugely prefer it, seeing as they were neck to neck in the championship. But then, there he stood, asking the question.

Mark sat fully up. ‘Yes. I took them off- They're fine. I'm fine. It was nothing.’

‘It was not nothing !’ The ferocity in Sebastian's tone froze him. ‘You could've died Webber. You didn't see how high your car went. You didn't see it. ’

Back to the usual cutting tone, Mark noticed. Fine by him, he could understand Sebastian better anyway. ‘No, you're correct, Vettel. I didn't see it because I was inside the car when it happened ! And you weren't. So.’

‘Exactly!’ The word was ripped out of Sebastian like a sob. His entire body was shaking then. ‘ You were in there and I wasn ' t! I didn't see you step out of the car Mark. I didn't know if you were okay!’

‘Funny. I wasn't aware that you would even care.’ Webber spit out the words like the venom that it was, he simply could not help it. This was what Sebastian Vettel made of him, a confused mess. Why was he there, acting like the accident had been hell on earth to him when the day before he had been more than happy to fight with him?

This was too much. 

Flashes of hurt on Vettel's ocean-blue eyes felt like a curse, it felt like exactly what he deserved. ‘I do care, Mark. How can you even say that, of course, I care! You thought I wanted you dead ?’

Mark shook his head. Of course, he didn't think that. But it was already too late, Sebastian was hurt and he was leaving. Because he was still an immature kid who did not know how to deal with his feelings. And you know what? Mark was glad. He was glad Sebastian was like that because the second he got ahold of his own feelings and started to act accordingly without making a mess out of Webber. Well, then Mark would be fucked. He hardly stood a chance with that Sebastian, imagine if he knew what he wanted?

It would be game over before it even started.

Chapter Text

Silverstone, British GP

July 2010

10th race of the season

‘So don't you wanna remind me? 

I don't know a thing 

And some of us remember 

And some run out of place 

Can I waste your time here on the sidewalk? 

Can I stand in your light just for a while? 

I've waited around to wait in a room 

Having a hard time watching you' 

- Call It Fate, Call It Karma , The Strokes

Friday 

Mark Webber was obsessed. Unfortunately, there was no other word for how he would observe every single one of Vettel's movements. If the other driver sneezed, Mark would see, if he sighed or breathed dramatically, if his eyes blinked closed for more than one second, if his hand shook slightly, if he bit his lips. Since Vettel's visit to his room in the last Grand Prix, the German was all Mark could think of. Which shouldn't be a surprise, Vettel had been a point of obsession to him since they had started driving for the same team, but his thoughts had hardly ever been this contradictory. He wanted Sebastian gone , but, fucking hell, he also wanted to apologize. The hurt in those big blue eyes shone with what Webber did not wish to see as unshed tears at the viciousness of Mark's tone. He shouldn't feel bad, not about whatever that was. Not when Sebastian had been on his heels since forever, begging him with his snarky comments and flirty remarks, then colliding him on track and still managing to keep his position as the golden boy of the team.

It didn't matter what Horner and Helmut said, Webber wasn't blind and he wasn't stupid. People - and by people he meant every single person he had met in the Formula One world until that point, excluding some drivers - look at Vettel with shining eyes, like meeting a Hollywood star, like touching a bright promise of the future. And Vettel acted accordingly like he was Heaven sent or whatever, when, in truth, he was the devil himself. 

He was childish, harsh, brash, stupid, arrogant, self-centered and most of all, unreliable. He was loud and proud, walked into a room as if he owned it, drank too much, smiled too brightly, flirted too often, laughed too honestly. Plus, he was just unnaturally beautiful. Mark refused to believe that was normal. 

There was nothing to feel sorry for. Not when he thought of that Sebastian Vettel. But the problem began with the other Sebastian, the one Mark was slowly getting to know, mostly when Vettel slipped and showed too much of himself without meaning to. That Vettel. Well, he was funny. He was caring, he had close friends he would do anything for - out of the track, always out of it -, he stayed true to his beliefs and would die on a hill if he thought it to be fair, he was happy beyond reason. No one could hold back Vettel then, he wasn't vicious, he wasn't mean, he was just good. And fucking hell, he was even more bloody gorgeous then. The Sebastian Vettel that existed out of Formula One was great, and it messed with Mark's head. Because there was no such thing for them, there would never be a moment not F1-related where they could exist. So Mark was stuck with the mean version - although he started to notice the cracks in the facade, and he hated it, he wished so dearly he could go back to when he saw Vettel as nothing more than a spoiled brat. 

Because Sebastian Vettel was first and foremost a driver. And he was ready to sacrifice whichever parts of himself he needed to for that. It was not that he would do it without thinking twice, it was that he was already doing it. And Mark was suddenly part of it, part of the things that Sebastian would get rid of, yes, but worst of all - and that recent discovery messed with his brain still -, part of the things Vettel wanted to desperately keep and care for.

If Sebastian wasn't sure, how could he be? Webber knew nothing of whatever this was. By that point, the not knowing was a constant in his life - it felt like he was always on Vettel's hand, waiting for the moment when he would close his hands on fists and destroy him.

So Webber was competent with staring. Paying attention, hoping, begging for some of it to give away what Vettel wanted. Because Webber didn't know anymore - he had even lost his wishes since the last time they had talked.

His mind had snatched the imagery of Sebastian standing up in his room, eyes traveling down his body, expression tied into a frown, fingertips tapping his legs in a precise rhythm while he made sure Mark was alright. The small gasp that left his lips when he concluded that everything was in order. The shaky exhale before the minimal nod as if saying to himself that nothing bad had happened. That he could relax then. It had been the moment Webber had lost every sense of knowledge surrounding Sebastian. In that second, he wasn't sure who they even were. 

He watched, then, fascinated by all movements by his voice, by his face. Although new, it was such a familiar feeling, every mere gasp and laugh a nostalgic melody Mark had certainly heard somewhere before - but how could he have? He had never met someone like Sebastian. And he was sure to never meet again. 

There he stayed, in his quavery pedestal that threatened to fall down at any second, just observing, watching. 

Trying to figure out what it all meant.

☆☆☆

Mark Webber was staring at him. And he meant staring at him. Not looking, not peeking, not eyeing him. He was staring. Sebastian’s heart leaped in his chest, he could hardly read the look in his teammate's eyes, and still, it messed with him so dearly. 

Jenson’s finger found its way directly between his ribs, causing an embarrassing yelp from Sebastian. ‘Ow! What the fuck?’

‘I can't believe you didn't tell me!’ He whispered-yelled, outraged frown on his face. 

‘Didn't tell you what?’ Sebastian whispered back, even though he wasn't sure what they were being secretive about.

‘That you followed my advice and made out with Webber.’ Sebastian's cheeks tinted, and he felt his face engulfed in fire. 

‘I didn't! I have no idea what you are on about.’

Jenson rolled his eyes, he didn't need to say anything for Seb to know he did not believe him. There was nothing to believe in, though, nothing had happened between him and Mark. At least nothing worth mentioning - the way he had embarrassed himself going to check on him during the last Grand Prix was certainly not worth it. ‘What, you telling me nothing happened? Explain the way Webber is looking at you right now, then.’ He seemed content with his words as if he had unmasked Vettel in an illegal lie. He didn't feel like discussing Webber right there and then. Honestly, he found himself not wanting to even think about Webber recently, as if the mere thought of him and his ragged breathing the past race was cursed.

‘I don't know, man. It's weird.’ He felt his skin clammy, his breath hot, his chest going up and down. Almost an out-of-body experience. He wouldn't admit to Jenson their run-in during the last race - at least not sober -, therefore they had nothing to discuss. 

‘It's hot. ’ It was Vettel's turn to roll his eyes, trying really hard not to agree.

‘Whatever. He hasn't been talking to me, either. Probably some type of witchcraft.’ Beside him, Jenson cackled.

‘You are crazy, man. Both of you. You're still on this? One week you're the one who won't talk to him and the next one you say he's ignoring you. Not right now, he's not.’

It took a great deal of willpower not to throw a quick glance at Webber, just to be sure he was still there, still looking at him. 

Sebastian shrugged, as always making light of the situation when he did not know how to act, ‘It's how it is. You know how this goes.’

But Jenson wasn't laughing anymore, he had a puzzled look on his face and an arched brow. ‘No, Seb. I do not know. And I don't believe you know it either. Not you, and definitely not him.’ Because he was a theatrical asshole, Jenson left without any other words. But those, they stuck with him. 

Did he? Know what this was? Where was it going? Did Mark? Did any of them want to know? Or was it more fun to pretend?

☆☆☆

He had to apologize! There it was. Not only the solution to his main problem - Sebastian - but also the answer behind his current obsession - Sebastian. It was quite obvious, actually, and Mark was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. He had only been fixating on his teammate so much because he felt bad about how things were left off in the last race. About the hurt in Vettel's eyes just before slamming the door shut and pretending to sleep on the Red Bull jet the next day for the entirety of their flight. 

And yes, normally he would not indulge in any thoughts of apologizing to Sebastian Vettel when the driver did not know the meaning behind the word ‘sorry’, - although, his brain was quick to remind him, he had muttered the word more than once in his hotel room, worse yet, he seemed like he meant it -, but it was not for Sebastian's benefit that he was doing it. It was for his own. It was certainly okay, then.

After the first free practice was done and over with - Mark could barely remember how it had gone, even seconds after stepping out of the car, he had been planning how he would apologize. He couldn't just say ‘sorry' and move on with his life, simply because he couldn't risk doing it wrong and not getting rid of the plaguing thoughts that followed him everywhere by then. He had to do it perfectly.

One small problem: how the fuck do you apologize for accusing your teammate of not giving a fuck if you died in a terrible car crash? He didn't know. No, it wasn't that he didn't know. It was more like he had no bloody clue where to even begin . 

He needed some help. That was fine. Mark was already on it, on a mission to find two people he was certain would help.

Surprisingly, after Mark had finished explaining the situation, was Alonso the first one to dissolve into a fit of laughter. Which had been so incredibly unexpected to Webber, who had been sure Button would do the honors. But Jenson stood there, quietly assessing the expression on his face. ‘What?’ He finally asked when the Englishman did not utter a word. Fernando was still laughing. 

‘Do you really mean it? The apologizing thing?’ Jenson seemed skeptical. Mark would be lying if he said it didn't hurt him a bit. He brushed it off. Jenson was, at the of the day, Sebastian's friend. 

‘Of course I do, mate. I wouldn't be humiliating myself right now otherwise.’ Nando nodded attentively, agreeing completely with the humiliation part it would appear.

Alonso, after pulling himself together, said, ‘ Pero , I thought you hated him.’ Alright, so Mark had gone straight to Nando after the Red Bull fiasco in Turkey. Who could blame him? He was sure that Button knew all about what had happened - and Mark had said nothing to him. 

‘I do .’ He saw the way Jenson flinched and corrected himself, ‘I did. Did, Button. It was a shitty race for the two of us, which is not to say he wasn't to blame for the crash because he absolutely was and I will die on this hill, mind you,’ Jenson nodded briefly, not giving any insight about how he felt with Webber's words, ‘But I shouldn't have said what I said either. In Valencia.’

‘Man, I don't think he gives a shit.’ Alonso pointed out, but Mark was watching Jenson. 

‘You know, after he left the car, we were on the podium together. He wouldn't stop shaking and he refused to look anywhere else but at you.’ And that was that. Jenson didn't need to say anything else. Sebastian had cared, and the first time he had dared to show it, Mark had blown it. 

‘How do I fix it?’ He would beg if he needed to. But only because he couldn't dream with the small flinch and gasp Sebastian made before leaving his room no longer. Mark had to be able to focus on his driving. Some would expect that after such a big crash, it would be difficult to get back on the track. And they would be right - although the crash had nothing to do with it. 

‘I don't know, man. I really don't. It's Sebastian, Webber. He's reckless, he's stupid, he's wild. But he walked to your door and waited for you when he had just won a Grand Prix. You know how he is about his wins. Plus, he hadn't mentioned this at all to me.’

Nando was confused. ‘Is that bad? Maybe he didn't care, then. Maybe he's fine and you're overreacting.’ 

Before Mark could even feel the relief with the possibility, Jenson was shaking his head. ‘No. It just means he's not pissed.’

Fucking hell. If he wasn't pissed, well, then he was upset. And that was simply ten times worse. All Mark wanted by that point was to hit his head against the wall multiple times, preferably until he passed out and forgot anything and everything about Sebastian Vettel. 

Oh, what a blissful existence would it be then.

Alonso broke him out of his daydreaming. ‘Just say you're sorry, cabron. It is not that hard. Say, “Vettel, sorry for the other week. We good?” and he'll nod and be back to bugging you in a heartbeat.’

Jenson was quiet. Fuck, Mark hated this. He bit the inside of his cheeks desperately. ‘I don't think this will work this time, though.’

Fernando scoffed, ‘Buy him flowers then. I don't know why you give a shit, Mark. You're always complaining about how that kid won't leave you alone and it looks to me that it is exactly what happened. You're finally at peace, mate.’

But he wasn't at peace. Actually, he wasn't sure he had ever been further from peace in his entire life. Logically, Alonso was correct, he had gotten what he wanted, but nothing was ever logical when it came to Vettel. 

He couldn't explain that, though. He didn't know how to.

So he just shrugged. Mark would find a way to apologize. And then everything would be back to the way it was supposed to be. 

☆☆☆

Seb was bored out of his mind. He wanted to do something. He needed to do something, if only not to delve back into the exchanged words with Mark Webber during their last proper discussion. He had tried calling Jenson twice, and surprisingly, he hadn't answered - not even to his text message where Sebastian suggested they go out together. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea he had ever had, seeing as they both had another practice the next day and qualifying, plus it was Jenson's home race, but Vettel felt too antsy sitting down watching TV. He had to do something.

Anything. 

When he decided to leave his room for a stroll in the paddock, the last thing he had expected was to see Mark Webber lazily waiting by the door of the Red Bull common area, much less when his whole body demeanor changed with Sebastian's approach. For a moment, Vettel considered leaving. It would avoid what would be another fight between them and another distraction point for him on the track. He wasn't supposed to be thinking of his teammate while he was driving, but clearly, his brain hadn't got the memo.

Yet, it was like watching a car wreck, you could hardly do anything but watch the tragedy, his body moving on its own accord until he stopped right in front of Mark. ‘Webber.’ His voice was barely a whisper, but the way Mark's shoulders squared gave away that he had heard him. Sebastian didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Every single thing Mark Webber did mattered to him, even when he tried so hard to pretend otherwise. 

‘Can we go inside?’ Sebastian agreed, aware that it was only a matter of time before reporters heard a whisper of the two talking and they ended up surrounded by cameras. While he followed Mark into the team quarters, he tried to quiet his heart, afraid his teammate would be able to pick out on its erratic beating. 

Mark led them to the same room Christian had previously locked them into, and Sebastian had half a mind to refuse to go in. If this was some type of stupid prank, he would kill Webber. When he made a move to close the door, Vettel pushed him lightly away. ‘Leave it open.’ Mark nodded, although unsure as to why.

‘Alright.’

‘Okay.’ 

They stopped there, not moving, not speaking. Breathing the same air without uttering a word. When Sebastian couldn't handle it anymore, he said, ‘What?’

‘Right. Sorry.’ Mark seemed… distracted. He kept changing his weight from one foot to the other, intertwining his hands through his hair, and looking back and forth between his hands and Sebastian's face. ‘Yeah, sorry.’ He concluded. Nothing else to say. 

Sebastian was confused, to say the least. ‘Not to be repetitive, but. What?’

‘Sorry.’ Mark said again, stopping once more before continuing. Where their eyes had before met and gotten stuck, now Mark's eyes avoided meeting his, a pink flush in his cheeks robbing Sebastian of his breath. There was so much uncertainty in the air, his skin hummed with possibilities.

‘Okay… And…’ He was trying to be careful, dancing around the explosives in the room. 

‘And? I just said I'm sorry and that's what you've got to say, Sebastian?’ The spark was back. Vettel felt his entire body relaxing. 

‘I don't understand. You bring me here, I ask what you want, you say whatever and then say sorry for that and I just… I don't get it, Mark.’ Sebastian hated feeling stupid, he absolutely despised it. Sometimes, it was hard to be in an environment where he could not communicate in his mother tongue. It was draining and it was bothersome, but he liked to believe he managed it just fine. And then, there went Mark Webber, making him look stupid.

‘No, that's not what I meant!’ Webber was as frustrated as him, no surprise there. They did cause that reaction in one another.

‘Then what did you mean?’

‘I want to apologize. For the way I talked to you.’

‘Forgiven, just tell me what you want, Webber.’

