Chapter Text
The thought has come up before. Has nearly been initiated even.
Sebastian, horrendously drunk, was lying on the pavement with Mark, fully sober, watching over him with pity on his face, no less than two feet away.
They both were a few blocks down from some Monaco club. Daniel Ricciardo convinced most drivers to go for a few drinks before they had to prepare for the Canadian grand prix and leave Monaco. Mark started to pity the young German and started to regain movement in his feet instead of towering over him, looking down at him with slumped shoulders.
Mark reaches his hand down for Sebatstian to take, only for Sebastian to continuously fail to grasp Mark's own palm. With a huff mark instead opts for grabbing the blonde man's right forearm with his own right hand, starting to pull him up and placing his left palm under Seb’s armpit. While lifting the lighter body towards his own, more rigid frame, both of their frames become engulfed by headlights, Mark, assuming it's just a car passing by continues to lift his teammate up slowly, to which the latter's head flops onto his shoulder and starts giggling as soon as a sound of metal scratched like nails on a chalkboard.
The elders hands immediately pull Sebastian closer to his own body, hands on the younger's hips and he whips his head to the noise just to see a 2012 Porsche 9/11, reversing back from the streetlight that hit the car's side and scratched its paint.
Jenson.
“What is your issue, mate?!” infuriated, Mark squawks at Jenson while Sebastian's giggling dies down, who has now carefully pulled up next to the pair and has rolled his window down.
“Hey guys-” The brits attempted greeting was cut short by the exasperated Australian, still in shock over his reckless driving. “No! I don't want to hear it, Jenson!” The Australian interrupted the brits' obvious drunken slurring while rearranging the german on his body so he pressed into his side instead, “Are you drunk while driving!? You cannot be any more stupid!” The German's giggles have come to a stop and he softly hiccups into the ravenettes shoulder, “You two are.. Urhh.. laut.” the smaller finally speaks.
Mark lets out an annoyed huff while screwing his eyes shut and looking to the sky, “Jenson, please, get into the backseat. Now.” Mark demands as he grabs the car's door handle and opens, rearranging Sebastian again so he's partially leaning into the now open car door.
“It's my car!” Jenson tries to protest against his friend, “and you're drunk. You driving from the club to here is already a crime i dont feel like going to some Monaco jail, so get into the back. Please.”
Jenson sits and stares at his wheel for what felt like an hour, though was 10 seconds, before he scrambled into the back muttering something along the lines of this isn't fair and just drunken slurring. Mark takes a deep sigh and, as carefully as he could without somehow injuring the boy on his hip, helps Sebastian into the seat next to Jenson, behind the front passenger seat. He didn't bother with telling them to buckle up, their drunken minds wouldn't listen anyway. He himself settles into Jenson's car's driver's seat and closes the car door, he doesn't bother with his own seatbelt.
Once his door is shut he grips Jenson's wheel until his knuckles turn white, taking deep ragged breaths, resting his forehead on the wheel. It's quiet in the car, only interrupted by Sebastian's occasional drunk hiccup or groan. Mark eventually relaxes his shoulders and loosens his grip on the steering wheel, sighing as he glances at the rearview mirror eyes catching Sebastian drunkly leaning into Jenson, his forehead in the crook of his neck, entire body slumped into him. Jenson is slouched where he sits and has an arm around his shoulders bringing them impossibly closer.
Mark lifts his head and fixes his posture once coming to the realisation they're still parked quite illegally and goes to turn the car on until realising its been running during the entire drunken fiasco. He reverses out of the spot they were currently in.
“By the way, mate,” Jenson started, sinking further down in his seat “why aren't you wasted? I mean you won Monaco!” He slightly raises his hands for what Mark assumes is dramatic effect, though still having the decency to be wary about the boy who could pass off as trying to fuse with him. Mark's whole body stiffens at that but thank fully, the two in the back were too gone to notice.
Mark only managed to get a little past tipsy earlier, “I sobered up. Realised I didn't want to be partying as hard, I guess.”
“You guess? What do you mean you guess? You won Monaco for crying out-!” Jenson puts emphasis on Monaco, “I just didn't, okay!” Mark snapped, Sebastian made a barely audible whimper in the silence that followed after, muffled by Jenson's collarbone, they were warm against each other, Sebastian's legs curling up to get even more close to the Briton.
“So don’t go crook on me for going crook, I don't appreciate how you're implying I should be feeling some other way about my win! I'll spend it as I please.” Mark starts to ramble, and he goes to open his mouth to start up again but hears a whimper. One that most definitely did not come from the man he was yelling at. Looking into the rearview mirror again, purposefully this time, he was now certain it wasn't from jenson. The cause was Jenson.
Oh.
Oh.
Mark slightly loses his grip on the wheel causing the car to sway a little on the road before he regains back control, eyes snapping back down to look at the road. His lips were pressed tightly together, his grip on the wheel was impossibly tighter than earlier, and he prays they were close to Jensons flat.
The rest of the ride was silent. Besides the squeak of Mark's grip on the wheel, sweat on leather, or his heavy breathing, making it embarrassingly obvious he's trying to stay composed. Sebastian's ragged breaths and soft angelic moaning do not make it any easier, filling the enclosed space like warm honey. Jenson’s whispering praise that turns teasing and Mark thinks it should float through the car like a calming butterfly looking for more of that warm honey, but instead, blooms through the car like a foxglove flower soft and delicate but poisonous.
