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Lance can’t remember a time in his life during which he wasn’t enchanted by soft fabrics and the gentler things in life. As a child, he would play dress up with Chloe, digging through abandoned clothes from both of their parents. To this day, his mother keeps a picture of him in her heels, wearing one of his father’s shirts with a belt pulled tightly around the waist as if it was a dress, in a silver frame on display in their house. She insists that it is adorable, Lance can’t bring himself to truly look at it anymore.
Whenever he was home between racing events, Chloe would drag him out, loudly complaining that she never got to spend enough time with him. Lance knew better. Perhaps not then, but he knows now. Looking back on it, it was rather suspicious that she would drag him into make-up stores and insist that he try on some products for her.
“I can’t ruin my make-up.” a roll of her eyes combined with a smile was all it took to get him to sigh and uncap the lipstick in a shade that was affectionately called dance with me . “Why do you even wear make-up when you’re going shopping for some, then?” a fruitless question. He just didn’t want to know the answer.
Chloe always bought him the colour which she insisted looked best on him, and therefor, by extension, her.
She never wore it, and it would only take approximately two weeks before it miraculously ended up in his en-suite bathroom.
The same seemed to happen every once in a while with clothes. She would order a shirt that was somewhere between a regular length and a crop top, not revealing, yet short enough to show some midriff when one lifted their arms while wearing it. She was notorious for being unable to order clothes in her own size, always buying things a few sizes too large on ‘accident’ . Neither one of them ever talked about the fact that it fit him perfectly.
Lance never really thanked her for it, but the collection of items of clothing tucked away in the back of his closet did steadily grow as time went on.
He never brought it with him, not when he was karting, and surely not now that he’s a Formula One driver. He has a reputation to protect, and with the rumours and the backlash that always seems to be directed at him, he doesn’t feel like adding any fuel to the flames.
During one season, he grows his hair out. Hopes that it’s enough, hopes that the act of running his hands through his own hair and taking longer for him to reach the end is enough to sooth the grumbling ache in his stomach. It isn’t. It isn’t even close. He cuts it short the following season, prays that the change will help him settle into a world in which he doesn’t know where he fits.
Chloe leaves him a lipstick by the name of yash . It’s nearly peach coloured, and it fits perfectly with the new shorts he finds hidden underneath his pillow when he falls into his own bed for the first time in months.
They don’t talk about it, but his sister spends the next few days practising make-up looks on him, as well as fuzzing with his hair. There’s a pastel pink bow clipped into it. Lance pretends that he forgot about it when he drives the both of them to the nearest MacDonald's at 2am to get them a milkshake. If the lady behind the window notices, she doesn’t comment on it. Chloe takes a selfie with him, both their straws tucked between their teeth, lips curved into a smile. They don’t comment on the remnants of glitter eyeshadow reflecting the orange lights around the parking lot.
She doesn’t post it.
Lance nearly wishes that she had.
*
He doesn’t dislike the emerald green. He preferred the pink of Force India, but he’ll learn to live with the colours of Aston Martin just as well. Everything in his world is changing, yet it stays the same. His father puts his hand on his shoulder as he shows him around the new car, and Lance pretends that the straps Lawrence feels underneath the fabric of his shirt are to support his back.
A mechanic who he’s gotten close to during these last few years helps him hide the evidence that same evening. Takes the balled up white fabric and shoves it into her own bag. She was the one who borrowed it to him in the first place, so it’s only fitting that she’s there at the supposed scene of the crime to help him cover it all up. “It’s a shame.” she genuinely sounds sorry for him. “I’ll keep these around, if you ever change your mind.”
Lance doesn’t, but every once in a while she looks at him with questions in her eyes, and he almost wishes that he had.
Sebastian is a great teammate to get along with. He’s easy-going, a wealth of racing information. It’s refreshing, to drive alongside a former world champion, to be able to go over data and strategies with him from the comfort of their own team grounds. Lance is trying to impress him, always looking up at the other with a wide smile and an air of confidence which he hopes Seb won’t think of as cocky.
He’s just trying to prove that he belongs in the paddock just as much as the other drivers.
“Another day in the office.” he’s walking into the Barcelona paddock, waving at the cameras as he slips into step with his teammate. Shoulders brushing as he leans into the man, giving him a playful nudge. “What do you think, could this be our weekend?”
Sebastian looks at him for a second, tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth. Neither one of them are especially hopeful, the team is getting there, but that doesn’t mean that they’re ready to deliver the results they’re both hoping for. “Hopefully.” Seb nudges his shoulder in return, reaches out to put his own hand on his shoulder. Keeps it there as he lets his thumb wander, if Sebastian is feeling for something, he doesn’t find it.
“As long as you keep your head down, and remember who you are, and your skills, we should be fine.” he says it so easily, the soft remnants of a German accent catching on the words. Sometimes, Lance thinks Sebastian is losing it. There’s no need to tell him to remember who he is , he knows. He’s Lance Stroll, driver for Aston Martin Formula One. There’s nothing more to know about him.