Mark laughed then, and it was just as breathtaking as he remembered. Sebastian stood there, thunderstruck, while Mark talked. ‘No, not right now. For what I said back in my hotel room. After the last race…?’ The question mark at the end of his sentence was evident, although Sebastian wasn't sure what he was asking. 

Mark lingered just out of reach, looking everywhere but directly at him. Vettel did not like that. Webber was already too hard to read for him to hear those words and know what was behind them. He wanted to see it all - a need so raw his knees went weak. Sebastian wished Mark would flood them both with his words, he would choke on them until he understood - or until it killed him.

Still, Webber did not look his way. 

‘Yes. You were rude.’ He had been. Sebastian had even been upset about it. Upset enough not to mention it to Button, not to mention it at all. Of course, they had their differences, but he would never wish Webber any harm, and fuck, if Webber thought otherwise, well, who's fault was it if not his own? That was why he hadn't talked to anyone about it. Because, deep down, he felt like he was owed Mark's distrust. 

However, there they were. Mark was apologizing . Vettel wished he could just die. It was certainly unfair how good of a person Webber was sometimes. More so when in contrast to Sebastian himself. 

‘I know. I'm sorry, Seb. I shouldn't have said what I said and I shouldn't have acted like you were unwelcome. It was not true. I was just tired and did not expect to see you there.’

‘Yeah, okay’ It was detestable how hopeful his voice sounded. He wished Webber would let him wallow in his misery and desperation, he could live with the distrust he caused 

‘I did not mean it.’ But you said it. And you had every reason to mean it.  

Sebastian nodded. And finally, oh, finally, Mark stepped closer. Vettel was watching the storm in his eyes, forming and dissipating in a simple breath, while Webber… Webber watched him . Quietly, they stood. Closer than what Sebastian wanted, too afraid Webber could make out the erratic beating of his heart, his failing breaths. 

Sebastian Vettel wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable. If Mark Webber advanced a bit closer, he would be able to read it all. To see it all. He wasn't sure if he could allow it - not when they were so intertwined with other aspects of his life, aspects he couldn't let Webber have access to, aspects Sebastian could barely comprehend himself. 

‘Seb?’

‘Um?’ 

The whispers quickly dissipated into thin air, Sebastian wasn't even sure he had heard anything or if he had made it up in his head.

‘I didn't think you would be so upset, Seb. You have to believe me, I did not think you would give a fuck.’

‘Enough to see if you were okay?’ He wasn't a fan of that conversation anymore. 

‘Not when you had seen me looking up at you on the podium!’ Webber's calm and apologetic tone was dissolving. Sebastian wished he could take a step back. Mark did not move away. ‘If the medical center let me leave, you were supposed to know that I was okay.’

‘But I wasn't sure.’

‘Yes. Yes, I understand that, Sebastian, but I. Fuck. I don't understand you .’ 

The room went quiet.

‘So that gives you the right to be an asshole to me, does it, Webber?’ He was ruining it. He was ruining everything once again and he did not know how to stop doing that.

‘No, Vettel. It does not. That's why I'm apologizing and you know what, perhaps if you get down from your high chair you could stop for a single second and think about this from my point of view.’

Vettel laughed bitterly. ‘Please, Webber, that's all I do. All I do is look for your fucking point of view.’

‘I don't know what you mean by that.’

Then, they stood so close, that the words could only be whispered. 

‘No, me neither.’

Chills and shudders. Mark was too close. Too close and there was no rage standing between them then. It was just the two, there, together, talking quietly, whispering, learning. Seb wanted to grab his teammate's t-shirt and push their bodies together until he finally understood. Until he could finally predict Webber's next move and be ready for it - so he wouldn't be affected by it anymore. 

Because Mark Webber made him burn in every single sense possible. Sebastian had been so acutely aware of his every movement for too long, and yet he was still affected. 

‘Mark,’ he whispered, because he wanted, God he wanted so much . 

Webber angled his head, eyes stuck in his mouth. His breath caught in his throat. ‘What the fuck are you doing to me?’ Webber asked. What a fucking irony. What a fucking tragedy. 

Sebastian Vettel thought he could die right there and then. He almost wished for it. 

☆☆☆

Mark Webber had officially lost his fucking mind. Because he was almost sure that the way Vettel was looking at him at that moment meant he very much wanted Mark to kiss him. Worse yet, Webber was considering it. Fine. He was fighting against it. 

Because it was stupid. And irresponsible. And inconsequential. He really shouldn't. No, he shouldn't. 

But the dark blue eyes were begging for something and Mark wasn't sure he could keep saying no for too long. He would crack, just like he always did when it came to Sebastian. If the blond decided what he wanted, then Webber would cave in the end. It was inevitable, and yet he would still fight it for as long as he could. 

Because when he stared at Sebastian, he saw so many things, potential, care, the fire of obsession all drivers experienced. But he also saw how it would end, and fuck, it would be a tragedy. They were already explosive together, how could it be worth it adding more fuel to the moment?

He should not have followed the bow of Sebastian's red lips. It had been his first and biggest infringement there. Not that Mark had done it purposefully, he simply got stuck there. It wouldn't happen again. Never again. Mark was putting his professionalism right back where it had been. 

Plus. Plus, he might be imagining things. Perhaps Sebastian wanted him to turn away, perhaps that was the look of hate, perhaps Mark was getting this all wrong. Not to mention he wasn't sure he wanted Vettel like that. He knew the other driver made him insane, but that was not necessarily good. Nor bad. But still. 

It might have taken a whole lot of strength, but Mark turned away. Once again, he walked out, believing to have done so unscathed. 

But one day, bloody hell, one day he wouldn't be walking out at all, would he?

☆☆☆

Saturday

Sebastian was not calling Jenson about any of it. He was not going to mention it at all. Perhaps that way, he could forget it. Because he should forget it. He should forget the heating Mark's body involved him with, he should forget the whispers and locked gazes. He wasn't going to read too much into it.

Formula One was an intense sport, resulting in intense drivers. You had to have that fire burning in the pit of your stomach and the unrelentless need for victory—the illusion of hope always following you—otherwise you had no future there. It was all about obsession, about a passion pure enough to get them to their limits. They went willingly. 

When Webber had said that - Sebastian had tragedy the words on his pillow one too many times, the movements forming the meaning engraved eternally in his memory -, when he had whispered those words , he was simply being a victim of that intensity.

Their fights were a prime example of such. There were merely too many feelings surrounding them, it was the atmosphere they lived in. You would be a fool to believe yourself not contaminated by it. It was everywhere and in everyone.

It did not mean they had big feelings for each other, it was just the way out all the tension had found. They were both bound to it - it went no further than that.

Therefore, well, Sebastian hardly had anything to say to Jenson, did he? 

But of course, he had heard of it already, barely knocking down Sebastian's door before he flung it open.

‘I told you to stop it before it got boring!’ Jenson said, not waiting for an invite before waltzing into his room. 

‘Stop what?’ Sebastian did not bat an eye, he was used to Jenson's weird behavior and inscrutable sentences. 

‘I told you not to lie to yourself for too long or things might just get boring. They're boring now, you've been lying for too long.’

‘I'm unsure of what you are talking about, Button.’

‘Monaco? Last year? When you left the party with your panties in a twist over Webber, I told you not to keep lying to yourself. You ignored me, as usual, but now I'm telling you to stop. It's been over a year of this bullshit back and forth. You hate him, then you like him, then you wanna suck his dick, then you wanna kick his face in, and then you pretend you don't give a fuck about him, just to proceed to stare him down at every opportunity!’ 

‘It's too early for this.’ Was Vettel's smart answer? He couldn't think of anything else to say. Of course, Jenson would hardly accept it. 

‘Too late, you mean. We've been on this for too long!’ 

‘Who is we ? You absolutely had nothing to do with this. It's between me and Webber anyway.’

Jenson laughed, ‘Hardly. Not when you come running to me to complain about him.’

‘I won't anymore, Button. Don't you worry about it? I'll say nothing. I'll stay quiet. I won't bother with it anymore…’ Before he could even finish talking, Jenson was thrown into a fit of laughter, tears running down his cheeks.

When he got his wits back, Jenson said, ‘Oh man. That was a funny one, Vettel, I gotta give it to you. I thought you had lost your touch since the whole mess with Webber in Turkey. I don't know, man, you've been stressed! Ah. Good to know you're back. Okay!’ He clapped his hands together. Sebastian jumped a bit. ‘This Sunday. We're going out again. It's been too long, Seb. Plus, I need you to tell me about what happened with Webber yesterday.’

Sebastian gasped, ‘What the fuck? How do you know that? This is freakish.’

The wicked grin on Jenson's face made an appearance. ‘I know everything.’

‘No. Nope. No. This is not normal , Jenson, what the fuck ? How did you… how?’

‘A magician never reveals his secrets.’ Sebastian stared him down. Jenson sighed, ‘Fine. I saw Webber kicking the wall outside the Red Bull quarters.’

‘That's it?’

‘I mean, yes?’ Sebastian was profoundly disappointed. He almost expected Button to admit to a spying moment. 

‘How did you know I was involved anyway?’

The fucking eyebrow raise again. ‘C'mon, Vettel. Webber kicked a wall looking like you had both just made out by the flush in his cheeks, deeply annoyed. Who else could it be honestly? Of course, I wasn't sure, but you literally just confirmed it for me. How does it feel being stupid?’

‘Great, honestly. And okay. It was me. But he was not flushed, you're making shit up in your disturbed mind.’

‘Just a man with a dream, Vettel, don't you dare make fun of me for it. I asked you a year ago to stop boring me, and yet. Here we are.’

Sebastian rolled his eyes. ‘Why do you care, anyway?’

‘Are you kidding me? First of all, I care about you.’ Sebastian sniggered, yes okay, certainly that was the reason, ‘Second of all. You and Webber together? Fuck, it would be insane . But most importantly, the drama would be chef's kiss and I'm bored. Can you blame me?’

‘You know, I don't live my life to entertain you.’

‘You don't? That's news to me. Plus, you know you want this. And by this I mean Webber.’

‘We've been here before, haven't we, Jense?’

‘In this room? I don't think so. The hotel last year was closer to the track, man.’

‘What? No. I meant this conversation. I told you, what?, a million times by this point that I do not want Mark Webber. Actually, I would rather not have anything to do with the man. He can't leave me alone, though. Hardly my fault.’

‘Is hypocrisy part of your personality now or are you really that blind?’

‘Neither.’

‘I think either.’

‘Fuck you, Button.’

‘No. Fuck Webber . Man, what aren't you getting? Sebastian, this is boring . Boring to me and certainly boring to you. C'mon, I know you, Vettel. You can't stay still for too long but you both have been stuck for ages now. When are you going to make your fucking move?’

‘It's too complicated, Jense. He's too much for me. I don't know.’ But Jenson was shaking his head before he finished his sentence.

‘No one is too complicated for you, Seb. The problem is that neither of you has enough balls to admit to what you want. Which is fine. But don't lose an opportunity because you're being a coward. That's not you and that's not Mark. Do something, man.’ Kenson walked to the door, stopping just to add, ‘Plus, you're late for free practice’ before leaving.

That was Jenson Button through and through, wreaking havoc and dipping before it could affect him. 

Sebastian bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. He wasn't sure he wanted to go anywhere with Mark. He wasn't even sure he could want such things. 

It was a bloody mess. And they hadn't even done anything yet. Didn't that say anything that needed to be said about where they stood? 

☆☆☆

Red Bull had brought an update to the front wing of their car for that Grand Prix and the car was certainly flying with it. Mark couldn't be happier with the situation, every single lap completed in his car felt like pure ecstasy. He had recently signed his contract with the team again and the speed made him sure of his choice. Because where else could Mark Webber race if not beside - and definitely against - Sebastian Vettel? It seemed silly to think about changing when he was at the top. 

The third practice ran smoothly for him, a good enough distraction to clean out the incident of the day before. He was focused and he was happy behind the wheel. Until, of course, Vettel ruined everything. 

Because, as Webber was quickly learning, it was never too late for a storm when it came to him and Sebastian. 

☆☆☆

Sebastian lost the rear of the car in a split second. He had no time to understand what had gone wrong before he was slammed against the barriers. His head tilted back. The impact hadn't been terrible, but his neck would be bruised later. Sebastian was disoriented momentarily, unsure of where he was or what had happened. 

‘I'm okay.’ He murmured on the radio. He was okay, but his car most certainly was not. He could see the front wing depressingly hanging in the wrong direction. His new fucking front wing. Fuck him sideways. 

Sebastian jumped out of the car. The second his foot stepped on the gravel, time was ticking against him. Qualifying would be soon and he had no car to use. No front wing, at least. 

He pressed his palms to his eyes. His heart rate was still accelerated, resulting in a dizzy haze. He stumbled into the paddock and closed himself in one of the rooms there. 

Christian appeared sometime later. Vettel wasn't sure how he felt about the team principle in general, he was a nice enough guy with his priorities straight, but Sebastian, for some reason, always managed to stay just a bit out of reach for Horner. There was something there that bugged him. 

‘Sebastian.’ The accent made him smile despite it all. ‘How are we feeling?’ He shrugged miserably.

‘I'm sorry, Christian. I fucked up. I'm sorry.’ He felt sorry, and not only for himself. Every time he hit the wall or made a mistake, the team would pay for it. And that was not fair. 

‘It's alright, kid. Listen. Your front wing is gone. We still have your old one, you can race with that.’ The old front wing was shit. Probably the main point holding their car from being the best in the year by far. But Sebastian had no choice, so he nodded along. Well, at least until Horner said, ‘But listen. You're in front of Webber in the championship. You've got a real chance here, kid…’

In the end, the decision wasn't as hard as he would've liked to believe. It had been logical. Sebastian Vettel might like his teammate quite a bit, but he liked winning more. And he wanted to win, fuck, he needed to win.

Horner had been right, he had an opportunity here, he was in the fight for the championship. Sebastian Vettel could win the drivers championship of 2010. So, yeah. Mark Webber was a problem. He wouldn't be happy about it. 

But it wasn't really Sebastian's problem, was it? Horner had given him the choice, sure, but the idea hadn't come from him. The team saw this as a chance for a championship, one that they believed Vettel could win while Webber couldn't. It was logical. 

And if his teammate didn't understand that… oh well. Seb had come to Formula One with one goal in mind. Unfortunately, his teammate was standing in the way. 

Vettel just hoped Webber would one day forgive him. Or that, at least, the unrelentless feeling of guilt would disappear once he stood on that top step of the podium the next day.

☆☆☆

They were changing his car. The mechanics were changing his car when Webber entered the pit lane for the qualifying session. He didn't need any more context behind it. His heart sank in his chest.

One year and a half. That was how long Red Bull had pretended they did not have a favorite driver. And it had finally come to an end. 

He had no business feeling such betrayal about it - not towards his team, they certainly deserve the bitterness, but surrounding his teammate. He had known once again from the start that Vettel would do anything under the sun for a win. Turkey had been a proof of that. He had no respect for any of the other drivers, certainly not for Webber. He was aware of all of that. Sebastian Vettel was selfish and reckless. Since the beginning, Mark knew this. But still, the sting of the betrayal robbed him of his words. 

For a second, he allowed his mind to linger in his last moment with Vettel, in that room. The tension in the air, the rise and fall of his teammate's chest, how much Webber had yearned for something. The blue of his eyes, the golden of his curls. Mark let himself get swallowed by the memory. By the blinding light that was a contempt Sebastian. A happy one. 

When that moment was done, though, he locked the thought away, never to be visited again. Because Mark had been tricked. He had fallen for the fucking lie once again. He had thought that Sebastian cared and perhaps they could be more than controversial teammates. 

The fucking asshole had even had tears in his eyes for fucks sake! What a fucking manipulador. Motherfucker.

All that acting, Oh Webber but I care, look at me, I care so much! Liar. He did not give a shit. And that was fine by him, he knew the playfield now, and he wouldn't fall for it again.

Mark stayed there and watched the scene unfold. By the time they were done, his car had the old front wing. He didn't need to walk into Vettel's garage to know which one he had. 

Anger was an old friend then, one that Webber received with open arms. When he saw Sebastian already in his helmet, sitting in his car with Webber's fucking front wing, well. His hands closed in fists. He knew the German too well to recognize when he was smiling. This was a joke to him, of course. He had gotten what he wanted and it had cost him nothing. 

Fuck this shit.

Vettel's eyes met his. Mark Webber stumbled away before he did something he would regret. If Vettel needed to play dirty to win over him, it was fine. The payback was coming. And it would be tenfold.

Chapter Text

Silverstone, British GP

July 2010

10th race of the season

'The scandal was contained 

The bullet had just grazed 

At all costs, keep your good name 

You don't get to tell me you feel bad' 

- Who's Afraid of Little Old Me , Taylor Swift

Saturday 

Sebastian would not think too hard about it. He had already been in the car when Webber appeared to throw daggers with his eyes before stomping away, and although the dark green of his eyes had a clear edge of anger Vettel had other things to worry about. Like securing the pole position. 

