... New about me coming soon.
For now, just comment to be added. :)
Mark Webber has never woken up next to a man before. It's far less startling than it should be, but maybe that's just because he's still a little drunk from the night before. Still, it's a little strange to say the least.
Said man is currently squirming about tiredly, long legs kicking at Mark as he tries to get some sort of purchase.
"Hngh, did you take the duvet?" Comes the grumble from beside him, it's got a slight Scottish lilt to it that's suddenly all too familiar.
"No, piss off," He grumbles.
"You bloody did! I've got no duvet and you've got all of it!" Well, at least DC seems to be taking this waking up together thing in his stride.
"That's not true!" Mark says indignantly, turning over in his cocoon of blankets to glare at David, who just glowers back at him and shivers pathetically. He's got a t-shirt and underpants on. That's something at least.
"How can you even say that? I'm freezing!" David folds his arms, rubbing them theatrically in a show of just how cold he is.
"The heating's on you wuss," Mark sniffs, rolling out of the way of a flailing fist that still catches his shoulder.
"How do you know? You're baking away in the duvet!" Okay, so the fact that they're having banter despite the obvious situation is a little disconcerting, but it's easier to just roll with it than try and think too hard.
"Christ, do you want some doona you bloody whinger?"
"... Some what?" David stumbles, mid sulk, suddenly trying to keep the smirk off his face and failing.
"Doona..." Mark repeats unsteadily, frowning slightly.
"It's a duvet!" He splutters, laughing.
"Not in Australia it isn't! And now you aren't getting any either," He adds as an afterthought, rolling over sullenly.
"Oh come on!" David kicks him repeatedly until he's forced to roll back over to glare properly for the full effect.
"Not until you ask for it properly." Mark scowls, face the epitome of sullen.
"Can I please share the..." It's obvious that David's trying not to laugh, and not doing a particularly good job of it to boot. "... Doona." He sniggers, but Mark, true to his word, throws out a part of the cocoon to the other man, albeit with an expression that's nothing but acerbic.
"Very." David assures him, grinning. Admittedly, being snuggled up next to a smug David Coulthard is far comfier than being hit repeatedly by a disgruntled David Coulthard. Not that that makes this situation any less weird.
"This should be odd, shouldn't it?" Mark finally embraces the strangeness of the situation in his usual, subtle way.
"Hnh, probably." David says into his shoulder, breath warm and tickly against the bare patch of skin.
"What actually happened last night?" He tries to get a slightly more solid answer out of the Scotsman, who instead gives an equally frustrating shrug.
"I dunno. There was beer. I think I tried to start a fight with Eddie Jordan."
"You tried to start a fight with Eddie Jordan and now we're in bed together..?" Mark asks incredulously.
"Something like that, yeah."
"You're an idiot." Mark snorts, trying to refrain from wrapping an arm around David's shoulders, because that would not be proper.
"You're only jealous that I've got the balls to start a fight with Eddie Jordan." David grunts absent mindedly.
"Oh, yeah, that must be it," He rolls his eyes and decides to wrap an arm around the other man anyway. The Scot burrows into him encouragingly.
"It is!" He insists vehemently.
“You’re still an idiot,” Mark frowns, tilting his head down disapprovingly. David glares back at him. “And who’s duvet is this?”
“Is it bright yellow with the word ‘Jordan’ across it?” David asks, attempting to peer over the edge of the duvet to get a decent look at the room.
“Then we’re not at Eddie Jordan’s place.”
They lie there in the brilliant sunshine that filters through the gaps in Sebastian’s blinds in silence, neither wanting to be the first one to mention the cuddling.
“Seb..? Are you awake?” Jaime asks hesitantly. Sebastian chooses not to say anything, because if he says anything then Jaime will definitely get up and walk off, and then things’ll be awkward and they won’t even be friends any more. He gives a noise that he hopes maybe sleeping people usually make.
The sequences of events leading up to this moment are a little hazy. Of course, like all good awkward situations, there was definitely a lot of alcohol involved. In fact, a lot of alcohol and both Red Bull sponsored teams are staple parts of whatever’s led him to being in bed with Jaime Alguersuari. It’s a good start, and Sebastian’s proud of himself for remembering at least that much. Continuing the train of thought makes his brain hurt, but he forces himself to go on.
There was Mark and DC arguing over a sofa bed. The two of them had been talking about drinking contests and the queen and all sorts of other odd things that bounce disjointedly around the inside of Sebastian’s brain. Mark had started a fight with a lamp.
So where exactly did Jaime fit into this?
... Jaime’s sofa bed. Well. Technically Sebastian’s sofa bed, but it was supposed to be the Spaniard’s for the night. So why wasn’t he down there right now, rather than being sinfully warm and fuckable approximately zero centimetres away?
Ah, broken glass.
Broken glass and a passed out Australian. That might be the reason. No doubt there was a passed out Scotsman somewhere nearby, too. The clean-up operation was going to be appalling.
Jaime’s ringtone cuts through Sebastian’s skull like a chainsaw, pulling him straight out of the comforting pages of, ‘The mystery of the Attractive Spanish Guy’, and straight into ‘I really shouldn’t have drunk so much last night’.
