#prompt.fics

Sebastian’s wings didn’t compare Nico’s – smaller and absolutely not as gorgeous. His wings were of golden ochre colour with white specks and black dots, like eyes. Always in control and also sort of angelic, but in a biblical sense, with righteous wrath. And where Sebastian’s wings lacked beauty; they made up for in skill, they were precise and moved silently.

Sebastian’s father didn’t have wings, no one from his family did, but everybody knew he was going to be one of the greatest because his wings were so similar to Michael’s. This was another source of Nico’s woes alongside being a son of champion, amongst other things. Sebastian was so similar to Michael in ways Nico could never be.

Nico finished third that day, Malaysia 2010, which felt amazing. Standing on the podium always felt so. And it was the first time he did it with Sebastian. Nico’s racing was always technical and consistent and he felt like he could do better than Michael even if he still scared him off track. But whilst he was about to surpass the idol of the olden days, he could sense that Sebastian was on the rise and Nico couldn’t keep up.

“May I touch your wings?” he asked quietly, when they found themselves alone in the corridors set behind the podium walls. It was not an ordinary thing to ask a fellow driver, but if Sebastian declined, Nico thought, he would just apologize and move on with his life the best he can.

“Sure!” the smile on Sebastian’s face could illuminate a night race. “But only if I can touch yours,” he chuckled, unzipping his overalls.

Managing the wings as a racing driver was a whole another ordeal. They looked frail, much like the racing cars themselves, but as well as the cars they were actually very sturdy and most importantly very powerful. Not all drivers even had wings, but most of the champions did, and it was an unspoken rule of sorts that the champions have wings. Simple as that. Out of champions who raced alongside Nico only Lewis didn’t have them.

Every driver who had wings coped in different ways, and as Sebastian took the top half of his overalls off, Nico could see the slits cut neatly in his nomex undershirt and his little ochre wings threaded through them and folded neatly over his back. There were no restraints other than overalls.

“You don’t tie them to your body?” Nico asked, watching Sebastian roll his shoulders as his wings twitched and unfolded in front of him. A hundred watchful eyes staring right into Nico’s soul.

“No, why would I?” Sebastian laughed, and the golden feathers shuffled as if his wings were laughing too. “You can touch them, they are nothing special,” the wings calmed down as Sebastian waited for the touch.

The feathers were firm, but soft and seemed almost warm to the touch. They were tucked in very neat rows and Nico could tell that Seb takes very good care of them. He hummed as Nico stroked the feathers slowly and carefully. Sebastian didn’t tie them and they didn’t bother him. How strange, Nico thought. His own wings were often causing more trouble than he’d like to, shifting and wrestling their way out, and that’s why he had to tie them to his body sometimes with extremely soft custom made belts.

“Thank you,” Nico said quietly, taking his hand away, even though his fingers still longed for the touch. They are very beautiful,” he added, rubbing his palms together to get rid of the soft sensation, to forget how the touch of Sebastian’s wings feels.

“No problem,” Sebastian smiled at him, but kind of shy this time, not a blinding beaming smile, but still illuminated and glowing. “They are not a match to yours though,” he chuckled, watching as Nico undid the zipper of his overalls.

"No, you look great, honey," she smiles in the mirror, hoping that he doesn't notice the alarms blaring behind her eyes. "It must've shrunk in the washing machine," she rubs her forearms with the lotion, watching Toto's confused reflection closely.

"How do one fucks up a cotton shirt?" Toto asks no one in particular, taking the shirt off and studying the label with the little signs.

"Jack probably tried to take the washing machine apart," she smiles, catching Toto's confused look in the mirror, "might have changed the settings to god knows what."

Toto takes a moment to think about it, after all their son is exactly the age, when a child's curiosity knows no bounds. He shrugs and nogs and opens the closet to take another t-shirt to wear to bed. Crisis averted, for now.

The ruckus in the house is a little bit annoying, but Toto is a man of strong will and stubborn determination. For a reason unknown to Susie he decided to change the way the shelf in the corridor is hung. For years it was set with Susie's height in mind, but she decided to not get in the way. It's good that Toto has something to keep himself busy.

Susie adores her husband, he is everything, but James is different. James has a way about him, something so subtle and shy, he is softer. And he is not as tall, which only highlights the differences in her eyes. She doesn't invite James to their house and into their bedroom out of spite or malice or contempt. Whenever she is with him she feels a certain kind of thrill, which she used to feel when she was racing, and that's what she is chasing. Not the safety of leisure karting, but the real grit of competitive racing. That's what she is looking for and she is the kind of woman who always gets what she wants.