Of course, he knew that hadn't been his best moment with Webber. But had it been their worst? Hardly. In the end, Webber would move on and Sebastian would stop feeling bad about his decision. Because it had barely been a decision. Vettel had come to win. Not only races but championships. As many as he could and if Mark was in the way, oh well. It was a necessary evil, Sebastian repeated to himself. He had to do it. No, not him. Horner had done it. He had wished for it and how could Sebastian ever say no to such a thing?

He was in front of Mark in the championship. It was as simple as that. And if it was the other way around, well, he would have accepted it. But, would he? That easily? If Red Bull put him in second place like that, would Vettel agree quietly about it? Would he not have felt anger towards Webber?

No. No. He wasn't thinking about it. He had to focus. Clashing again or making it to the Q3 would be a poor way of repaying his team for their efforts.

When Sebastian crossed the line after time had run down, he didn't need anyone telling him he had made it. He had felt it in the car. Sebastian had been flying in that last lap, absolutely flying. 

Silverstone always brought so much excitement around, with different British drivers in the grid and high-speed corners, Sebastian was always happy to be back. Although it was summer, the English weather was still present, looming clouds above them at all times, threatening rain. Vettel wished it would rain. He wished for torrential rain to hit the track, drenching the pavement for hours before the engines were turned on on Sunday. Because there was hardly anyone who drove in the rain like he did, and everyone noticed it.

‘Alright. That's P1. P1, Sebastian. Good job.’ 

He smiled despite himself. Yeah, it was all worth it for this feeling. 

♡♡♡

‘Okay, Mark, that's P2. P2.’ His heart sank. Fuck. 

He did not wish to ask, although it was clear that he did not have any other option. He would know sooner rather than later anyone, and if Vettel was standing outside his car with his familiar shit-eating grin, well, Webber might as well be prepared for it. As much as he could anyway.

‘And Vettel?’ He heard his engineer sighing. 

‘Vettel is P1. Great job, the two of you.’ 

Great job his ass. They had wanted that result and now they had gotten it. It was outrageous that they did not even admit to it. Although their actions spoke for themselves, it bothered Mark infinitely that their speech was still clean and proper. If they wanted Webber to be the second driver, they might as well say it. To everyone. To Mark himself. 

Because he was not having it. He was absolutely not having it.

It felt like a defeat. But Vettel in front of him was not necessarily a sign of who was the best driver, not when he had gotten the new front wing and Mark was stuck with the old one. 

He was still fuming when he stepped out of the car. He dropped his eyes to the pavement, avoiding seeing his teammate altogether, apprehensive of how he would react then. 

The reporters were already circling him, smelling blood in the water, yelling questions Mark knew better than to answer while he forced his way through without a single word. When - because it was a matter of time only - he decided to talk, there would be no politeness. He would make himself heard, even with all the media training he had. 

If Vettel could play dirty and act like a Saint, well then, he would fit right into the role of the devil. After all, he had been watching Sebastian for long enough to have some ideas. 

The post-qualifying interview would start soon enough, and Webber was desperately trying to rule in his anger. He knew nothing of the other drivers. He could not find it in himself to care.

So when Fernando stopped beside him and put his hand on his shoulder, he was surprised. ‘ He. ¿Como estas, hombre? ’ Mark's Spanish was not something he was proud of, but he knew enough to understand a simple How are you ? He shrugged. Alonso rolled his eyes. ‘No bullshit. I heard about what happened.’

‘Didn't everyone?’

‘ Sí .’ Nando paid close attention to his breathing. ‘So? Did you slap him yet?’

Webber laughed despite his anger. Fernando smiled up at him, happy at himself. ‘No. No, not yet.’

‘Aah. Yet . Important word, cabrón . I won't tell if you kick him under the table, you know.’

‘Thank you, Nando.’

‘Anytime, Webber. Anytime. I never liked the blond.’ Mark was starting to laugh when Sebastian stopped in front of them. Fernando humphed loudly, rolling his eyes dramatically at Vettel. The German stayed quiet, a satisfied grin only increasing Webber's anger. He was back at it, Nando's comments already forgotten. Colors were mixing in themselves, turning everything into a vivid shade of red. Mark bit his lip, closed his hands in fists, focused on his breathing.

When they entered the room, Webber wished Fernando would break protocol and sit in the middle seat, making sure Vettel was at least one safe space away from him, though he was painfully aware that the Spaniard could do no such thing without causing mayhem. He felt the lightest touch on his back right before he sat down, gazing up just enough to see Alonso's sympathetic smile. Unfortunately, it did nothing to simmer his rage. He was thankful for the attempt, really, but it was useless until he could smack Vettel and ruin that pretty face, he hardly expected to go back to his peaceful existence. 

He needed Sebastian gone. He needed him to lose everything. He yearned for it. More so if he was the one dealing such a fate to him.

All the press seemed to be there. Usually, there were little to no interesting questions at that time, just the same old ones about how was the car feeling and the goal for the next day - it could never differ from the boring answers that all drivers were forced to learn since their very first contact with the sport. Give them nothing to talk about was the teams’ mantra, they should never, in any circumstances, give the press things to speculate about. The post-qualifying interview, however, was not a place where most drivers kept their guard up. It was rare that any polemic question would find its way there. However, simply with the amount of reporters swimming around, well, it was evident that shit was about to hit the fan.

And Mark Webber might just let it.

They started with Vettel, as Mark knew they would. It was no surprise that he was as polite as he could, smiling broadly to the cameras and speaking slowly and calmly. It was such a contrast to Webber's own feeling that it only fueled his anger. How dare he feel so serene when Mark's whole world had turned upside-down? When Vettel himself had done it. 

‘Sebastian, congratulations on the pole. You’ve had a good run in recent races. How are you feeling about the car and your performance?’ A bald-looking guy asked him, making Webber squirm in his chair.

Beside him, his teammate smiled. Webber wished he could slap it out of his face. ‘Thank you. It was a good lap, I’m happy with the result. But the weekend is not over yet, we’ll see what happens tomorrow. The car felt really good, and we’ve been working well as a team.’ As a team. 

Mark had to focus on his breathing not to yell. Not to stand up and leave and push Sebastian's chair along with him, until he could shake the blond again and again until the rage left him. He wasn't used to feeling like that, Mark was unsure of how to deal with the whole situation without losing his mind. Actually, he had the impression that it was already too late, he had lost it. 

The next question should've been expected, really, although it still made Mark hold back his breath. ‘There’s been a lot of talk about the front wing that you’ve been using. How much of a factor do you think that has played in your pole position today?’ Webber felt his entire body shift, from staring at the cameras to looking directly at his teammate. 

Vettel ignored him completely before answering, ‘I think it’s the same for everyone. We have to adapt to the situation, and it’s just part of the work we do. It’s been a good weekend so far, and I’m just focused on doing my best tomorrow.’ This time, Mark couldn't hold it back. He had kicked Sebastian from under the table before he could think much of it. What he had honestly wanted was to grab the other driver's neck and slam him face-first into the table. Sebastian's bright smile fell from his face as he tried to contain a grimace.

Alonso giggled. 

The same for everyone. Sure, because if Mark had done that to him, he would be sitting quietly there. Nothing else to say. Certainly, his answers would be the same then.

The next question made Webber freeze. Not because he wanted the answer, but because he was extremely interested in how Sebastian would turn it around. How much of a liar he would be. ‘There has been some speculation that you and Mark are not fully on the same page within the team. Is everything okay with you and Mark?’ Webber forced his expression into a blank stare, turning his body back towards the journalists, trying to pretend to be unbothered by it. Although his heart was beating so fast, he thought it might just give out.

Sebastian licked his lips. Forced a smile upon them, before answering smoothly, ‘There’s no problem. We’re a team. We have good teamwork, and we’re pushing each other. The situation is fine, we just try to do our best for the team.’ 

It was funny, really, how many times Vettel had used the word team when it was evident that he did not know the meaning of it. But Mark said nothing, merely because he couldn't. He would allow the anger to simmer, to grow on his chest, to expand until it tainted every good impression Vettel had left on him. 

Logically, Webber was aware that Sebastian did not feel bad, but it was sitting in that room together while Vettel expertly knitted polite answers to outrageous questions, that he realized how much he did not give a shit. 

It enraged Webber so truthfully.

By the time the questions turned to him, all of those memories were bloodied, and Mark was not feeling any better. To stall, he slowly versed water into his glass. 

The very first question went straight for the throat. Mark tried not to grimace,’Alright, moving on to you Webber. The team said there was no favoritism one way or the other. This afternoon, although Sebastian's wing fell off, it was you, Sebastian’ that last hit was directed at his teammate and ir allowed Mark a moment to breathe, ‘who got the new version of the front wing. Can you comment on what you feel about that?’’ It took everything on him not to flinch. His hands were trembling. His breathing was ragged. He would be stupid to think that the cameras were not seeing any of it. 

Mark took a deep breath before saying, in the most ironic tone he could muster, ‘I think the team is happy with the result today.’ He made sure to use the singular. Because they were happy, happy that Sebastian was in first place and Webber was in second. The result of their own fucking choices. 

He brought the glass to his lips, and honestly, it was the small giggle that made Webber lose it. Sebastian had the audacity to sit beside him and laugh. When he slammed the glass at the table, Vettel jumped away just slightly, but it was enough for Mark to feel the tiniest bit better. Water splashed everywhere. Mark couldn't care less.

He wasn't done. Not even close to it. If they thought he would stay quiet about such obvious favoritism, they had chosen the wrong fucking driver.

♡♡♡

So Webber was mad. It was okay. Sebastian had felt it coming anyway, it wasn't like he was surprised by the under-the-table kick. Honestly, the worst part about it had been Alonso's delighted chuckle. He truly did not know what the fuck was wrong with the Spaniard. It wasn't his business and he had more pressing manners to solve. 

And by solve he meant to ignore. Mark would come around, right? Like he always did. It was their way of being, it has nothing to do with anything else. Not that Sebastian didn't think Webber had the right of being pissed at him, he did. Although he was trying not to think too much about it, he was positive he would've been murderous if the situation was reversed. But the situation wasn't reversed, so he was just wasting his time worrying about it. Whatever would happen would happen, it was already too late to change his decision. Not that he would. Even though Mark's anger felt heavier than usual, it was still a weight worth carrying to the finish line. 

Sebastian wondered if one day that would cease to be true. If, perhaps he would ever meet someone that would matter more to him than racing. If he ever wanted to meet them. Or if it was merely an intrinsic part of him other people would have to accept. 

Not cherish, because Sebastian doubted that would happen. But accept. He could live with that.

Honestly, he didn't even know why he was thinking of such things. The Webber situation was fucking his mind up, twisting all his thoughts into an existential crisis.

The main point still stood, at some point, Webber would have to forgive him. Right?

Jenson, however, did not agree. Unfortunately, he found it acceptable to express this to Vettel even when he was sure his face told Button he had no interest in hearing it.‘I don't know, man. Have you ever seen Webber that pissed? Enough to cause a scene? The man is pretty proper, never stepping down to the press level. Until, well. Today.’.

‘I don't wanna talk about it.’ Jenson might've seen something on Sebastian's face, seeing as he quickly shut down whatever comeback he had. The Englishman nodded. They talked about everything else but Mark Webber for the rest of the day.

♡♡♡

In the quiet of his room, Mark could finally breathe properly. He turned the shower on, and sat on the cold bathroom floor, waiting for the water to warm up. His head rolled back on its own accord, hitting the door with a loud thump . 

The day had taken an eternity to end. When Mark thought he would be free to leave, he needed to answer more questions. When his anger started to dissipate, Vettel opened his big mouth, smiled too much, or breathed too strongly, and Webber was thrown back at it.

People rarely talked about how tiring anger was. How much it took - and took and took- from him to keep the rage up. Sebastian deserved no less than Mark at its worst, and if it cost Webber his whole energy, then so be it. It would be worth it.

In the bathroom, his hands started to shake. Mark had been through this before, he was aware of what was coming. He quickly entered the shower and let the hot water wash over him, while, with his head in his hands, he closed his eyes fiercely and focused on his breathing. 

The thoughts were circling before he could put a stop to it. Red Bull chose Vettel as their first driver. You knew it was coming. You always knew. Because, deep down, you know that you are worse than him. Mark bit his lip and watched as blood washed away with the running water. He tried to tune it off, tried to press both hands in his ears, but his breathing was coming out too fast and his head was swimming around in unwanted thoughts.

Whatever people thought about his team's choices, whether they had been fair or not, the truth was undeniable; they thought Vettel deserved that front wing. They thought he could do something with it that Webber would not be able to achieve. They chose Sebastian Vettel as their number one driver and they were making no secret out of it.

Webber wasn't old. He wasn't. But he was thirty- three years old - thirty-four in a month, but still. He wasn't as young as Vettel, in the prime of his twenty-three years of age, driving around recklessly as if he had nothing to lose. Mark had a great deal to lose. How many years did he still have in Formula One before he was considered too old for it? A couple? Perhaps a bit more?

He wasn't naive. There was a limited time for him until his body couldn't take the pressure anymore. It took a great deal to stay in good enough shape to drive a Formula One car. It wasn't easy, and yet Mark had never once complained about it. It was what he wanted, what he loved. He wanted to win.

But not even his team believed him capable of such anymore. Did anything else matter, then? 

The truth was staring him in the face. And as his fingers shook and his breath failed, Mark forced himself to see. He was being put in the second driver position. Did he deserve to be there?

Fuck. Was he worth anything to anyone by that point? He hadn't brought his country any championship as he had intended, he had no partner in his life who believed in him, his friends were still part of that same world that was tearing him apart, and he hardly saw his family.

He was a failure and a bad driver and on borrowed time and- and- and- he couldn't breathe. His chest twisted in pain as he clawed at his own throat for a breath. He needed to calm down, he needed to think straight, he needed to clear his mind, he needed to drive better and he needed he needed he needed.

Mark closed his eyes. Opened them. Water rained down on him hard, making it impossible for him to see anything. 

His nails dug deep into his hands. He opened the fists. Half moons stared back at him. He looked away. Droplets of water in the glass, running down like tears. 

He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, covering all his view for a moment. Until the black behind his eyelids became too unbearable until the knot on his chest took hold of him. He lay down there, allowing the water to fall like rain, hands lying flat on the cold floor, body shaking from shivers and chills and the plaguing thoughts consumed him.

Mark did not notice when the water turned cold. He did not hear the knock on his door. He did not move. He lay there, listening to his own brain tell him that he just wasn't good enough . At some point, he drifted off.

♡♡♡

Sebastian stopped knocking after a couple of minutes. Mark wasn't going to open. Mark shouldn't open, not when Vettel had come to throw his problems at the Australian once again - problems that he had caused himself and had impacted none other than Webber.

He shouldn't have come. Of course not. But Sebastian constantly found himself looking for Webber when his conscience wouldn't let him sleep. When his heart would ache and ache and he would be swallowed up by his decisions. The problem with hurting Mark Webber was not having Mark Webber to fight with. An annoyed Webber was a thousand times preferable than an upset one. He had been angry in those interviews, but Vettel knew it was hurt behind every single one of his words. It dripped off his tone and dropped on the table between them, running down ‘til it covered the whole thing, ‘til it overflowed, ‘til it drip drip dripped on Sebastian's lap. 

His shower hadn't helped. Actually, it had made it worse, somehow highlighting the emotion on Webber's face in his memory. 

In his head, he was failing. He couldn't explain such a thing to Webber, nor expect the older driver to understand, but he wanted to. He wasn't sure of what to do with such a raw need. It had been there, slowly eating at him, for the last Grand Prix. 

Vettel would have to live with his choices. And if it brought him some wins, he would be able to do it. But what once would've been so easy, now seemed a bit impossible. Seemed a bit stupid. Irrational. He didn't want to stay away from Webber. He didn't want Webber to stay away from him. But he had driven another splinter between them. He had done it. And he would have to deal with the consequences.

He remembered just one year ago when he would do anything for the win. He still stood there, in his beliefs, he had clearly done everything for it once again. But now… now it had cost something he wasn't sure he wanted to let go of. Now, he wanted Mark to open the door and for him to understand , that it was bigger than him, stronger, they were both drivers, and he knew how it was.

But something told him that Webber didn't. He didn't know because he wouldn't have done the same. Perhaps because he wouldn't have been given the opportunity, or perhaps because he would refuse the offer. 

How could Sebastian yearn for someone so much better than him? How could he dare to dream of Webber's hands on him when he did things like that? When he would give it all up for the possibility of a podium? 

He shouldn't feel bad. Things were like they were supposed to be. 

Sebastian stepped away from the door. He stumbled back into his room and threw himself on the bed, waiting for sleep to finally take him.

