#garynevilles

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

why do you always have a problem with my askbox

5: abu dhabi (aesthetic), canada, mexico, hungary, hoping baku will be good (or at least pretty) this year too.

17: well i’m more than likely doing hungaroring in july so we’ll see how that goes. something like abu dhabi would be the dream though, i love night races and everything is just so on point there. amber lounge. also monaco because of the history and pleasing scenery and all of that even though it’s ridiculously expensive and i’d probably feel alienated with all the flashy rich people there and well, it’s not really an action-producing track most years but it’s iconic so there’s that. amber lounge.

27: ironically the year i most regret not watching is, and forever will be, 2014. so close yet so far. as for other years/eras, i don’t know. i kind of like the way things are now, the cars are the best-looking they’ve ever been imo and watching seasons like say 2006 is just a bit too weird for me. bahrain in the daytime is so wrong make it stop. maybe the 70s or 80s when everything was crazy, idk. or the kubica years. can’t believe i missed my pumpkin. damn it all to hell. 

Who do we need to feed to the sharks tbh?

22. things you said after it was over

i love this pairing and there isn’t enough of it in the world.

Jenson is magnetic. Charismatic.

The way his lips curve into a smile, the way he winks and the sound he makes as he laughs and he’s so charming. It’s impossible to not be attracted to him, the way he licks his lips, mouth just begging to be kissed with tongue and teeth, and fuck.

He is craved, he is wanted, lustfully and passionately and without reservations. To possess him is to love him.

He makes Kevin feel wanted, too, cherished in a way he’s never been before and it’s shamelessly the best sex he’s ever had.

It’s the sting of bitten lips and the pull of rough hands tangled in hair. The pressure of fingertips leaving marks against milky collarbones, blooming like fuchsia.

Other times, it’s the shape of his mouth, leaving trails of warmth in the dip of Kevin’s shoulders. The burn of his stubble against the hollow of Kevin’s throat as he dips his head to press a kiss into his skin, aching and tender.

It makes Kevin feel complete, feel loved.

It’s a funny thing, though, because this is Jenson, and Jenson is like this with everyone, offering that delicious flirtatious smirk and the vague promise of a good time.

And sometimes, Jenson isn’t there, but he usually is, and that’s good enough for Kevin.

It is until it’s not, and the insecurity starts eating away at him, piece by piece. Small and uncertain, he starts looking for assurance. He longs for a sense of security, whispering do you love me’s? into the crook of Jenson’s elbow.

And he’s not paranoid, it’s not that, it’s—the fear of loss, really. It’s a question of trust.

Still, though, Kevin takes what Jenson gives him. They still sleep with each other, but it’s different now, more sporadic. And it’s turned into a routine, of sorts—Jenson leaves with the sunrise, and Kevin ends up grasping cold sheets.

Up near his neck, just at the juncture of his shoulders, there’s a mark neatly pressed into Jenson’s skin, something like a mouth and a set of teeth.

Kevin swallows around the lump in his throat as the panic begins to rise because he knows with a crushing certainty that my mouth didn’t do this.

But Jenson just smiles, in that sweet innocent way, running a comforting hand through Kevin’s hair, and it feels a lot like don’t be ridiculous.

“I don’t lie, Kev.” He says, and it sounds patronising. And Kevin knows how this goes, something like: there’s only you. He nods, chews on the inside of his cheek.

The end comes sooner than expected, and Kevin loses a team and a teammate and it’s like this: a nervous wringing of hands and bitten lips and big sad eyes and feigned anguish because “We’re not right, Kevin.”

Kevin almost expects a it’s not you, it’s me because Jenson’s a cliché, but it doesn’t come. And anyway. Jenson doesn’t lie.

He wonders what it’s like, to hold a heart in your hands and toy with it. Jenson does heartbreak in style.

Kevin doesn’t miss him, most nights, but he can still feel him, a press on his ribs. And maybe it’s only fair, because Jenson never asked him to love him, never wanted him except in his quiet, most selfish moments.

I can’t believe u made me read this with my own actual eyes, I’m crying, why u do this to me???