She gets back to sorting the laundry and notices a shirt she hasn't seen before. It's just another white shirt, similar to the team's uniform, but without the logos and branding. She knows Toto's wardrobe like the back of her hand, and they usually do the shopping if not together, but with some sort of coordination. And it's not James'. She makes sure now that he doesn't leave any traces other than the feeling of his lips touching the back of her neck.

"Dear, have you been shopping?" she pops into the corridor with the shirt in her hands. Toto stands in the middle of the small hallway, staring at the empty wall with a few pencil markings on it to determine the new shelf placement.

"I'm sorry, what?" he blinks and furrows his eyebrows a little, when he notices Susie standing in the doorway.

"Is this one new?" she chuckles and shows him the shirt. "I am about to put it in the washing."

Toto looks at her face and then the shirt, and Susie clocks the exact moment the recognition kicks in and starts the thinking process in Toto's head. Now that's interesting.

"Ah, this silly thing," he waves his hand dismissively and lets out a laugh that sounds a bit off, a bit shaky, "yes, but I don't even remember when I bought it."

Everyone seems to have fun and the dinner party is going well. Some people are in the living room, some are out in the garden, enjoying the good weather. It was sort of a miraculous coincidence that they both expressed the idea to throw a dinner party. Susie had a few guests in mind, and turns out Toto had a few guests in mind as well. It's not like they don't know everyone, but sometimes it's nice to see familiar faces in the informal setting.

Suisie gets back to the laundry room to sort the rest of the clothes. It's fine, it's nothing, but she picks the shirt up again and stares at it as if she looks at it long enough it will reveal some secrets. But of course it doesn't, and right when she is ready to throw it into the washing machine she brings the shirt up to her face and takes one deep breath in. It's different. She doesn't know why or how, she can't prove it, but she knows it is different. It is not Toto's shirt, but the sudden realisation doesn't upset or sadden her, she feels the thrill.

She takes a couple of empty glasses to the kitchen, but stops a few steps before the doorway. Toto's laughter is distinct and hard to miss, but there is another man's voice. He says something, and Toto laughs again.

"How's it going, lads?" she says, walking in, and smiles, when she notices Toto and James. James Allison, of course.

They stand close, leaning against the counter, each has a shot glass of vodka in his hand, and a misted bottle stands still between them on the counter top. They were just about to down the shots when she walked in, but stopped mid-air.

"Go on, go on," she chuckles and puts glasses in the sink, "I'm not here," she shoots them both a smile and quickly leaves the kitchen.

The evening goes on. Some guests leave, but others slowly migrate to the living room for a friendly chat and mellow music. James, her James, is also here, but he seems tense and nervous and leaves early. She only had a minute alone with him behind the closed door of the laundry room, but the excitement from the kiss is enough to last til they meet again.

Another James, Allison, decides to leave soon after her James, and she walks him out because Toto probably dozed off somewhere in the house after drinking.

It is a little bit awkward because another James keeps trying to stop giggling, but fails again and again because he is also drunk. The car is waiting for him and he pulls Susie into a hug, which is unexpected, but still kind of nice. They are friendly, they are parts of the big family, the team.

"So, how is your James doing?" Toto asks suddenly, when they finally haul themselves into the bed after a long tiring, yet exciting dinner party.

"Thank you for the shelf," another James mumbles somewhere above her temple. "I don't bump into it anymore," he chuckles, hugging Susie a little more tightly, and as she takes a deep breath, behind the vapours of vodka, she notices the same faint fragrance the mystery shirt had.

For a split second Susie feels like she is cornered, but she knows Toto and his tone is neutral, even friendly. There is no anger in his voice, and when she looks up at him there is no anger in his eyes.

"He's doing fine," she answers, as a tiny smile tugs a corner of her husband's lips up. "How is your James?"

Now that didn’t sound so bad, they all were familiar with the camera filming race debrief videos and other “content”, but if the devil works hard the PR department seems to be working a little bit harder. The whole concept was questionable. Who would want to watch a bunch of engineers drive people around the track in a road car and talk? That didn’t make sense to him at all.