♡♡♡

Sunday

Mark was going to pass Sebastian. He would do it, and it would be preferable to do it in the very first corner. The night before had been a wake-up call; he couldn't return to his anxious days without a fight. If he was going down, that was fine, but he would go down fighting. 

As the five red lights started to light, his heart beat fast in his chest, his foot waited impatiently to step on the throttle, his fingers twitched in the wheels. 

He should've expected Sebastian to play dirty when Webber got a better start than him, both cars side by side in the first corner. He realized what Vettel was about to do only a second before - Sebastian would do anything to stay in front in the corner, and Mark saw himself being pushed off the track before his teammate had even the opportunity to do it-, but it was enough time to firm his car in the curve. Not this time, Vettel. Took what it took, he was coming out in front. Wasn't that Vettel's mindset? Then it would also be his. 

Mark threw his car on top of Vettel's, making sure the German understood he had to either back the fuck off or they would collide just like they had done in Turkey. Sebastian's wheels touched the gravel and he had to swerve dangerously to the right to avoid losing control of the car, causing him to drop back several positions. Normally, Webber wouldn't care much how many cars back was Vettel, but every single one of them made his smile grow bigger and bigger. 

It was fun playing dirty. Webber might just get used to it. 

♡♡♡

What had been that move? Sebastian's heart was still beating out of order even after he recovered control of the car. Webber had lost his motherfucker mind. They could've collided! It was his turn, his . Not Mark's. And the Australian fucking knew that.

His car entered the track again just to smash against Hamilton's front wing. The impact made him lose the car for another second, sliding on the track, his heart dropping dropping dropping. He didn't need much time after that to feel the car's capacity dropping. ‘Fuck. I have a puncture!’ He yelled at the radio. To stop then would be to compromise his entire race, but he had no other choice.

The feeling of dread as he re-entered the pit lane almost choked him. 

It was all Webber's fault.

♡♡♡

Crossing the line at first had never been so satisfying. Mark laughed openly, feeling light as a feather. The British crowd yelled, shaking the ground, and he could taste the victory, he could taste justice being made, the excitement, the sheer relief. It all came rushing at in the second he crossed the line when Horner's voice met Mark's ears. He flinched in his helmet. It was obvious that Vettel had something to do with his wing change, but nothing would've been done with the agreement of Christian Horner.

He wouldn't forget. He would never forget. These decisions had forever impacted his career, it would follow him forever because it was a statement - even without being one. Red Bull could be a coward and not say it openly, but their actions were enough then. More than enough. He couldn't forget and he just wouldn't, it was one of those things. Forgive and not forget. But Mark didn't think he was going to forgive. Although the win certainly helped, Mark wasn't in a forgiving mood. He doubted he would ever be again.

He had said it before much thought, the words he had been thinking for the entirety of the race bubbling out of him, ‘Fantastic drive! Not bad for a number two driver. Cheers!’ The giggle that followed his words was out of the radio, and for that Mark was thankful. He couldn't seem too happy about it. Or perhaps he could, because what would they even do about it? Get rid of him? Hardly, he had just signed his contract for the next years. Plus, the team was aware that Webber was not precisely replaceable. He could be a number two driver for them, but he was still one hell of a driver.

When he stepped out of the car, he was already sure he wasn't done. The podium was a pipedream of champagne. Mark made sure to stare down at his team, painting it clear on their memories that he was the one taking that one. Not their golden boy, Sebastian Vettel. Him. 

He gulped the champagne down. Then, some more. And another gulp, one more. He left the almost empty bottle on the podium, grabbing his trophy and stumbling out of there.

The press interview would be an interesting one without Sebastian there to run his mouth. Perhaps Mark would run his then. 

Because he had proven - although not yet to himself - that he did not deserve to be second to a brat like Sebastian Vettel. 

♡♡♡

Mark Webber had said some interesting things by the time Jenson took the remote out of Sebastian's hands and turned off the television in the Red Bull quarters. He wasn't sure how he had gotten in, but he was infinitely grateful. No matter, he had memorized them the second they came out of his teammate's mouth anyway. It went from ‘If the roles were reversed, I'm not sure it would've been the same.’ in the post-race interviews to multiple comments outside to whichever journalist wanted to hear. 

‘I would never have signed a contract again for next year if I believed that was the way it was going to be.’ He had said.

‘I’m sure they’re absolutely rapt with the result today.’ He had said, although that one had come out rather sarcastically.

‘I wasn’t meant to win today.’ He had finished with - or at least Vettel thought he had stopped there since Jenson had stopped him from hearing any other comment. It broke his heart, how much Webber had meant those words. Sebastian did not believe them. Webber was undoubtedly a great driver. Red Bull saw it too. Everyone saw it, they would be fools not to notice it. Sebastian watched his every move because he saw Mark for the threat that he was, since the very beginning. But Mark did not believe in it anymore. Worse yet, he thought no one did. 

His chest was opened, bleeding all over the floor, showering himself in red, in pain. 

Jenson was quietly watching. ‘Why are you torturing yourself, man?’ The delicate tone took Vettel by surprise. He certainly didn't look that miserable, did he? Enough to render some sympathy from Jenson Button?

‘I'm not. Just wanted to see what he had said. Everyone is murmuring about it anyway, why can't I hear it?’ It was true. He could hear the thrumming of the media whispering about it, the excitement Webber's words had caused everywhere around them. The team had reacted quickly, moving around the garage with lots of things on their minds, certainly. Sebastian could relate. 

‘Because it's not about you and you look like a kicked kitten now.’ 

‘It is about me, Jense. It is. He knows it too.’ The words were heavy and distasteful in his mouth - the truth nonetheless.

The blood left Button's face the second he understood what Sebastian had meant. ‘Man. Tell me you didn't. Sebastian. Tell me you didn't ask for it.’

‘No. I didn't ask for it. But when they asked me…’ He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Jenson understood him fine.

‘Vettel.’

‘Don't. I don't wanna hear it, Button. You would've done the same. As would he. So do not. ’

Jenson nodded silently. But then he stopped. ‘I might've. But Webber wouldn't. And you can yell at me, man, but I won't be lying to you.’

He had nothing else to say. So he said nothing.

But the pain couldn't stay, Sebastian couldn't allow it to. He used it to forge his words, to sharpen his tongue, to boil the tinge in his chest into anger. Then, he left the room, looking for his teammate.

♡♡♡

Mark wanted to leave as fast as he could. He was done for the day—and done in general—and his head was aching steadily. He was already dreaming of a long, hot shower and some drinks to celebrate his win. Alonso had been waiting for him, singing some Spanish song he did not recognize under his breath.

‘Vicious, Webber. I like it.’ Mark didn't ask him what he was referring to, it was obvious. His comments had been sharp and straightforward, and he regretted nothing. Not. One. Word.

The hurricane Sebastian Vettel stumbled into the room. Alonso got up, Mark pretended not to see him. Vettel lived for the attention, for the drama, and Webber simply wasn't in the mood to give it to him like that. It was Jenson, though, that made him finally look. Because what the fuck was he doing there.

Sebastian was fuming. Mark was tired. But he would go into it if he felt it was necessary. 

‘Are you fucking insane , Webber?’ Sebastian was snarling in his face in a second. Mark had to give it to him, he was fast. ‘We almost crashed!’

‘Hmm. Yes. Yes, we did, Vettel. You know why? Because I didn't back down like you expected, did I? Did that ruin your race? Huh? Oh, well, perhaps next time you can be a bit less reckless and think about the whole race and not just fucking me over. ’

Vettel grinned wickedly. ‘And what would be the fun in that?’ 

‘No fun. But some of us get some fun out of the track, Vettel. Perhaps you should try it sometime? I thought you and Jenson were at it, but…’ He shrugged dramatically. He felt wicked, devilish. It was great. ‘I guess not.’

‘Don't put me in this, man.’ Said Jenson, although he was chuckling. 

And Sebastian? God, Sebastian was furious . Mark had the impression of never having seen him like that. He hadn't expected his comment to get such a raw reaction out of his teammate, but he wasn't about to complain. 

‘Oh, fuck you very much .’ He snarled. 

‘You won't make me say the joke, will you, Vettel? You're smarter than that, certainly.’ 

It was a blur, the way Vettel advanced on him. A whisper of a touch on his neck and then gone. Jenson wasn't smiling anymore, instead groaning, trying to push his friend back.

‘Mate, no. Vettel, stop. Sebastian!’ 

Alonso's hands were also pushing Mark back, and he went willingly. ‘It's fine. It's fine.’ He said to the Spaniard, who shrugged. 

‘I would say go for it, hombre , but they're looking for more drama outside. You don't want to go there right now.’ But later. Later. He smiled at what Nando wasn't saying.

‘Seb. Calm the fuck down.’ Jenson was saying. Seb . Mark bit his lip. Sebastian shook Jenson's hands off of him, before throwing one more vicious stare at Mark and leaving.

The room went down in silence. Jenson was breathing heavily, no doubt from the effort of holding back a raging Vettel.

Webber shook his head. Button stopped him by the door. ‘When was the last time you had some fun , Webber?’ He felt his cheeks tint.

‘None of your business, Burton.’

‘Um. But it is, I'm afraid.’

Mark nodded, accepting his fate. He should've known better than to lie in Button's face. About something like that more crucially. ‘ Fine. ’ It was nearly a growl. Jenson giggled, too happy with himself. Mark could not understand his obsession with discovering other people's shit, but the Englishman was contemptuous while doing it and Wevber had no reason to ruin it for him. Plus, he wasn't above begging to keep his self-respect, and Vettel that annoyed. ‘Don't tell him. Please , don't tell him, Button.’

Jenson smiled big, ‘I'm not a liar, Webber.’ Mark stared for a second, unable to find the words to express his outrage at, well, that lie . ‘Okay. I am a liar, but I'm not usually lying to Sebastian. It's normally with him or for him.’ Mark sighed and Jenson threw his hands up. ‘Fine! I admit it. I lie to him all of the time but that is not the point here, Mark Webber.’

‘I said nothing,’ he pointed out.

‘Yeah, okay. Who's the liar now? Anyway .’ He added forcefully when Webber opened his mouth. He had said nothing. God, Jenson could be nearly as infuriating as Vettel sometimes. ‘I will keep your secret though.’

‘What's the catch?’ 

‘No catch.’ Mark was not buying it. ‘Hey. No catch. This is for my pure entertainment anyway. Ha. This is going to be a fun night.’ Jenson left before Mark could say another word.

‘Let's go, man. Let's celebrate.’ Mark let Alonso guide him back to their hotel without saying much.

♡♡♡

Fun out of the track ?! Was he serious? How had Vettel not heard anything about it? Not even one single rumor of Mark's illicit meetings! 

He stared blankly at Jenson. ‘Don't look at me like that. Some secrets you take to the grave.’

‘You knew ?’

‘That Mark had been fucking anything that walks recently? Yeah, man. I did.’ Jenson rolled his eyes as if saying what don't I know? Normally Vettel would've found it funny enough, but then he was merely not having it.

‘And you didn't think to tell me ?!’ He sounded out of breath. He felt it too. Angry, as well. Frustrated. Annoyed. A whole bunch of things. Caused by fucking Mark Webber. Again . 

‘I thought you didn't care. Plus, it's not like it's a secret anyway. Everyone knows it, Seb.’

‘Clearly not everyone .’ He was fuming. Oh, it bothered him. How it bothered him dearly.

‘You don't care!’ Jenson said back. ‘Remember?’

‘Maybe I do care! If he's fucking anyone. I did think he had some respect for himself. Apparently, I was wrong.’

‘Shut it, Vettel. I take that comment very personally.’ Of course, because Jenson was onto anything with a skirt. ‘Plus, we've been through this before. Don't be a fucking hypocrite. Why can you do it and not him?’ Sebastian didn't even have it in him to make a joke about ‘doing it’. He was simply mad. 

‘Because! It's different.’

‘I don't think it's that different…’

‘It's completely different, Button! ’ 

The asshole was laughing. Laughing. ‘Whatever you say, Seb. Are you going to change or stand there scolding Webber mentally for fucking around?’

‘He's not fucking around!’ Sebastian hated that he sounded like a spoiled child, but he simply couldn't help it

‘He is, though. But it's okay, we don't have to mention it if you can't handle it. It's fine.’ Sebastian puffed, wishing he had smacked Jenson years ago and avoided that fucked up friendship before it ruined his life. ‘If you still want to go out.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘But Mark will be there. Perhaps fucking around.’ Sebastian slammed the bathroom in Jenson's face. He heard a burst of hysterical laughter and grunted. Fuck Jenson Button very much. And Mark Webber. Fuck Mark Webber. And not like that!

♡♡♡

Sebastian had gotten into the nightclub a few minutes ago, and Mark was still managing to save face. Talking with Fernando was helping, more so when the Spaniard pretended not to notice how badly Mark was following the conversation. It was hard to pay attention to him and Sebastian at the same time. And he didn't see how he could not pay attention to Vettel. 

The German hadn't yet seen him. Alright, that was a lie; Sebastian had clocked him the second he had stepped foot in the club, but he had stayed away until then. Mark was glad. Super glad. So glad. Really, really glad. 

He was even- ‘Webber. If you're going to lie to yourself this much, then at least lie better.’

‘What?’

Fernando was grinning. ‘Forget it. I don't think you could do it anyway.’

Mark shrugged. Okay. He wouldn't force Alonso to talk if he didn't want to. They could stay silent for all he cared. Actually, he might hugely prefer it. 

His teammate looked good. Very good, unfortunately. Not that he had noticed such a thing, it was simply one of those things you couldn't help but notice. He was dressed in large jeans pants that fell with his narrow waist and a plain white shirt that snagged on his torso. He had recently showered, his blond curls a tone darker than usual, indicating that they were still damp. The unexpected contrast turned Sebastisn's dark eyes appear even darker, a blue from the bottom of the ocean. But Mark wasn't looking and he wasn't noticing. Plus, what was the thing with the heating system? It was summer, for fuck's sake, he couldn't quite understand why the nightclub insisted on upping the temperature in the room. 

‘Is it hot in here?’ He asked vaguely, still engrossed in the way Vettel was moving around. 

Beside him, Alonso snickered. ‘Hate, is it?’ Mark's gaze snapped back into Nando's. The club had red and blue lights flashing and it turned Fernando's expression the smallest bit more threatening. It was entertaining to watch. 

‘Sorry?’ 

‘Hate, you say. About Sebastian.’

‘Yes.’ Mark agreed, not fully understanding what Alonso was hinting at. 

‘Funny.’ He deadpanned. Webber tilted his head, confused.

‘You drunk, Nando?’

Fernando laughed. ‘No, but you are.’

‘I haven't drunk anything mate, what are you on about?’ 

Alonso was already getting up when he said, ‘No, not alcohol. Just your drug of choice. We won't hold you back now, Webber. Go have some fun. You deserve it, mate.’ 

Mark wished the bartender would give him whatever Alonso was on because that shit was strong. Unfortunately, his friend disappeared into the corner with a blond before he could ask for his drink of choice.

He gestured with his hand, asking for a shot that quickly appeared before him. He threw the drink back, grimacing at its bitter taste. 

When he looked back down, Vettel was seated where Alonso had been moments ago, smiling his sugar-sweet smile up at him - except this time, it had an unfamiliar edge to it. A thrill ran through Mark's veins, even when he jerked a bit from the sudden appearance. 

‘Fuck. You scared me.’

‘Thought I was one of your hookups, did you?’ So Vettel was still bothered by it. Good. He deserved much worse than that.

‘Not really, I can tell you apart from them quite easily.’ Alright, fuck, that wasn't the smart comeback he was hoping for. It was the drink, making its way to his brain already. 

‘Thank you?’ Sebastian sounded unsure if that had been a compliment or not. So was Webber, therefore there was nothing he could do about it.

Mark sighed, annoyed at himself, ‘You're welcome.’

‘I was not done earlier.’ Vettel pointed out while making a show out of twirling his drink on the glass. Not looking at Webber. Mark tried to hide how much it smarted by ordering another shot.

‘When are you ever done, Vettel.’ Another shot. It did not help him feel better as he expected. Perhaps another one?

‘Watch your mouth.’ Sebastian snarled, patience lost once and for all. His smile was so big he had no chance of hiding it. It only egged Vettel on. 

But Webber had been in that game for over a year as well, and he was learning that he liked playing it just fine. ‘I can't, but you're doing a good job out of it, though.’ It was certainly the red shimmering lights, because what else would explain the dark shade of pink in Vettel's cheeks?

‘You pushed me off !’ Right into business then. But not there. Mark could've talked out of his ass to the press earlier, but they still needed to avoid any more unnecessary drama. And Sebastian Vettel was the number one fan of such. ‘C'mon, Webber, you know you want to get into it.’ He was right. Of course, he was right. Was there anything any of them liked better than having a go at the other? He couldn't speak for Vettel, but for him, there was absolutely nothing else he would rather do with his time. Which was embarrassing and a damn shame. 