Mark refuses to look back up at them. Refuses to let his eyes land on Sebastian panting into Jenson's open mouth again. Refuses to let himself see one of Jenson's, much larger than the younger blondes, hands palm Seb's crotch oh so slowly, all while his other hand is under the youngest's shirt, probably pinching and rolling the pads of his fingers over the soft bud. He refuses. Not while he knows who's watching. He would never be so sinful, he'd assume he's already devastatingly close to being wrapped in the harsh blankets of fire.
God could forgive him for speeding, he won't forgive him for lust, especially for them.
He would assume they arrive faster than any of the previous times he's come to hang out and talk. He parks Jenson's car off centre in his normal spot. Nearly dislocating his shoulder with the speed he pulls the keys out with after turning off the ignition. He opens the car door and has to restrain himself from slamming it behind him, keeping the two locked inside to do their own sinful desires. He makes sure to have the decency to leave it open, even though halfway. Once he sees jenson make a move to climb back over the centre console he practically sprints to Jenson's front door, unlocking it and letting himself in, immediately heading to the brits kitchen, grabbing three cups from the cupboard he remember they're in, filling the one he got for himself all the way with water, chugs it, leaves it in the sink, then fills the other two halfway. His next move was grabbing Advil from Jenson’s medicine box in the cabinet above the fridge, placing the cups of water and an Advil packet on the kitchen counter.
He hears a soft thud from the direction he came from, soft gasps, and a deep groan. After a moment he hears the sound of feet shuffling towards the living room. He takes a deep breath and purposefully takes smaller steps then he would walking normally, slowing his own path to the living room. Turning the corner, he sees jenson hunched over, back to mark, with legs resting on his hips. Panting and breathless moans got louder the closer he walked.
He stopped just close enough to see a head full of messy, dirty blonde hair and a pair of blue eyes, locking onto his. He couldn't bring himself to look away this time. “I’ve put out water and a pack of Advil for you both,” he looks at Jenson, who was giving him half of his attention, the other half on the boy under him, smirking, “I'd recommend taking two each.” He swallows his own spit looking back at the youngest of the three, the German immediately lets out a moan. Mark has to fight the urge to run. “Please, stay.” He knew that Sebastian was a devil in disguise, sinful, his voice crawls over his skin in what should be that warm honey feeling again. Instead, it burns his skin like if you were to boil honey and sugar, pouring it all over him to caramelize his own shame. If hell was actually kind he was sure this is how it'd feel. But he won't feel. He can't. He doesn't deserve such grace to imagine it'd even be close to the sweetness Sebastian brings.
“I can't," he manages to croak out, tossing Jenson's keys that he's realised he was gripping onto for some sort of stability, on the coffee table which catches the older blonde's attention for a split second, the younger doesn't flinch. “The team has been calling and texting I-” he was interrupted by jenson, “who gives a shit mate? You think that's more important?”
“Mark, please.” Sebastian reaches his hand out from over Jenson's shoulder, but his plea just goes through Marks ear and out the other, “I cant.” the words sounded forced and left a metallic taste on his tongue, though that was probably from biting his own tongue unwittingly. With those two final words he turns to leave, leaving a now tipsy jenson and a still very drunk, and now sounds to be crying, Sebastian behind.
Sebastian was close to full blown sobbing, calling out for Mark, continuing even when they both heard the undeniable sound of the front door open, then slam shut. Jenson tries to silence him with a kiss to the lips, whispering praises and sweet nothings in his ear, telling him how marks an idiot and doesn’t deserve them, him. Jenson starts undoing the youngers jeans pulling his underwear just below his dick and taking his semi out, licking then spitting on his own palm and slowly pumping the youngers cock with it. Sebastian lets out a sob while Jenson uses his other hand that's not trying to get Sebastian to full hardness, to pull out his own dick. Sebastian has tears rolling down his face, trying to blink them away, absentmindedly whispering Mark's name.
Once both of their cocks are out Jenson slowly ruts his own against Sebastians. Sebastian’s still not hardening, if anything he's becoming soft. Jenson pays no mind to his friend's problem, instead taking his spit slick hand off of Sebastian's cock, jacking himself for a couple of strokes, slicking himself up, once satisfied he carefully grips both of them and starts moving his hand up and down.
Sebastian is slowly but surely becoming more tipsy instead of the drunk he was before, “Jens.. i.. It's not..” He trails off with a whimper, panting.
“It's okay,” Jenson leans up and kisses his forehead, "You're okay.” Jenson is humping into his own hand seeking more friction on Sebs, now nearly fully soft, cock. This continued on for around three minutes. Jenson's panting, and sloppily thrusting are the only things that are breaking the silence along with Sebastian's now quieting sobs and whimpers. The disgusting squelching caused by the scene happening between their own crotches comes to an end when Jenson finally cums with Sebastian's name on his tongue followed by a string of curses. Sebastian has fully softened, ashamed, and starts crying again for a different reason. Jenson tells him he can shower in the guest room and that he’ll set out some clothes he can sleep in if he wants to stay in his guest room for the night, putting his own dick back in his pants before leaving to go clean up himself, forgetting about what gesture Mark has left in the kitchen. Seb sobs into a decorative couch cushion once he's sure jenson is in his own bedroom, now close to fully sober, soft dick still hanging out, and mark never leaving his mind. A pathetic sight really.
If there's anything mark did after leaving, calling a taxi from the front of Jenson's flat to the hotel his team booked was one, fighting back tears and failing while arriving at his hotel, nodding to the front desk lady and heading up the elevator to his room, all while ignoring the texts and calls on his phone was another. Jerking off to the thought of what would happen if he decided to let himself be wrapped in the sugary warmth long enough to leave burn scars, was something he would never admit to.