He curls up, pressing himself into the other man’s warm back as Jaime talks in animated Spanish to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. The language is too rapid and complicated for Sebastian to understand in his current state of sleep deprivation, so he’s content to just listen to the animated trills that make up Jaime’s natural speech pattern.
It’s then that Jaime shifts almost casually and presses himself back against Sebastian, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s not actually sure if the Spaniard realises he’s awake or not, but it’s a decent enough excuse to slide an arm around Jaime’s waist and let his palm rest carefully against the other man’s stomach.
“... Ugh, adios,” Jaime grumbles into the phone finally, jabbing the key to hang up a little harder than necessary. Sebastian says nothing, trying not to give the game away about his being awake.
“Seb, I’ve got to go back to Spain,” Jaime murmurs, apparently completely aware and more amazingly, totally unfazed by Sebastian’s fake-sleeping. The German doesn’t move his arms and stays resiliently quiet. “They want me back for some legal things.”
“Just stay here,” Sebastian finally mumbles into the warm patch of skin directly between Jaime’s shoulder blades. “It’ll be fine, the Red Bull mechanics already know you... Well, as the guy that drove into their garage accidentally.” He grumbles sleepily.
The Spaniard’s back ripples in a badly contained chuckle and he groans embarrassedly.
“Did you have to bring that up?” He asks, pulling a face. Sebastian smiles despite himself, fingers tightening around Jaime’s biceps as if by holding on, he can keep the Spaniard there forever.
Jaime rolls over, arms wrapping around Sebastian properly in a way that can’t be mistaken as anything other than romantic, and grins nervously.
“Well aren’t you at least gonna give the bloke a goodbye kiss?” Mark asks in a voice that’s so utterly throwaway, that Sebastian physically freezes. He looks across, trying to figure out if this is some sort of Australian humour that he’s somehow missed out on, but his team-mate’s face is absolutely devoid of anything indicating it was meant to be funny.
“W-What?” As if he couldn’t possibly be any less suave, Sebastian then couples this with a nervous, high-pitched laugh that basically exposes the fact that he’s both very surprised, and very worried.
“Him. Aren’t you going,” Mark stretches his vowels out, as if talking to a particularly slow child. “to go, and kiss him because he is going back to Spain now.”
Sebastian doesn’t know what to say, so instead he tries the braying giggle again. No luck, it’s apparently, still not a joke.
“Seb, I know you think you’re like some sort of James Bond when it comes to sneaking about but seriously, everyone knows.” For the briefest moment, Sebastian thinks about laughing again, just in case, but finally decides it and instead looks at Mark with a slightly helpless expression.
“... Who’s everyone?” He asks in a tiny voice. This time, Mark looks thoughtful, then grins.
“Well, me and David, obviously, Eddie Jordan and that other bloke – Jake. Er, Jenson, Rubens, the other Sebastian, Jarno, Nick, Nico, Timo... Oh! Christian, too. That’s all I can think of right now, but I’m pretty sure there’s more.” Each time Mark ticks off another name on his fingers, Sebastian feels himself die a little bit inside.
“... Eddie Jordan knows? Why?” He asks desperately. Mark shrugs broadly and holds his palms out in a display of perplexion.
“Couldn’t say, mate – definitely nothing to do with me or David. But you really do need to get a speed on – Jaime’s going to be gone by the time you’re done raging about it at this rate.” He gives Sebastian the smallest nudge and the German, still a little too stunned to do anything else, just stumbles forward.
“I am going to kill you, Webber,” He vows, although he has to admit that the Australian has a point of some kind. “Later.” Mark Laughs and sniffs indifferently, motioning for Sebastian to get moving. He finally does so, still vowing internally to figure out the best way to shorten Webber’s lifespan.
Luckily, it’s not one of those cliché romantic comedies in which Sebastian has to somehow get through the gate and stop the plane to get to Jaime. He thanks every possible deity he can think of that airport check in is so appallingly slow and that Jaime’s still just sat on his suitcase, waiting whilst the American in front of him complains loudly.
Well. He’s sat on it at least as long as it takes Sebastian to leap on him.
“Seb!” Jaime’s eyes widen with surprise and panic. “Webber is only over there!” He hisses. Sebastian shuts him up with a fierce kiss, ignoring the raucous shouts in an unmistakable Australian accent from somewhere behind him.
“It’s okay, he knows – lots of people know,” Sebastian mumbles, still clinging hard onto Jaime. The Spaniard still looks like a rabbit in car headlights, but Sebastian clings regardless. “I want to say goodbye properly – it is a long time to go with just a handshake to remember you by.”
Jaime blinks wildly for a few seconds, the confusion on his face obvious as he tries to figure out what the German means. Sebastian’s mouth pushes down against his, and finally he understands with startling clarity what Sebastian meant.
The kiss is long and drawn out with them both savouring the last few seconds of it before the businessman stood rather awkwardly behind them, finally mentions that it’s Jaime’s turn at the check-in desk. They pull apart dazedly, Jaime mumbling an apology to the poor guy and Sebastian just grinning broadly.
“See you next year?” He asks in a low whisper as Jaime picks up his suitcase. The Spaniard grins this time, a little more confident.
“For sure,” He agrees, chuckling. “Until then.”
Sebastian’s suddenly looking forward to the whole thing.