‘Fine. But not here.’ He relented, as he always did with Sebastian. ‘Get rid of your boyfriend and meet me at the back in ten minutes.’

‘I'll get rid of Jense if you ditch the Spaniard.’ Vettel shot back, annoyance dripping on his tone.

‘Done.’

‘And don't you dare leave me hanging for one of your hookups, Webber.’

Mark smiled slowly. ‘I won't if you make it worth my while.’ Yeah, he had totally drunk too much. What the hell was that?

♡♡♡

What the hell was that? Oh, Vettel would make it worth his while alright. With his fist on Webber's face, more likely. 

He had to quite literally sneak away from Jenson's view. His friend would never allow him to follow Mark Webber into a dark alley with no supervision. Now that he thought of it, actually, perhaps Mark had a maleficent plan to kill him there. It was worth finding out, he guessed. 

Sebastian stumbled his way to the back alley - he might be a bit drunker than he had initially thought, but no matter no matter -, to find Mark perched on the wall, quietly frowning at the world. 

His teammate turned to him the second the door banged closed behind him. Silence for a moment. Then, they were right back at it. They knew not how to be otherwise.

‘You pushed me off the track!’ Sebastian was yelling, thankful for the loud sound of the music coming from inside and making it impossible for anyone else in their drunken stupor to understand them. 

‘Don't act like you weren't going to do the same.’ He was, but that wasn't the point.

‘No, I wasn't! It was a dangerous move, Webber.’ 

Honestly, Sebastian thought it would be harder to get a reaction out of Webber, having in mind how he had acted earlier, calmingly laughing at Vettel's attempts to get a rise out of him. He had hardly tried before Mark was snarling in his face. ‘You would know a lot about dangerous moves, wouldn't you?’

‘Shut it.’

‘Remember Turkey, Vettel?’

Sebastian wanted to kick something. Preferably Mark, but something would do. He was so fast to lose his temper, it dizzied him. ‘Oh, I do. When you closed the door on me while I had the clear line.’

‘You did not have the line!’ Webber was finally close enough to touch, their angry daze bringing them together without any realization. They were chest to chest, words had no reason to be yelled out anymore. Sebastian preferred to whisper anyway. ‘You did not.’ The repeated words were quieter then, although not less full of rage. 

It drove Sebastian on, as it always did. ‘Lie to yourself if you must, Webber, see if I give a shit. I'm talking about this weekend.’

‘Right. This weekend. When you begged our team principal to take away my front wing in order to put it in your car after you fucked up in the free practice.’ So that was what Webber thought had happened. He believed Vettel had asked for it. It wasn't true, although it wasn't that far off. He would let him think it because if already hated him anyway, there was no reason to make him hate Horner as well. Mark didn't need to know the decision to fuck him over had come from his own team and not from Sebastian. So Vettel didn't say anything. ‘Quiet all the sudden, are we?’

‘Not you, that's for sure. You don't know when to shut up. The press appreciated it, Markie, I'm sure.’

‘Don't.’ Mark's fist hit the concrete above Sebastian's head with impressive force. The older man didn't even flinch at the contact. Somehow, they had ended in that position, with Sebastian's body firmly pressed against the wall and Mark looming above him, making sure he wouldn't go anywhere. ‘You fucked me over, Vettel. And you would've done it again at the start if I hadn't defended myself.’

‘Defended yourself? Is that what we are calling reckless driving now?’

‘Why can't you just stop fucking talking?! Shut your mouth, Vettel. Stop. For one fucking second. God, you ruin everything. You really cannot bear to see me thrive, can you? I don't fucking get it, Sebastian. I don't. One day you're all sorry eyes and the next you are destroying my career!’

Sebastian scoffed mockingly, ‘Now, that's dramatic. I didn't destroy your career , Webber, you did that yourself.’

The slap came out of nowhere, so fierce it threw his head to the side, and yet what was even more surprising was what came next. One second he was tasting blood on his split lips and the next Webber was the one tasting it.

Fuck. Mark Webber was kissing him. Fucking finally. Sebastian was fast about getting on his tip-toes, answering Webber's blazing fervor with his own. He opened his mouth as much as he could and tilted his head back, giving Mark all the access he needed to keep going. 

It wasn't much of a kiss, more like a fight of their own. It was fitting, of course, for the two of them, and Sebastian found himself completely obsessed with it. 

Webber's fingers found their way into Sebastian's curls, tugging incessantly on them until they burned. In return, Vettel dug his own fingers into Webber's flesh, bringing him closer closer closer, until there was no space between them anymore. They were moving in surprising synch, Vettel couldn't take it anymore. He pushed Webber away, who looked horrified at himself before Sebastian lost the battle with his conscience and started kissing his neck. 

‘Fuck.’ Whispered Mark against his ear. Fuck was right. It was that fucking accent, Sebastian decided, that Australian accent that did him in so badly. That fucked him up to the point of no return. ‘I hate you.’

Sebastian laughed against his skin. Because of course, he did. He hated Webber too. So much he couldn't think about anything else. They turned around, this time Webber was the one with his back to the wall, though he did not seem to mind in the least. ‘Yeah?’ Mark nodded desperately, ‘How much?’

Sebastian bit down like he had done so many months ago. Webber grunted, ‘So much.’

‘How much?’ Vettel insisted, having too much fun. Webber grabbed his shirt and brought their lips back together, licking and bitting before pushing his the smallest bit away, barely enough for him to form out the words, ‘ This much.’ Sebastian couldn't help it, he sighed against Webber's lips. It felt like a dream, something he had wanted for so long without allowing himself to wish for, finally coming true. The feeling of Webber's fingers on his hair and the way his lower back moved on Sebastian's hands. 

Sebastian never wished to be stuck, he was always moving forward, always advancing, an honest true believer that the best lay ahead . But in that moment, he would have given up anything he had if the seconds could stop and rewind. If time would stutter and freeze for them just that once.

Because of the way Webber was kissing him and the desperation he felt while kissing back, they both knew this was a one-time mistake. How bittersweet was it to get everything you ever wanted just to have it ripped out of your hands moments later?

But he wasn't thinking about it. If they were indeed on borrowed time, Vettel had to memorize it all. The hitch on Webber’s breath, the possessiveness of his fingers, the small bites Mark left on his jaw. Sebastian hung up to all of it, kissing Webber fiercely, the wall behind him certainly marking his back with the force Vettel was using to press him against it. 

It wasn't sweet, not by a long shot. It wasn't calm and it wasn't loving. It was pure rage and lust in a kiss, a forgery of what they despised the most and desired so ardently all in one.

It was simply too good. He should've guessed that, with that much rage between them, but Vettel had been avoiding thinking about how much he wanted this for too long. He hadn't thought he would ever get it.

Sebastian wasn't sure how much time they spent there, kissing and grabbing at each other, biting and kissing away the pain. Now, his hands lay flat on Webber's chest, feeling the beating of his heart increasing by the second. It was euphoric. Finally, he said, ‘I hate you too, Webber.’

‘Yeah?’ Sebastian nodded. ‘Thank fuck.’

But when Vettel stepped closer once again, Webber seemed to have snapped out of it. His face paled. He was shaking his head and stepping away. Sebastian wanted to close his eyes. To not see anything. To not see Mark walking away. But he should've learned by then that he did not know how to look away from Mark Webber - not after so many months of looking at him or for him.

‘What…Fuck. Fuck. This…’ He didn't finish his sentence, no words left. Then, he was gone a heartbeat later. 

Sebastian felt his body sag against the wall. His skin was on fire, he was still out of breath, and he hated the way his fingers were shaking. He pressed them to his lips. Both are warm, both by Mark Webber. He grunted, threw his head back. The pain was welcomed. Perhaps he should pinch himself. What the fuck had happened? 

Mark Webber had kissed him. And kissed him and kissed and kissed him. And Vettel had kissed him back - in a way he had never kissed anyone else in his life. 

Fuck. That would be a nightmare to fix.

♡♡♡

Jenson closed the door that led to the back alley as quietly as he could, just to be met by Fernando Alonso breathing down his neck. Jenson yelped and jumped back, hitting his head on the wall and wrenching a surprised laugh out of Fernando.

‘What the hell, man?’ He said. Fernando shrugged, unbothered.

‘So? Are they at it, finally?’

Jenson smiled. He hadn't stuck around to see much, but the possessive grip of Webber's fingers on Sebastian's hair said enough. ‘Yeah. Pay up.’ He showed his empty palm to the Spaniard.

Alonso shook his head. ‘No. Not until I'm sure you're not lying to me.’ Jenson shrugged. It was fair. He wasn't exactly the most upstanding person when it came to silly bets. He truly had an unhealthy obsession with them and would absolutely lie for a win. He pushed the door open as silently as he could, moving out of the way to allow Fernando what surely was a predictable view.

Mark was the one pressed against the wall then, and if they weren't so sure the two wanted each other, they could easily think they were fighting and not kissing. It was wild like that. When Sebastian let out a breathy moan, Alonso was quick to close the door back up again, fishing a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and pressing it to Jenson's palm.

‘Thank you .’ Jenson said, in contempt.

‘Dammit. I thought Mark would hold back a while longer.’

Jenson rolled his eyes. Newbie. ‘He has been holding back for a year and a half, Alonso. That's Sebastian Vettel we are talking about. Don't act like you wouldn't do him.’

Alonso looked disgusted. Jenson laughed. It was truly a day to remember.

Chapter Text

Silverstone, British GP

10th race of the season

July 2010

'End of the pier, end of the bay 

You tug my arm and say 

“Give in to lust, give up to lust 

Oh, heaven knows we'll soon be dust," 

Oh, I'm not the man you think I am' 

- Pretty Girls Make Graves, the Smiths

Monday 

Mark stumbled into his apartment disoriented; he had walked the whole way from the nightclub to his home without stopping for a second, even sprinting down the first blocks, too eager to put some distance between him and Vettel - although even more eager to come back and finish what they started. It only fueled him more, driving him forward until he could firmly close and lock his door. Then…well, then he fell apart.

The memory was still fresh; Vettel's fingers roaming his body, the small sigh of happiness the German had let slip, the stutter of his heart, the stars, the taste, and—oh God. Mark bit into his hand.

No, no, no, no, no. What the fuck had he done? For all the times he had accused Vettel of being reckless and inconsequential, Mark had gone ahead and done it. He had kissed his teammate. A teammate he hated, a teammate who wanted nothing more than to see him fail. A teammate that was ten years younger than him.  

Fuck, it was hard to breathe. Webber tried to calm down, but every time he closed his eyes he was thrown back into the fucking alley, surrounded by the touch and the smell of the man he hated more than anyone in this world, intoxicated by the feelings, by the memory.

He didn't remember how to stay upright anymore, all he could muster was the sharp memory of Sebastian's lips on his. 

He had fucked up. He had ruined everything. Once again, Mark had offered Sebastian the upper hand and he could not take it back. It didn't matter that Vettel had kissed him back - and what a kiss it had been -, Mark had started it. The blame, the guilt, the mistake, they all belonged to him. Sebastian was young and reckless, Mark should've known better. 

His head was still reeling. His heart was still beating desperately in his chest. But Mark was stronger than the need to go back, to look for Sebastian and lose himself in another burning kiss. 

He had to be logical, then. It hadn't been Sebastian who had made it unforgettable. Okay, so he was a good kisser. Good for him! Mark hadn't made out with anyone in a long time, so of course, he was obsessing over it. Sebastian had just been the first person close enough to him.

It had nothing to do with Vettel. Not at all. It sounded bad, sure, but he was there . Nothing to do with his soft hair and infuriating smile, nor with the dark blue eyes and red lips - how they had felt against his, how he tasted of a fruity drink and intoxicating mistakes, his narrow waist in Webber’s hand, the way his breathing accelerated and his lips pressed on Mark’s neck… His fingers flew there, tracing the sport where Sebastian had kissed mere moments ago with such delicacy, wishing he could still feel the heat.

Mark groaned. No. Nope. No, no, NO. He wasn't going there. He wasn't going there ever again. Perhaps he needed to find someone to burn that fire with but it could not be Vettel. He didn't even want to be Vettel. 

His chest deflated.

Well. It couldn't be Vettel so what he wanted hardly mattered. Meaning he didn't need to think about it. And he wasn't, so.

He had two weeks before he had to see his teammate again. Two weeks of peace and quiet to understand what had gone wrong in his head in London. Hopefully, Sebastian wouldn't use it against him. Hopefully, they could forget all about it.

Hopefully, by then, they would have both moved on from what had been a stupid mistake.

Yeah okay. Very likely.

☆☆☆

Two days later

Sebastian had flown home the day after Silverstone. He didn't have it in him to stay lingering around and risk meeting Webber anywhere. Not when all he could think of during the hours of flight was Webber. It was impressive, really, how well he remembered the whole thing. He hadn't been drunk per se, but Sebastian wasn't good with details. Unless it came to Mark Webber apparently. 

Because fuck, he remembered the feeling of their bodies pressed together just fine. And the way he had tasted of tequila and bad decisions. The small bruises Mark had left behind in his haste to destroy Sebastian. The moans and gasps. He remembered it well. Too fucking well.

It had been an interesting flight, to say the least. He didn't have to explain to Horner where Webber was - seeing as Vettel had decided to fly to Germany while Webber would stay in his apartment close to London -, he even pretended to not have heard at all from his teammate since the race. 

Even when he was about to spend hours rethinking their encounter the night before.

Sebastian had been tired in the plane, although not tired enough to fall asleep, so he was damned with the plaguing thoughts of the moments they had shared.

He still hadn't decided how he felt about the kiss. Or not the kiss - he was sure he liked that, like super sure - but who had been kissing him.

Even thinking his name brought him excitement. It shouldn't! Fuck, it shouldn't. Vettel could convince himself that he kept replaying the memory in his mind because it had merely been a good kiss. Perhaps it had nothing to do with his teammate at all. 

His teammate. The one who had been causing him stress since they started sharing a team, the one with the cutting words. The one who tended to ignore him whenever something happened.

Germany helped. Hearing people speaking his language - one he didn't correlate to Mark Webber - in places he loved - places Webber hadn't been -, eating traditional food that reminded him of his family - and that Webber had never tried-, and running in the morning sun - without thinking about Mark Webber.

It was quite easy if Sebastian thought about it. Like if he thought about not thinking about Mark Webber. Or when he was really busy - which was… well, never, even when he was at the gym, his mind wasn't occupied enough and he kept finding himself back in that alley -, although not when he was asleep.

He was having dreams. So what? Some would not even call it dreams but rather nightmares. Of course, by someone he meant… Well, not himself. Because those were dreams. He would will himself back into sleep just in the hopes of going back to where the dream had stopped - because he couldn't be blamed for the thoughts of Webber when it was his asleep brain conjuring the images, and therefore he had no control over them. 

It was a lot. A lot to deal with in the middle of a season he could still win. A lot when he had to see the teammate he had desperately kissed - and moaned at, although Sebastian would call more of a gasp than anything else if anyone asked… which he hoped they wouldn't - almost every weekend. A lot when the whole controversy with the bloody front wing was still rolling around like the hot gossip that it was. But it wasn't as interesting to Sebastian anymore. He had something far more attention-grabbing to occupy his mind when it came to Webber.

Not that anyone knew about it. Actually, the last thing either of them needed was for the media to get a hold of what had gone down between the two the week before. Thankfully, Sebastian was known for being cool with his hookups. Not that Mark was a hookup. It was just a kiss. A kiss that would never happen again. Although he certainly wished for it. Secretly. Very secretly. He might even be keeping it a secret from himself. 

Which was fine! Fine. Totally fine. 

He simply had to find a new hobby. A non-Formula-related hobby. Something that could occupy his mind enough that he wouldn't get stuck in that memory loop that drove him up the walls.

☆☆☆

Hockenheimring, German GP

July 2010

11th race of the season

Wednesday

Webber was dreading that flight so much that he almost purposefully lost it. Perhaps he could drive up to Germany. He could get the ferry and drive through Europe. But wouldn't that give him more time to think about Vettel? Fuck, it would. So no. No, he wouldn't be doing that.

So plane it was.

Mark bought a book. It was a thriller book that promised to hook him from the beginning and blow his expectations out of the roof. Honestly, his only expectation was to not hyper-fixate on seeing his teammate again after a couple of weeks of dreaming of such a teammate - of kissing such a teammate most of all, which was embarrassing and Mark would rather not comment on it. -, already the book was up to a bad start. Because there was no way it could accomplish that. But Mark had tried it all by that point and was ready to give the hellish book a go.

