because I got complaints that I'm a coward about things from @blorbocedes in this and because my Mutti didn't raise a pussy (gn, affectionate), here have this bcs I can't stop thinking about it :
The lights of Abu Dhabi are bright, but not as bright as his smile. Nothing compares to the feeling of after a win, and he just won for the fifth time. Five WDC's for Number Five, Sebastian Vettel, he hears the broadcasters say. Five-time-World-Champion Sebastian Vettel.
He finally made it.
"Congratulations," Jenson says, and his smile is just wicked enough for Seb to notice, but not enoigh for the cameras to catch it. Sebastian knows Nico is in the paddock somewhere, and he knows he has an open invitation to join them. (What happens on race Sundays stays there, as it always did, and this is Abu Dhabi. It doesn't count, or that's what Nico always claimed. Jenson and Seb would only look at each other, and make him shut up for the night.) "Five-time World Champion! How does it feel?"
Like vindication, he could say. Like finally getting back something that was owed. Like the world is finally where it should be, aligned as it should have been a long time ago. Like justice, cosmic or carmic. Like it should be. Like it did the previous four times, only even better.
He smiles for the cameras, practiced and with ease. "Wonderful," he says instead. "Emotional, and amazing." Jenson smiles back, and when the cameras stop rolling, he leans in closer. "Find us for the celebrations?" Sebastian looks at him, as handsome as he always was, aging like a fine wine, even better with age. Sebastian knows how Jenson tastes, though; and he is more of a beer man himself.
"Perhaps," he replies, and Jenson lets him go with a final squeeze of his hand.
He goes through all the obligatory procedures; he hugs more people than he will ever remember, and this is familiar too. Like an old reflex, it comes back, the exhilliration, the congratulations, the old song and dance which he knows from years ago; which he never could, or would, forget.
He hugs Charles around the waist when he comes to congratulate him. "I'm not free tonight," Charles says into his ear. "I'll make it up to you in Monaco," he says with twinkling eyes, and Seb has no doubt that he will. He sees Carlos waiting around, pointedly not looking at them, and smirks. "Be good for him," Seb whispers back, patting Charles on the cheek, and sees a reflection of his own smile in Charles'. Good, he thinks. You're finally learning. You're learning to always care less for them than they do for you. Good. "I'm always good, but I want to be the best," Charles says with that clumsy wink of his, and when Sebastian laughs, it's, surprisingly enough, genuine. "Find someone to take care of you good tonight" are Charles' parting words, and Sebastian smirks, knowing that won't be an issue.
He shakes hands, accepts congratulations, and then finally, Mick comes to him. He's beautiful, sweaty and red from the race, his fireproofs soaked with sweat. His eyes are a bit wild, and he looks like it wasn't Seb who won, but like he did. Genuine, Sebastian thinks. Mick is so genuine, and then he doesn't have time to think anymore because Mick throws himself into Seb's embrace. "You were amazing, amazing, congratulations, Sebastian," he speaks into Seb's skin, like he can't help himself, more overcome with emotion than Sebastian himself is. He smells good, and he hugs Seb tight, and he is good, and Seb can feel his brain turning.
"Thank you, Mick," he replies, and Mick doesn't let go. Mick always takes whatever affection Seb gives him, always holds on for as long as Sebastian will allow it. He always makes sure to be conscious of when he should back off, and Seb does give pretty obvious signals for when they get too close. Why, a thought pushes through, unbidden. Why do you still keep him away, when he is so desperate for you? Why, when you know he would give you everything, and even more, if you just let him?
Michael's face comes up then, but it's not - it doesn't hurt like it used to. Michael isn't here, he thinks. Michael isn't here, and you just won a race and a championship, and you knew you were going to win, and Michael isn't here.
What morals are you playing at, Sebastian, he hears the voice he's long ago heard, but never forgotten. An echo from the past; from eleven years ago, spoken in harsh German, but not a harsh tone. What morals are you holding onto, and does it even matter, when it's already too late, when you're standing this close?
"Sebastian," a voice says, and it takes him a moment to parse it from the voice in his head. It's too similar, and for a moment, the voices coalesce. He cranes his head back and opens his eyes, and the eyes looking into him are just different enough to cement what he knew was going to be inevitable sooner or later.
"Yes, Mick, I'm here," he says, and Mick's eyelashes flutter. "I'll text you after the circus, we can celebrate?" He makes sure to let his fingers brush against Mick's throat, and he sees the way Mick's eyes widen and he feels how he swallows, right underneath his fingertips. Mick has a nice throat, and Sebastian wants to squeeze it suddenly, or maybe see how it looks when it's full. He has no doubt Mick would let him.
"Oh," Mick says. "I thought - your friends, Jenson is here, and - Charles," Mick says, and Sebastian supresses a smile, because Mick cannot hide the flash of jealousy in his expression, or everything he's just inadvertedly revealed to Sebastian. Keep that jealousy, Sebastian thinks, remember it for when you have to fight him on the same team. He doesn't think he would begrudge Mick the title in red as much as he would begrudge Charles.
(He thinks he may begrudge it even more. He thinks retribution to it may be even sweeter. He thinks that, if he threads carefully enough, he may get to find out if he's right.)
"No, actually, I do have to meet some people, but," he bites his lip; a calculated movement that pays off when Mick's gaze gets stuck on it, "I just want to spend time with you."
It's worth it, to see Mick come to an understanding; to see blush in his cheeks and incresulousness mixed with happiness and relief in his gaze. Sebastian keeps his emotions out of his face, and when Mick nods and whispers "Okay, just - text me, I'll wait," he rewards him with another hug, making sure to step even closer this time, fitting his body against Mick's fully.
When Mick steps away, he is flushed, and Sebastian thinks he is beautiful, and good, and endearingly charming. (He thinks he cannot wait to see in all which ways he can ruin him.) He nods, and Mick steps away, and with a final squeeze on Seb's forearm, he walks away.
Sebastian watches him go, the movements of his body decisive, and thinks about Michael for one final time. He thinks about what is due, and what is just, and what is inevitable. He thinks about how, by now, he's paid off all his debts, all the ones he had to repay at least; and as for the rest, well. Fuck it.
Sebastian has just won, and he deserves a prize.