“Oh, an email!?” Jenson rested his hands on Shov’s shoulders as he quickly scanned the text. “That sounds fun, we should do it,” he leaned in and left a quick kiss on Shov’s cheek.

There are policies about working off the clock and Shov shouldn’t have opened his email at home, even though he just wanted to re-read it to make sure it still didn’t make sense to him. But he did open it and had to suffer the consequences of his actions.

“We?” Shov looked up at Jenson, who he leaned against the table, folding his arms at the chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you are invited,” Jenson’s displeased pout made him smile, but he tried to fight it and failed.

“I think I should be,” Jenson grumbled, but let the theatrics go, when Shov put a hand on his thigh, “Imagine you, me, Silverstone,” he smiled, blinking at Shov slowly, and put his hand on top of Shov’s.

“Sounds terribly romantic,” Shov agreed, flipping his hand and pressing their palms together, squeezing Jenson’s hand tightly, “but I think Bono and—,” Shov bit his tongue at the right moment, and cleared his throat, fixing his glasses.  "I think Marcus and George should do it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Jenson tilted his head and pursed his lips thinking, “okay then, you, me and Monaco?” he bit his bottom lip thinking, and from the expression on his face Shov knew that Jenson was going to say this about every grand prix on the calendar.

“It’s just a pitch, Jenson,” Shov sighed, closing his laptop and standing up, “and you do realize that in this case I would be driving, right?” he tried to let Jenson’s hand go, but Jenson only tightened the grip. His enthusiasm was unexpected at best and suspicious at worst.

“Yes, I do,” Jenson’s lips stretched in a smile. Suspicious. “I could engineer you,” he leaned in, kissing Shov on the cheek again.

“Wouldn’t that be great,” Shov chuckled, but Jenson quickly caught the sarcastic undertone and kicked Shov in the shin with his foot. “Sorry, I don’t even know why they would ask me to participate in that thing,” he pulled Jenson closer, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “And you’d make a terrible engineer.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Jenson frowned, but didn’t try to move away. “I could be an engineer,” he shifted in Shov’s arms, getting even closer, resting his hands on Shov’s back.

“Don’t make me email Williams and ask if they keep an archive of those engineering tests they used to give to their drivers,” Shov smiled and before Jenson could protest he leaned in and kissed him.

“Keep this attitude up and I will make you sleep in the guest bedroom,” Jenson frowned, furrowing his eyebrows and staring at Shov like he was shooting lasers out of his eyes.

“It’s good that we have a guest bedroom,” Shov placed another quick kiss on Jenson’s lips as his arms stoked Jenson’s back slowly. “I don’t think my back would survive the couch,” he smiled, watching Jenson’s displeased face.

“Guest bedroom it is then,” Jenson huffed. He tried so hard to look angry, flaring his nostrils and pursing his lips, but of course he couldn’t. “And I’m taking Jenny with me.”

“She will whine all night long and will try to scratch the door,” Shov ran his hand up Jenson’s back and rested it on the back of his neck. “She loves me more than you.”

“Then you both are sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight,” Jenson wrestled his way out of Shov’s arms and stomped away, heading to the kitchen.

Shov waited a minute and then followed him to the kitchen, where he found Jenson sitting on the floor and quietly telling something to their dog, probably trying to convince her to love him more. Unfortunately as soon as she sensed Shov’s presence, Jenny the Dog ditched Jenson and ran towards Shov.

“I will think about it,” Shov said, watching Jenson get up from the floor and scratching Jenny’s back, as she wagged her tail, happy to receive attention. Jenson stood with his arms crossed, sullenly looking at Shov, but after a moment he walked up to him, resting his head on Shov’s shoulder, waiting to be hugged.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he mumbled, as Shov wrapped his arms around him and tilted his head, placing a kiss on Jenson’s temple. “I don’t even know if I can appear on Mercedes’ socials.”

“I’ll ask,” Shov murmured into Jenson’s hair. “And Monaco sounds great, actually.”

“Are you choosing Monaco because it’s the shortest circuit?” Jenson asked, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.

“Do you think we’ll stay friends?” Jenson asked, suddenly feeling a bit melancholic as he and Sebastian stood on the bridge adorned with four beautiful statues of horses watching a man cross the frozen river.

“Of course we will!” Sebastian threw his arm across Jenson’s shoulder and pulled him into a tight side-hug. “Unless there is a huge war that will change the face of Europe forever,” he patted Jenson’s shoulder and beamed at him.