When he landed in Germany, Mark had read approximately five pages. And spent the rest of the flight planning how he would act when he saw Sebastian again. This was his home race, so it wasn't silly to think that Webber would not be in the spotlight like Vettel, and the German would definitely be busier than him, therefore the chances that they crossed paths weren't that big. More so after Mark's own comments in the last Grand Prix. The team would be doing all they could to keep them apart and honestly, it was fine by Mark.

He just needed to get through this weekend and the next. Then, they would be off for summer break, and Webber would have enough time to get his life back under his control—meaning, no Sebastian Vettel. 

☆☆☆

Sebastian had had a fine morning. He had run in the morning and managed to watch the sunrise peacefully, gotten his coffee with the perfect amount of milk in the cafe nearby, and worked on his crochet project - it was supposed to be a scarf but it was closer to a random piece of fabric with weird proportions, but Sebastian got so frustrated doing it that he barely had time to think about Webber. He was finally back home after a couple of hours outside, enjoying the summer weather before it gave way to the cruel winter, and Sebastian was feeling good. He should've known it wouldn't last.

‘Good morning, Sebastian.’ Sebastian yelped loudly, stumbling away from the sound and throwing a vase in the direction of the unexpected voice. ‘What was that for, asshole?’ Jenson. It was Jenson in his living room. Not some random Australian man there to murder him for mistreating their national hero. The shards of the vase - it had, obviously, shattered on the floor - were all around the room, and he had to tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a broom and have a breathing before he ended up killing Button.

After collecting all the sharp pieces, he turned to his friend and said, in the most annoyed tone he could muster, ‘What the fuck Jenson?’

‘Don't What the fuck Jenson me! What the fuck Sebastian ! You could've killed me with that thing!’ He sounded outraged and it was almost impossible to control the smile that wanted to appear on Vettel's lips.

‘I thought you were about to kill me . Plus, you're a Formula One driver, your reflexes were supposed to be good, I had no real chance of hurting you anyway. Unfortunately.’ Jenson scoffed. ‘I’m sorry, let's rewind for a second.’ Sebastian said when he noticed where they both stood. ‘How did you get inside my house?’

‘Unimportant.’ Jenson shook his hands as if accusing Vettel of wasting his time. ‘Don't you have something to tell me?’

‘ Unimpor- I don't think it's unimportant .’ 

‘Fine, security let me in. I flirted with him a bit. Not that it was necessary, he knew who I was before I even rang the bell.’ Jenson seemed a bit too proud of that. ‘What, do you have a huge poster of me in here? Please, tell me that you do. Actually, no, don't tell me anything, I'm not gonna believe you anyway. Whatever. I repeat something to tell me, Vettel?’ Jenson was nearly shaking with restrained energy. Sebastian smiled contemptuously at his friend. 

‘No.’ He said simply, not bothering to look back as he threw what was left of his vase away.

‘No?’ Sebastian shook his head, not really paying attention. ‘Not even that you kissed Webber in Silverstone?’ He choked. Coughed. Coughed again. Then he wished he hadn't recovered and had just died. He considered choking himself again. Then Jenson stopped in front of him and put an end to his stalling.

‘I did no such thing!’ He yelled outraged before he thought of anything else to say. But this was Jenson and if he was saying that it was because he already knew the answer anyway. So Sebastian sucked it up and admitted, ‘Okay. I did such a thing, but it's not what you're thinking. It was a one-time thing and- Wait. A. Second. How do you know about that?!’

‘I saw you. Thank you for winning me a hundred bucks from Alonso, by the way. It covered my tab for the night nicely.’ 

Vettel pushed his friend, both hands on his chest, until Button stumbled a couple of steps back and hit his back on the kitchen island. Jense cringed and groaned. Vettel was almost sure he heard him murmur something that sounded suspiciously like ‘asshole’, but he had bigger problems at his hands to bother himself with such weak insults.

‘You told Alonso ? What the fuck?!’ He said, risking sounding repetitive, but really, what the fuck ?

‘Of course not!’ Jenson was the picture of innocence, hands in the air, eyes were blown wide, and it might have worked if Sebastian had not seen him throwing those moves at any and all beautiful women he encountered - more so when he was lying to them. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, unsure. ‘I would never ! I showed him instead. Anyway. This sneaking around the thing you did, cute.’ Jenson got up and slammed both hands on the island between them, right in front of Sebastian who yelled, moving away.

‘What the fuck, man?’ Vettel was beginning to think he would have to repeat himself a couple more times before Jenson calmed the fuck down. When Button got into one of his moods, it was almost impossible for anyone to stop it.

‘Not good enough!’ He shouted.

Sebastian tilted his head. ‘What?’ 

‘NOT GOOD ENOUGH.’ Button's voice echoed around, an interesting effect as it came back to them multiple times. Jenson looked around, pleased.

‘I heard you the first time around, asshole, I was just wondering what are you talking about.’ As always he didn't add, because Jenson was already too excited about this. 

‘If you're gonna be sneaking around the paddock with none other than Mark Webber, you gotta do better, Vettel. I saw you sneaking away in the nightclub, but I had a bet to win so I said nothing. You need to be better at this, otherwise people will soon catch on.’

Sebastian was stuck between the want to laugh and the urge to sob. ‘There's no sneaking around, Jenson. Not with Webber. It was a mistake and it won't happen again.’ It was how Webber would be thinking of it anyway. It hardly mattered how he felt about it, so he wouldn't linger there.

Jenson scoffed, ‘Right. Until it happens, am I right? And then what? You'll be waking up in his bed every morning, Sebastian, are you not following?’ Jenson conjured a very interesting image, truly. One Sebastian didn't have the luxury of lingering in. He pushed it to the back of his mind and locked it behind the door he called Do NOT open it!! Webber ahead. 

‘No. You're not following.’ Vettel was losing his patience with him. Jenson lived in his own world surrounded by very precise ideas of what other people should do, without considering many aspects that those people had no choice but to consider. ‘There's no sneaking around, there's no more kisses, there's no Mark Webber for me. He's pissed and I'm pissed and honestly, I'm just trying to get to the summer break without killing him. So, please. Let it go.’

Jenson frowned. ‘Fine. Only because you said please . But don't come running to me when this blows on your face.’

‘It won't blow on my face.’ But Sebastian wasn't as sure anymore.

☆☆☆

Friday

Alonso was acting weird. Very weird. He wasn't looking straight into Webber's eyes and refused to comment on anything race-related. One would think Webber was after leaking his driving quirks to the entire grid.

‘Okay. What's up?’ Mark finally asked after two hours of heavy conversation where he had tried all to rip a laugh out of his friend. He was in need of a distraction - everywhere he looked, there were signs with Vettel's name in it and really, he did not wish to be seeing that then -, Nando clearly wasn't picking up on it. 

‘Nothing. Nothing up.’ Mark stared silently. Alonso sighed. ‘Okay. Something up.’ He grimaced at Mark. ‘But it's none of my business.’

Webber's heart stopped. No. No, no way. There was no way Alonso knew about… it. No. He didn't, absolutely not. How could he anyway? They had been careful, too careful not to attract the attention of anyone. And when Mark had starked away - run you mean, his brain offered - Fernando had been nowhere to be seen.

‘What?’ When the Spaniard only shrugged, Mark insisted, ‘ What, Fernando? What is none of your business?’

‘I don't think I should say it here. I don't think you would want me to say it here.’ They were standing in a private-ish corner of the paddock, enjoying the sunlight while it lasted. 

Webber pushed in a gasp. ‘You know ?’ 

‘About you and Vettel? Yes, I know .’ Mark gasped dramatically again, forever thankful about how Alonso had whispered the words back at him - although he wasn't sure how he felt about the grimace on his friend's face. 

‘Fuck. You can't tell anyone. Please, Nando.’ He wasn't above begging for it, truly. Such information would take the press by storm and the last thing Webber needed was to be asked questions about his romantic experience with his teammate every race til the end of his life. 

‘Why would I tell anyone, cabrón ? You're fine. I won't say anything. Just. Why did you kiss him back?’ When Mark winced hard, Fernando's jaw dropped. ‘No. Don't tell me you…’

‘Shh!’ Webber smiled what he hoped was an innocent smile to the mechanics passing by. 

Fernando scooted closer to him. ‘Don't tell me you kissed him.’ 

Webber had no intention of answering that question. Well, at least until Nando elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Fuck, Nando! That hurts.’ He groaned.

‘ You kissed him?! ’

‘Yes, okay? Yes, I kissed him. It was a lapse in judgment, a very quick one you should notice. It won't happen again.’

Alonso snickered. ‘Heard that one before.’ 

‘When?’ Webber defied.

‘Oh, I don't know, Mark. When you said you wouldn't talk to him again. Or when you collided and you told me you hated him so much you couldn't bear to look at him. Or when he would get annoying on you and you would tell me how you hoped he would just leave you alone. Except you went back there. Every single t-’ 

Mark interrupted him, annoyed. ‘Yes, alright. I understand. But it's different now. We can't go there, not even if I wanted to.’ At the look in Alonso's eyes, he added, ‘Which I don't but still.’

‘You already went there, mate.’

Webber nodded. He was right. He had gone there and now the consequences were his to deal with. ‘But I'm not doing it again. Promise.’

‘ S í . Pero no te creo . You already lost me a hundred bucks.’

Mark didn’t even have enough time to question the lack of faith in him his friend had just demonstrated - I don’t believe you his ass -before the rest of the sentence rushed at him. ‘A hundred bucks? What?’

Alonso grimaced and had the decency to look ashamed. ‘I bet you would be able to hold back from kissing the motherfucker until the end of the season.’ He scoffed. ‘Clearly, you couldn't.’

Despite himself, Mark laughed. At least until he understood that a bet meant another person knew about the kiss. ‘Who won?’

Alonso rolled his eyes. ‘Jenson, of course. I still can't believe it, Webber. I was so sure you could do it!’

Mark wasn't going to think about how his closest friend had bet against him - because although Nando had hoped it would take longer, he still believed Webber would kiss Sebastian. Or the other way around. Still, it was outrageous. Fine, it had happened, earlier than Fernando had hoped for, but still, how could he wish such things upon Mark?! -, because, well. Jenson Button. That motherfucker.

‘Jenson knows ?’

Fernando threw him a glance as if asking if he had any mental disability. ‘Yes. Don't be naive, of course, Jenson knows. Jenson always knows.’ Which was fair. It didn't make him feel better though.

Mark groaned loudly. Fuck his life.

☆☆☆

Saturday 

The day started like any other one; for Vettel anyway. He hadn't slept at all, tossed and turned the whole night stressing over the qualifying and the pressure - from himself mostly - to do well in his home race. Plus the constant fear of seeing Webber again. Although they had exchanged some glances during the Friday Free Practices, Vettel had been quick to turn his eyes anywhere else. He had no interest in reliving that night in the middle of the paddock surrounded by all types of people. Mark did not seem too happy about it either, so they steered clear of each other as much as they could. His mind hadn't gotten the memo, using his lack of free will when he was asleep and playing all kinds of imageries he had no business seeing. Not when he would have to meet Webber again and again. And again. Without ever mentioning a peep about the kiss.

They didn't need to come to an agreement that it would be unmentioned. It was obvious. 

He had been quietly sulking beside Jenson, yawning. Jenson screeched before turning to him. ‘Oh fuck! You scared me.’ He said, hand laying protectively against his heart. 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, unsure of how to proceed. ‘I've been standing right here for the past five minutes, Jense. Right here. For the past five minutes. ’

Some color had come back to his face, and he cleared his throat before speaking, ‘I know but I hadn't seen your face yet.’

‘What.’ It wasn't much of a question, his flat tone giving his annoyance away. Normally, he would have more patience for Jenson's shit, but let it be known that he wasn't in his best moment and Button was constantly trying him. 

‘Man, what happened? You look like a fucking sleep paralysis or something.’

Sebastian would have been impressed by the creativity if he hadn't been so mind numbing tired. ‘Excuse me? What kind of stupid fucking insult is this.’

‘Honesty?’ Jenson tried, puzzled expression.

‘Fine.’ Button sighed loudly at him, obviously unhappy about Sebastian's pliancy. ‘I haven't been sleeping well. Are you happy now, asshole?’ 

Jenson wasn't bothered, though, scratching his head before continuing, ‘Not particularly. I haven't been making out with my teammate and having some fun.’ Sebastian deliberately decided to ignore that, ‘Also, aren't you like, hired by Red Bull?’

‘Yes. For now.’ Until they figured out he and Webber were getting at it in dark corners in London.

‘Huh. I thought it was supposed to give you wings. But perhaps it did,’ he added when Vettel did not react, ‘And then the wings disappeared on you and dropped you on your face. Icarus style.’

It was freakish, really, how much random shit Jenson knew. His current obsession was random stories surrounding mythology, and although Seb tried to keep up with it, it was certainly harder than he had expected. Why was everyone related anyway? Or fucking? 

‘Very funny. Just for your information, this is me after Red Bull. After several Red Bulls.’ He had been drinking those like it was a life elixir or something. His soul had left his body since the very first dream Webber related and it had yet to come back, so Sebastian strolled around aimlessly, waiting for the moment when he would feel whole again. Or just fucking sleep for a full night.

‘Vettel, you need help.’ It was the matter-of-fact tone that caused Sebastian to roll his eyes back so wildly he almost believed they would never go back to their rightful place ‘And by help, I mean a therapist because I won't be here for you to come moan about Webber anymore. Or to moan Webber's name. You know what I mean.’ Unfortunately, he did not know what Jenson meant. 

However, he didn't have to admit it that easily. ‘Fuck you. So much.’

‘You wish.’ Jenson said, gesturing around before carrying on with his rambling. ‘The point still stands though. Your subconscious is talking to you. You might as well listen.’

‘I don't know what the fuck is my subconscious so therefore how can I know to trust it? I'm not good at listening anyway. Plus, I don't want to listen.’ It was as honest as Sebastian wished to be at that moment, he would leave it at that.

‘No shit. Do what you want, Seb, you always do.’ Why did that sound suspiciously like I'm not mad, I'm disappointed speech his mother used to give him whenever he would sneak away to drive his father's car around the city at nighttime? Fuck, that was awkward. ‘Just try not to bankrupt your company with the amount of free energy drinks you're consuming.’

Finally, Vettel smiled a bit, entertained by the constant insistence on Jenson's part to not drink anything related to his team, not even in one of the press interviews after a night they both knew he had spent clubbing. ‘You know I would bring you some if you only asked.’ Which was true, but he had never done so. Sebastian kept hoping, though. One could dream, he guessed. Although not him! No more dreaming for Sebastian Vettel, not after they all ended up featuring Webber somehow.

Thankfully, Jenson pushed him out of this blender before he could delve deeper into self-pity or Mark-related thoughts - the forbidden kind. ‘But I won't ask. I'm better than this, Vettel, I don't need your pity. You need my pity though. Ever heard of make-up?’ He crooked his head to look closer at Sebastian, pitching his cheek slightly. 

Vettel battered his hand away. ‘Fuck off.’

A second later, Lewis was there, gazing at them with questions in his eyes. ‘What are you talking about that got you looking like that?’ He said, inclining his head towards Sebastian. He huffed, annoyed. 

‘Webber.’ Jenson said at the same time Vettel replied, ‘Sleep paralysis.’ What a terrible time for Jenson's honesty to appear for the very first time. Unfortunately, Seb did not have the energy to smack his friend. Worst of all, without Hamilton realizing something was up.

Lewis laughed, ‘Weirdly enough, I see the connection.’ Sebastian wasn't exactly close to Lewis, nothing to do with the other driver at all, they merely lived different lives. By that, he meant that while Lewis jumped from one girlfriend to the other, Sebastian tried to not choke himself every time he thought about his teammate kissing you. It was safe to say they didn't meet much out of the track. 

‘Yeah right.’ Button scoffed, ‘Pretend he's not a gorgeous motherfucker. See if I care.’

‘It sounds like you care,’ Sebastian happily pointed out to Lewis's delight. 

‘I don't think you want to go there. I really don't.’ Sebastian's mouth closed so fast that Lewis lost it, shaking with laughter. Poor man, he didn't know how powerful Button could be. Naive. 

‘Why?’ He finally asked. They had been stupid to think he wouldn't catch up to it, ‘You two are still fighting about the front wing thing?’ Sebastian was throwing daggers with his eyes at Jenson when the words registered. 

Okay, perfect out then. ‘The front wing thing. Right. Yes. That .’ Vettel really couldn't see what people meant when they said he was a bad liar. That had certainly been fine.

‘Plus Turkey,’ Offered Jenson helpfully, and Sebastian started to consider forgiving him for all his past mistakes. ‘Let's not forget Turkey!’ And… He had overdone it.

‘Absolutely. Turkey.’ Vettel was trying to sound nonchalant, but he was afraid he only sounded like someone was threatening him. 

‘You were a bit reckless on the move, man.’ He wasn't a fan of the glint of entertainment in Hamilton's eyes, but there was no way he was actually aware of what was going on there so he let it slide.

‘ You talking about being reckless on the track, Hamilton?’ He threw back.

‘Yes? What are you trying to get at?’ Seb let his head fall down into his hands and groaned. He swore his brain was working on overdrive. And it was about to clock out.

‘Fuck. I don't know. I'm tired.’

‘But for no specific reason.’ It was impressive really, how Jenson managed to go out with so many women all the time. You would think they would choose someone smarter. Although, Vettel couldn't lie a stupid pretty boy wasn't a bad idea. His boy wasn't stupid though, and that was his biggest problem at the moment.

No. No. Not his boy. And not a boy. Fuck, he needed to sleep.

To their dismay, Hamilton wasn't stupid, and the way his eyes narrowed and jumped from one driver to the driver told Sebastian he had caught up to the tension in the air. ‘Okay… you're acting weird. Weirder than usual. What's going on?’ When their only answer was to stare silently at the ground, Lewis added ‘Is this because you kissed Webber?’

It had been a long time since Vettel had felt the terrifying feeling of panic. It froze his entire body, a cold shiver rolling through him. Perhaps he was being dramatic with his unrested brain, but he was positive he could feel the color leaving his face.

He cleared his throat. Choked. Cleared his throat again and then said in a high-pitched voice, ‘What? No. That never happened.’ If he wasn't so mad at Jenson, he might have asked him to punch him until he passed out.

‘Um, yes it did. Like two weeks ago. Man, you must really be tired Seb.’ He was tired. Tired of the consequences of what single second a second of letting his guard down brought him. It was unfair. He had been careful to not let his feelings touch his relationship with his teammate. Professional relationship, of course. But then, Mark had ruined it. Had ruined him. ‘You sure it's safe to get behind a wheel?’

‘Not safe for you, no, seeing as I'm grabbing that pole.’ The raised eyebrow from Hamilton told him his attempt to change the subject had been severely disregarded 

‘Nice try, but we don't care about that.’ Said Jenson, turning to Hamilton before finishing, ‘I told you to keep it quiet.’

Lewis coughed dramatically, blinking twice before saying to Seb, ‘So. The pole. I do care about that. Tell me more.’

Seb might be slow, but he still wasn't that stupid, ‘No, wait. What do you mean?’

Jenson sighed, before looking at his teammate ‘Yes, Lewis, what do you mean ?’

‘I'm talking to you, Jenson.’ Sebastian said, too done with his friend's bullshit to give a fuck about being sweet and polite.

The well-trained innocent expression fell upon Jenson's face. Sebastian understood exactly what was going on, then. Nothing good could come from Button's puppy eyes - if he needed to call on his secret weapon, things were worse than what Sebastian had initially believed. ‘Fine, just don't look directly into my eyes. It's freaking me out.’

‘Fuck you.’ Was the automatic response.

‘Not with this face you won't.’ Lewis chuckled but quieted down pretty fast when Vettel stared him down. He must really look terrible, then.

‘What. Did. You. Mean?’ His patience, usually too thin for his liking, was threatening to break from under them.

‘So. Remember that bet?’ Jenson was scratching his head with a grimace firmly in place. 

Sebastian's heart somersaulted. ‘Yell me you didn't.’ Fuck, this was taking bigger proportions than what he had hoped for. Which was naive of him. Yet, he had wished things had stayed quiet so he could have the opportunity to pretend it never had happened.

Jenson was nodding before long, ‘Okay, I didn't.’ His voice was cracked and the wince was still present in his expression. 

‘Don't fucking lie to me!’

‘See, now you're just messing with me.’

Vettel wasn't used to keeping his head when things got out of his control. But he was trying to be better. Trying to think before acting. Mark would like that, not that Sebastian would tell him. Not that he would have a chance to notice. They were firmly pretending nothing had happened, meaning they weren't speaking much. ‘Jenson. Did you bet money on me kissing my teammate with anyone else that I should know of?’ His tone had come out lacking the venom he would normally feel. Sebastian took it as a win.

‘That you should know of? No, I don't think so. You wouldn't have known about Hamilton if he had kept his mouth shut anyway. Ow!’ Fine, Sebastian had kicked him. But they could hardly blame him when Jenson was acting like that on a day Sebastian was severely lacking sleep.

‘Button.’

‘I'm kidding. It's a joke, man, relax. There are no more bets. Concerning you. Or Mark. Ok, that's a lie, concerning you. Okay, that's also a lie, but concerning you and Mark. No more.’

Vettel sighed. ‘I'm too tired to care. Just keep me out of it from now on. And’ to Lewis, he added, ‘For your information, I didn't kiss Webber.’

Lewis hummed, clearly not believing him. ‘Interesting. Denial.’

‘Five stages of grief.’ Jenson added a wicked grin back on his face.

‘I'm not grieving!’ Sebastian announced, sounding too much like a spoiled child.

‘That's stage two.’ Said Jense.

‘What? No. I mean I'm not in denial. I didn't kiss Mark. He kissed me .’ Sebastian saw Jenson's face fall.

Hamilton suddenly seemed much more interested in the conversation. ‘Really? Oh, wow. Looks like someone is a bloody liar then. My money, Jenson. Now.’ 

Jenson groaned. ‘Fuck, Seb! Man, what the fuck?’ The last bit was almost whispered, as if scared Lewis would hear them. As a result, Lewis, obviously, heard them. ‘Okay, I admit it. I lied. But I didn't know I was lying when I lied!’ He sounded exasperated enough for a smile to find its way to Seb's lips.

‘I don't think that helps.’ He said, not even trying to hide his grin.

‘I don't think that's true. ’ Said Lewis.

Seb was forced to agree with him. ‘That too.’

Hamilton rolled his eyes at Jenson before the other Brit could say anything to try to take the blame for his own actions off his shoulders. ‘See, I had faith in Mark.’ He was quick to say, cutting off any excuse that was about to come out of Button's mouth. ‘I knew he wouldn't let me down.’

‘Yeah. How about you take some inspiration next time, Sebastian?’ The backlash was so unexpected, that Sebastian hurt his neck turning to stare at his friend, openmouthed.

‘No next time. Never again.’ Really, would it kill Jenson to at least pretend to believe him? God. ‘Also, I'm done with this weird conversation. I didn't sleep enough for this. I'm getting another Red Bull.’ And getting out of there as fast as he could. He would get that pole and then sleep for twenty hours in a row.

‘Make that two’ Lewis yelled when Seb was already some steps away.

‘See? It's that easy, Jense, just ask for it.’

‘Uuh, no.’ Lewis' expression was downright disgusted. ‘I don't want your disgusting heart attack in a bottle. I'm just saying you look worse for wear, Vettel. One Red Bull is not gonna help you.’

And that was enough. He flipped them off, leaving with the soundtrack of Jenson's cackle. 

☆☆☆

Vettel got his pole. The beaming smile shouldn't make Webber's chest expand with regret and longing. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't have to be this hard.

But Red Bull had chosen and so had Mark. He wouldn't go down quietly. And if he had to give up Sebastian for that, he would do it. Even when, for some unknown reason, the mere thought of doing so shook him entirely, tunneling his view until all he saw was him. Golden curls, golden boy.

Golden boy. They had forced his hand. He had made a mistake, true, but it was in the past. Mark had to bite the bullet, no other way out. He had always been Vettel's rival, it would always end that way, but somehow Webber had innocently believed it would end later. Not that it changed much.

It changed nothing.

☆☆☆

Sunday

Sebastian tried to take everything in. The shouts of his name, the glistering of black, red, and yellow of his home country flag everywhere he looked. His people were there, cheering him on. Third place wasn't much, Sebastian should've done better, they deserved better. But, on that podium, he felt loved. Adrenaline was a funny thing, it came then, with the rush of people and lights, the beaming and the glitter around the edges of his view - it made him invincible, it made him eternal. But the same adrenaline that ran in his veins then, that moved him around with easy grace, had once frozen him in place. When Webber's car had flipped when Mark smiled at him - rare, so rare Sebastian forced his brain to catalog the moment. Then, it also came rushing in when they were fighting, the hot blood on his veins warming by the second, the adrenaline doing its job, urging them on.

The dash of the people came back at him then, when he shook the shimmer of the past off of him. Fuck, it meant so much to be able to be there right then. So much. It was worth a lot of his effort, of what he had sacrificed. 

A small voice in his head, though, whispered, But not everything.

No, perhaps not everything. Not yet anyway.

☆☆☆

Mark had left the car as soon as he could, trying to avoid seeing his teammate beaming on that podium. 

The weekend was over and Webber just wanted to go home and get ready for the last round before the holidays. Then, things would get better.

He stayed behind for enough time to change out of his fireproof and thank the people who worked to make that GP happen in the Red Bull garage. He avoided Alonso—thrilled with his win, Webber couldn't muster the least bit of happiness for his friend—and he avoided Sebastian. 

The wound was still open, blood coming out of him, red tainted all over his body, for weeks now. Mark wasn't sure he would recognize himself without it. He wasn't sure how he could heal them, he wasn't sure if he could heal them. Seeing Sebastian in that step… Well, it brought it all back again, didn't it? How could Mark trust that their car was the same? That the strategy he was given did not ensure his teammate would finish in front of him? How could he trust himself behind that wheel when his team didn't?

The car didn't feel the same, although Mark didn't either. It was like having your insides scooped out of you and then rearranged back inside. Something had intrinsically changed, and it went beyond Sebastian. It came to him, only him. How much of a true driver was Mark Webber?

Once, he would've said the best. The absolute best. But now. Now, his teammate was on that podium and he wasn't. His team had put him behind Vettel again and again, and there was no trust anymore. Was he better than Vettel? He wanted to say yes. He wanted to believe it, too. He had believed it. For a long time. But, suddenly, he wasn't as sure anymore.

And he hated Vettel for it. 

So when they locked eyes in the paddock and the world froze - as it always did, holding its breath for what would happen next -, Mark lifted his chin high, meeting Vettel's eyes without cowering away. It brought back whispers of moments, capsules of seconds, of hands and lips, and Mark remembered, just for a glimpse of a second, the roughness of Sebastian's fingertips. Shivers ran down his body when Seb gasped out a breath, the blue of his eyes intensifying so much that Webber caught it even from far away. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with the distance and all to do with how long he had been watching, paying attention. Mark swore he felt it on his neck, that unconscious breath. He took a step back, shaking his head. Sebastian nodded, understanding what wasn't being said. It would stay in the past because it had to.

Because they were rivals and they resented each other too much.

Because Mark couldn't go there and walk away unscathed. So he wouldn't go at all. 

Chapter Text

Hungaroring, Hungarian GP

August 2010

12th race of the season

'Oh, when it breaks 

I know you're gonna be there 

I know you're gonna be there

When the storms hanging over this place 

You're gonna wanna see it when it breaks’

- When It Breaks , Inhaler

Saturday 

One last Grand Prix before the summer break. Once again, the sun was high up in the sky, although it couldn't be more different than how 

Mark was feeling a bit ill. He wasn't fond of the sunshine in his head; it didn't come from him anyway. Inside his head, there was just a raging storm closing in. 

The clouds were taking over. The storm that was Sebastian Vettel approaching. Webber would be a fool to ignore it. 

It was inevitable, almost as if they had been there before, showering down their discontentment on each other.

The car was failing him, and he was failing anyone else. It was a mental catch-22, a labyrinth he had never encountered before, yet it looked so painfully familiar. Hadn't he been fighting those same battles since he was younger? Trying to make people see him and believe in him when some days were bleak enough for him to question it all himself. Hadn't he been begging people to look at him for just a second longer?

It was the same but different. There was a new element to it, one Mark had never accounted for in all his years driving; the enigma that was Sebastian Vettel. He tugged on Webber's disintegrating threads and the whole pattern unfurled. A new gleaming, golden light pointed at his life, lighting up hidden corners, cobwebs, and dust sparkling under the golden sun. He stood there, watching, feeling the heat of it kissing his cheeks, just to be thrown out of the revelry by the mistakes he was obliged to hide. 

It was infuriating. It was heartbreaking and still the most beautiful thing Webber had ever seen. It made him breathless, it made him sad, it made him vulnerable. It terrified him.

He couldn't afford to show those mistakes, and he couldn't invite the light in when he still had so much to fix. But if everything was broken, shouldn't he throw it out instead of trying to fix it? He was trying to glue a broken mirror back together, and the image reflected didn't lie. It was all a mess. 

And fuck him, but for the first time ever, Mark had no idea how to make it better. Not when the blinding light wouldn't allow him to properly see.

☆☆☆

Sebastian was sleeping again. At what cost, was the question he kept pondering. The answer would be the rest of his sanity. While in the weeks prior he would dream of Webber's kiss, now he dreamed of the hurt and rage in his eyes seconds before the Silverstone race. The sharp edge on his voice when he accused Vettel of having asked for the front wing change. The dreams took a cruel turn from tormenting Vettel to… well, tormenting Vettel, but differently. 

Those dreams, they didn't wake him up. They lingered until the very last second, ticking away slowly, salt in the wound until his alarm went off. 

To drive a car at approximately 300 km/h, you had to trust yourself insanely much. But when everything you chose, all of your actions, came back to bite you in the ass, well. It was hard to believe all that much. When even his dreams plagued him with the decisions he took, how Webber had won a race since then and he hadn't, how he had hurt someone he cared about.

It was the story of his life, although until very recently he believed it to be the story of all drivers. Sacrifices must be made to be in Formula One, and he had expected everyone to be like him; willing to give up everything just for the sake of winning. Then, he had met Mark Webber and Jenson Button, and although they were very different, both drivers seemed to have a comprehension that the sport - even when it still meant the world for both of them -was only that, a sport. They could leave it behind and continue their lives, while Sebastian felt glued to it no matter how much he tried to untangle himself. Jenson had more in his life, he had his weird hobbies and honest friends, he was happy and cheerful. Mark, well. He wasn't cheerful , but he was calm. It was impressive to see, even when he lost his mind and yelled at Vettel, how much control he had in everything. He was more than a driver.

But Sebastian wasn't. When he looked around, he saw it as all he was. There. A driver. So of course he would give it all up for the sake of being a great driver. And if Webber couldn't understand that, it was his problem.

Vettel had to be proud. He had to keep fighting and he had to win because there was only that for him in this life. He wasn't complaining, but he was aware of it. And he wouldn't let it slip through his fingers. 

Collateral damage was collateral damage, he couldn't do anything about it. In the end, they stood too far apart to risk touching, it would be too explosive.

And Sebastian understood that. It didn't make it easier to see Webber around, though. It didn't bury the memories of those touches away. Of the rage and the blood running in his veins, of the smell of rain even at the peak of summer in London, the roughness of the wall behind him, carving into his back, erased by the softness of Mark's lips and no. Those memories were still there, resurfacing now and again, whenever they would lock their gaze anywhere. A current would run through Vettel and then- it was gone. Alongside Webber.

Seb wished Mark would talk to him. They didn't need to discuss the kiss or the front wing, solely talk. But he didn't hope for it, as he was trying to be less naive. 

When he got into the car, he buried it all as deep as he could. However, when the time came to do the last lap around the track to decide the pole for the next day, the frustration rose above, guiding his hand and his heart, stepping into the throttle almost recklessly.

He wasn't surprised when he got the pole. He wasn't even happy. Sebastian was overwhelmed by the complicated emotions he had never tasted before. And it was all Webber's fault.

Perhaps, it wouldn't be as bad if they collided then. If they got close enough to touch they ruined it all again. 

Perhaps it was time for Vettel to be as reckless as Mark believed him to be. Because he was still thinking about that kiss and he was tired of losing and fuck, he knew he shouldn't, but when had he ever been good at avoiding Webber?

He felt giddy, remembering all the reasoning behind his previous statement, Webber was dangerous, he hadn't slept after the kiss, he had been obsessing over something when he had a championship to win, but then. Then just a smear of those green eyes and he was up for a game again. 

☆☆☆

Four-tenths of a second. That was how big the gap was between his time in P2 and his teammate's pole. Four fucking tenths. 

Mark didn't want to talk about it. Perhaps he simply couldn't, not yet anyway. Or not with who he wanted to talk this out with. Normally, when he got that frustrated, he would somehow find his way to whenever his devilish teammate had been hiding - fine, Sebastian was never hiding , he was too cocky for that, but the imagery was still there and Mark was feeling dramatic -, and take it all out on him. But now, after his stupid crazy dumb insane unwise absurd asinine mistake, he had been banished - by himself and for his own sake - from anywhere close to three feet of his teammate. He simply couldn't do it. How could he be sure he wasn't going to go insane again and kiss Vettel again? Not that he thought it would happen, truthfully he had no interest in ever going back there again. But better safe than sorry, right?

He was in a foul mood and didn't even have access to the thing that made him feel better - Sebastian Vettel. Not in any special way, really, he just needed someone to yell at who wouldn't be offended for too long and would push him around for a bit. Alonso wouldn't do it. Not correctly anyway, and Webber was still positively pissed at Button for that fucking bet to go near the Brit then. 

Of course, the universe was laughing at him when Sebastian appeared right in front of his face as he was leaving the paddock. He has yet to figure out how the German had such terrible timing when it came to those things. Mark couldn't afford to waste his time spatting with Vettel then, not when the last time they had been in that situation was still too fresh in his mind.

But Sebastian had that glint in his eyes, the one that clearly stated he was not going away before having a go at Mark. 

And he would be lying if he said his belly didn't flip at the thought of it. ‘Get out of my way, Vettel.’ He groaned. He was still trying to do the right thing. 

‘I don't think I will. We have something to discuss, Markie.’ The blond said, getting a hold of Mark's temper in one second. Wasn't that exactly what he had wished for, though? A chance to work out his frustrations on Vettel?

A clear image flashed through his kind then, of him doing exactly that, although there wasn't much talking involved. Webber felt his cheeks tint and saw Sebastian's eyes snag on it.

‘We have nothing to talk about.’ Mark said, through gritted teeth.

‘Wow. Don't be getting too pissed now, Webber, you might just kiss me again.’ It wasn't only what he said, but also how he said it, with a mean grin on his face, as if aware of what it did to Mark.

Webber was good at thinking before speaking. Really good. One of those qualities you could always use, constantly avoiding weird situations with that. Except when it came to Vettel. Then, it was clear he lost the ability to think straight up, because what else would explain the words that were about to leave his mouth? ‘You would like that, wouldn't you?’

Sebastian tilted his head, enervating smile still in place. ‘Yes, actually.’ He answered finally, causing Webber to do a double take.

‘What?’ He sounded stupid, but really, what?

‘You heard me. Great Mark Webber, at a loss for words. Never thought I would see the day.’ Sebastian chuckled and Webber wanted to choke the life out of him. He hated not being in control, but he wasn't naive, he knew there would be situations he couldn't control, that was part of life. He felt comforted, though, by the thought that, no matter what happened, he would still have his self-control. If all else failed, Mark could control his reaction, could control himself. He had never before encountered someone who made him lose that. In walked Sebastian Vettel, and then, there he was. Absolutely fighting for his life. ‘Do you want me to say it again, Markie? I would love for you to k-’

Mark had his hand on Vettel's mouth before he could finish the sentence. Perhaps he was going insane, but Mark swore he felt Sebastian's smile under his fingers. It was mind-boggling. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ He hissed.

When Sebastian looked at him bored, Mark remembered he wasn't supposed to be staring stupidly at his hand muffling the words that came out of the German's mouth. He wasn't supposed to be flexing his fingers just a bit, enjoying the feeling. Plus, the quiet. What a blessing. Perhaps he should do that more often. Vettel stepped on his foot, bringing reality back crashing down. Mark jumped away, taking his hand off of him and putting it in his back pocket, so he wouldn't feel inclined to do it again. ‘Yes, and it's your fault!’ Sebastian exclaimed.

Mark cleaned his throat before answering, ‘I don't think your lack of common sense can be blamed on me.’

‘Well, clearly, you're not creative enough. It’s fine, Mark, I can be creative for the both of us…’ It was the malicious glint or the clear innuendo, or perhaps the accent whispered alongside his name, but Webber found himself gulping down inexplicably. His cheeks were getting hot. His mouth was suddenly so dry and so were Sebastian's. Not that he was looking at Sebastian's mouth. Because he wasn't. When he lifted his gaze back to his eyes, Vettel was smiling. Fuck, he had seen that. Okay. So Mark had looked at his mouth but he hadn't meant to do it. That certainly counted for something, didn't it?

‘Sebastian, this is not funny.’ He settled for that answer because he had nothing else appropriate to say.

‘I think it's a bit funny.’ Mark disagreed severely, he felt hot and bothered from just a couple of minutes in front of Vettel. That was new - and unwelcome. There was nothing entertaining about it. Sebastian's smirk implied otherwise.

‘It is not.’ Mark said firmly. ‘Anyone could've heard you.’

‘Interesting. You weren't thinking that when you had your lips all over me in the middle of a street.’ Honestly, Mark did not find that interesting. Because it went beyond that. Mark hadn't been thinking . For one second, one split second, he let himself act instead of thunk, and that was what he decided to do. Kiss Vettel. And then, after he started it, well, thinking wasn't an option anymore. All the circling thoughts that were eating him alive had quieted down. It was hard to listen to the voice of reason when it sounded too much like yourself - and when it too knew what it wanted.

Mark smiled, though, thankful for Sebastian's slip-up. ‘Because I wasn't the one moaning.’ He whispered the words, he wasn't yet that inconsequential. They were still in the middle of the paddock, although somehow they had ended in a more hidden corner. Mark did not remember moving, although it might've been because he was too focused on staring into Vettel's eyes, hungry for the light shining there.

Sebastian scoffed, offended. It was adorable. Mark smiled bigger. ‘I did not moan!’

‘That's not how I remember it.’ Mark almost sang the words, too proud of himself for turning the tables for once, feeling Sebastian's frustration grow. 

He shouldn't have underestimated Sebastian Vettel, not when it came to an innuendo-filled conversation. He was too good at it, unfortunately, with his dirty bloody mouth. ‘Oh,’ Sebastian gasped out, and Mark did not stare at the way his lips curved to the word, ‘So you've been thinking about me moaning , have you, Webber? Scandalous.’

The color was back in his cheeks in a second. ‘Can we, please, not?’ It felt like losing a silent game they were playing, but Mark had no choice. He couldn't be held accountable for his actions if they continued talking about those things.

Vettel pretended to think about it for a second, pushing one singular finger against his lips and tapping it. Mark was nearly positive he did it on purpose, just to drown his gaze back to the red lips. And it worked. Obviously, it worked. ‘No. You kissed me, Webber.’ And he did not need a reminder of it, for fuck's sake!

‘Trust me, I remember.’ He said, sounding pained rather than annoyed - what he was aiming for.

‘Do you?’ When Mark begrudgingly nodded, Vettel hummed before continuing, ‘Because I don't, perhaps we could try it again?’

Thank fuck Mark had drank his Red Bull before meeting Vettel. He surely would have spat it all out if he was drinking it when he said that. Instead, Webber's jaw dropped a bit, before he snapped it shut. It was the reaction Sebastian had wished for by the satisfied sigh he let out. Mark groaned. He hated this.

‘I don't know what has gotten into you, Vettel, but this, right here, is not amusing. And I mean it. If you think making fun of me for what was an obvious mistake is going to make me like you better, you're insane.’ 

The wince was so small, Mark would've lost it if he hadn't paid much attention to Sebastian. But he was, and he saw it. It made his heart give a painful twist. Until he remembered he did not care.

Sebastian recovered quickly, though, Mark had to give it to him. ‘Ah, yes, my biggest goal in life; making you like me better.’

‘It’s a shame that you're shit at it then.’ He grumbled out.

Sebastian wasn't buying it though, ‘I think I'm doing just fine, thank you very much. You even kissed me.’ This time, his smile appeared tight, dishonest. Mark didn't like the sight of it, it bothered him for some reason. But not as much as Sebastian bothered him, and he was still feeling uncomfortable and irritable.

‘Because otherwise, I would've murdered you!’ Wasn't that just the story of his fucking life? ‘It meant nothing and you know it.’

The chagrined expression shone through for a second, then, it was back to the practiced smile. ‘Do I?’ But his voice was heavier and deeper, and Mark wished they had kept apart.

It wasn't clear what they were doing there, Webber couldn't grasp Sebastian's intentions, and it did not sit well with him. ‘Stop playing with me, Vettel. Are you going to deny that it was a mistake? What, are you in love with me now?’ Perhaps the words had come out harsher than expected, but he was confused and in the cups of leering at his teammate.

Vettel's face morphed into a roguish grin when he replied, ‘Completely infatuated,’ pressing his hand to his heart and throwing his head back in a dramatic demonstration.

It irked Mark. How light it all seemed to Sebastian, no twisted pain in his chest poking him every second of that conversation. ‘Hilarious. It meant nothing. It was a mistake. We both know it. Now, drop it.’ 

‘Fine, I'll drop it. If…’ He should've expected that, and yet he hadn't. It was incomprehensible to Webber this need Vettel had to keep pouring salt in the wound. They had the option to simply let it go, and still, Sebastian refused to do it.

‘No ifs.’ He all but growled.

‘Yes, if.’ Sebastian insisted. ‘If you admit it was the best kiss of your life. You know, I have a reputation to uphold.’

Mark winced; there was no way Vettel knew that. It was hard to recall every single one of the kisses in his life by that point, but the truth was still there, smiling while looking him in the eyes, even if it hadn't been the best - because Mark couldn't be sure -, it had to be up there. Still, it was probably due to the amount of emotion - negative ones, of course -, and not the blond in front of him. ‘I don't make a habit out of lying to you, Sebastian.’

Sebastian hummed, interested. ‘Then why are you?’

It was time to put an end to that exchange, Mark realized, because if Sebastian had to be the one to do it, they would linger there until the sun was long gone - and Mark wasn't sure how much more of that he could take. ‘I'm not. If you have a problem with me, let's solve it on the track, alright? And leave it there. ’

‘I don't think you'll get close enough to me on the track to solve any problems, Webber.’ 

Mark forced a smile. ‘Right, because you'll be right at the back of the grid. Goodbye now, Sebastian.’

Although Mark himself wouldn't have called what he did running , there was a similarity to it, the way his whole body moved as fast as it could away from the threat, assuring him peace of mind for the rest of the day. Or the next two seconds. When Vettel was out of sight, Webber's mind threw itself immediately on reanalyzing every single twitch in Vettel's expression or difference in tone. 

The rest of his day had been ruined, then. Great. 

But when Mark closed the door to his room, he felt lighter, calm enough to be capable of taking a shower without being overwhelmed by his treacherous thoughts, and falling asleep quite easily later that night.

Sebastian Vettel was, weirdly, some type of catharsis to him. And if that was a gift from God or whoever for beating the insufferable kid for multiple minutes, then who was he to deny it?

☆☆☆

Vettel locked the door of his room in an attempt not to go looking for answers. In an attempt to leave Webber be when he had clearly asked for it. 

The sound of his own footsteps repeatedly touching the wooden floor, the back and forth of it, the twirling of his fingers, and the biting of his lips. The room was spinning and spinning and he kept on walking, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and— Did Webber truly mean what he said? That the kiss had meant nothing to him when it lived on Vettel's head, comfortably lying around and rearing its bothersome head at the most unfortunate moments? 

Or had he been lying? But why lie? Sebastian hadn't lied. He was ready to beg for an explanation, he would've, really, if he wasn't so hard to pretend to know what he was doing all the time. You would never catch Vettel vulnerable if he could avoid it. Champions didn't lay around hoping things would get fixed and daydreaming about the meaning of his teammate's words, that was for sure, and yet it wasn't enough to snap him out of it.

Because if it had meant nothing, then Sebastian was pissed. Should be pissed. Angry. Roar at Webber, yell at him for deceiving him. He shouldn't be feeling his chest expand and expand in search of a full breath and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth— It must have meant something. There was no way he was the only one up right now, shaking every word they had shared, begging for hidden meanings twisted in rage. Every time Mark had lost his temper or Sebastian had lost his, it had meant something. 

Hadn't it? It certainly had, what else would explain the way they always found their way back to the other? Be it in rage or any other emotion, although Seb did not remember feeling anything other than rage toward Webber. Except for severe obsession, but those were obviously related. He refused to believe he had been the only one feeling that. Even if they forgot the kiss— back and forth and back and forth and back— or the way Mark's hands had flexed involuntarily in Sebastian's hair, grabbing the golden curls and tugging at them, the sheer desperation of their every move, of their every word, always always always there, the way they lost their wits every time, in anger or lust or whatever they might call it— and forth and back and— the heat of Webber's flesh on his fingertips and the tracing and tracing of words Sebastian couldn't recall,  were they secrets or confessions, he couldn't say, he was lost and when he opened his eyes he was met by dark deep green, he forgot how to breathe and he forgot how to be just to remember that he had to be and what he was wasn't good enough or just not enough because he kept thinking and thinking that he could move on, he didn't need that, any of that— forth and back and forth and— but then Webber had said those things and he had said things and hadn't they joth said too much and barely scratched the surface of what they could still say, of what they should admit, but he had said he had nothing to admit and now Sebastian had his secrets and he had confessions, those he had traced on Mark's back but he should forget that because Webber had asked him to, because he should and he needed and back and forth and back and forth and there was someone at the door.

There was someone at the door.

Sebastian opened it, just the slightest bit, scared his pacing would be visible, would be tangible to the naked eye. He hoped not to hope it to be Webber, but he knew better.

‘No.’ He said, slamming the door shut when he saw who was waiting for him outside.

‘Seb! Hey, what the fuck?’ Said Jenson. He resumed knocking a second later. ‘I said I was sorry about the bet thing.’

‘I don't care about the bet. I'm tired, Jense. I don't want to deal with your shit tonight.’ He yelled through the door, although it was clearly unnecessary since he heard Jenson's sigh loud and clear.

‘Mate, you need to relax. Where's Mark? Have you tried that yet?’ Logically, Seb knew he couldn't leave Jenson outside to run his mouth like that, but he truly did not wish to open the door again. When he grabbed the other driver and pushed him inside, it was a hundred percent driven by sheer annoyance. He banged the door closed. ‘God, sorry. Touchy subject, I'm noticing. Was he doing someone else when you called?’

‘I didn't call. We just met up outside in the paddock for a minute, and it's none of your business. What are you doing here?’

Jenson lay down on his bed, smiling. ‘I knew this mood was Mark-related.’

‘Not the point. Not what I asked you.’

Jenson smiled despite Sebastian's harsh tone. ‘Touchy touchy, Seb. I just came to see how you were. And to ask you out for a drink. Not like that, and you can brush that sour expression right off your face! I'll let you know that I'm an absolute catch, Vettel. You'd be so lucky to have me.’

‘I don't need you.’

‘Of course not, you have Webber. Fuck, I'm sorry!’ Jenson murmured, massaging his sides, where Sebastian had kicked him. ‘I miss the fun Sebastian. Where is he? God, you're so moody all the time. If Webber is not doing his job correctly I'm sure we can find someone to do it better, man, you don't have to let it out on me.’

‘One more Webber joke, and I swear to God, Jenson–’ But he stopped. Because, for all the teasing, Jenson's idea wasn't all bad. 

‘See? You don't even know how to threaten me anymore, this friendship has become boring. I can't do boring, Vettel, you know that. Go back to being interesting. Please, I beg you–’

‘Fine. We'll go out.’

‘But no drinking!’ Said Jenson, loudly.

‘I'm the one supposed to say that.’

‘Yeah, but you didn't so. I said it.’

Sebastian laughed, ‘You're not drinking?’

‘No. I am. You're not drinking. You have a championship to win, man. Now come on…No.’ Jenson stopped by the door, turning so fast towards Sebastian they met in the middle. Vettel groaned.

‘What do you mean, no ? I thought you came here to bully me out?’

Jenson nodded, ‘Yes I did, but you weren't supposed to agree. Honestly, I came here to bully you period. You should really stop giving your room number to me.’ He truly should. Nothing good had ever come out of it. ‘Now, I don't trust you, Seb.’

Vettel sighed. ‘Cheers, Jense. Thank you.’

‘Welcome. Explain your reasons.’

‘Nothing much. I have a championship to win and I'm too tense right now. We should go out.’

Jenson's eyes lit up. ‘I see.’

‘Do you? Because with that amount of hair on your face, I doubt it seriously.’

‘I regret teaching you English.’ Jenson said while Vettel beamed up at him.

Sebastian shook his head vehemently, not being able to believe the nerve of Jenson. ‘You didn't teach me English.’

‘Ha, yeah, okay. Whatever, Vettel. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to help you. Well, I am going to help you, but not going to help you help you. Like in general, yes. Not right now.’ Sebastian took a couple of beats to stare blankly at Button.

‘Are you sure you know English?’ Sebastian asked.

‘Fuck you.’ Jenson had once been better at comebacks, but Sebastian decided to let this one slide because he hadn't been in the mood for their usual spat and Jenson didn't have any other friends that agreed to this specific brand of bullshit Jenson liked.

‘No, thank you, Markie does that already.’

Jenson snorted loudly. ‘ I can't do it, but when you do it, it's fine?’

‘Wow, Jense, look at you! Understanding all sorts of stuff today.’