His teammate laughs, almost as if he knows what Lance is thinking about. Lance can absolutely imagine that Sebastian can read his mind, it would be fitting for the other to have a secret ability such as that. “Sure thing, Seb. Don’t worry, I won’t suddenly think I’m a chicken or something while driving the car.”
It’s clearly not the answer Seb wanted from him, but it’s the answer he’s getting from him anyway.
He thought he could keep it at that, thought that he could just move through the paddock and life without worrying about being cornered by his teammate. Spain had not been their weekend, a p11 for him, and a p13 for Sebastian. Not any results to brag about, but at least they had been close to the points and their cars had made it across the line.
All he wants to do is forget, recoup, turn his mind towards the next race of the season. There’s no need for Sebastian to show up at his motor home with a huge grin on his face and a package tucked underneath his arm.
“I got you something.” the other man is beaming as he lets himself into the motor home. Lance doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. “I finished p11?” it’s a weak excuse, he knows that he could have finished dead last, and Seb would have still gotten him something if the other truly wanted to do so. Sebastian’s affection is not tied to accomplishments. They connect like teammates on a level that goes beyond that. At the end of the day, they both know that the team is midfield at best, so all that there is left is hard work, and that’s often made even better in combination with teamwork.
“Don’t even mention it.” Seb is still beaming as he puts the package down on the small table, it’s wrapped up in brown wrapping paper, and the contents could be anything from a new team polo to books (Lance never really knows with the other.) Lance knows that he should be used to receiving gifts, knows that most people view him as someone who’s always waiting for the next offering with outstretched hands.
They forget that he had to work just as hard for his position in the sport as anyone else. Money helps, but it’s not a guarantee at the end of the day.
Sebastian looks at him as he tears away at the tape keeping the seam shut. Lance wonders why he’s looking at his expression, he wonders even more why Sebastian looks as if he’s waiting to find something there. He feels the fabric before he sees it, soft underneath his fingertips. Silk, probably. He raises an eyebrow at his teammate as he pulls the item free from the packaging. Sebastian just continues to beam.
It’s a blouse, the same emerald colour as their car and their polo shirts from their team. This one is of higher quality, though. The fabric gentle and welcoming when he runs it through his fingers. There are two scraps of fabric near the collar, clearly meant to either be tied into a bow. Lance has no clue what to say. At the end, he says nothing, just stares at the gift wordlessly.
“There’s something else in there, too.” Sebastian sounds so casual about it, almost as if he didn’t just gift Lance a blouse that was very clearly from the women’s section of whichever store he got it from. Lance can feel his cheeks heating up, can feel the telltale colour of red creeping up on him. He tries to push it down, red never went well with emerald green in the first place. “But I didn’t get you that, Laura the mechanic insisted that I gave it to you.”
The bralette is beautiful. Black faux lace with straps so thin he can’t imagine anyone ever feeling them through the fabric of the team wear. His throat has suddenly gone dry, a lump has lodged itself in there, preventing him from saying thanks.
Sebastian seems to understand all the same. The other man is still beaming, even when it’s more with pride now than with enjoyment over an inside joke. “I get it.” he says when he reaches out to put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Seb isn’t feeling for bra straps this time, he just wants to provide some comfort. Lance can’t thank him enough. “Have you figured it out yet? Which term fits you best?”
Lance hasn’t. He never thought there would be a space for him to even consider thinking about such things.
They end up sitting on the couch of his motor home. Knees touching as the cups of tea in front of them cool down too far due to being forgotten. Lance keeps holding on to the blouse, keeps running his fingers across the fabric. Sebastian talks, he mentions so many terms it feels like Lance’s head is spinning. “I’m nonbinary, but most days I lean towards agender.” Seb confesses with a shy grin that’s more teeth than smile.
Sebastian looks as if he’s had to defend himself one time too many for simply existing.
“I don’t feel either male or female - ” Seb tips his head to the side, explaining carefully with a softened expression. “ - I simply feel like me . The hardest part of being genderqueer in this environment is that people won’t listen, or maybe they will now. I don’t think I can get the public to refer to me as anything but male, but there’s still hope for you, if you want to make the jump?”
Lance can’t imagine how Sebastian must feel. It’s one thing to know that the pronouns everyone uses for you are wrong , but not having a better alternative available, but it must be gruelling to simply have given up on getting people to respect you. He lets go of the fabric only to reach out and touch Sebastian’s hand.
“When did you know?” his voice sounds soft, too gentle even for him.
“What? That I was queer, or that you were queer?” Sebastian laughs, pushes his shoulder against his. Other doesn’t pull their hand back, so Lance keeps his fingers resting against the back of it. Lance doesn’t reply, doesn’t know which of the two he asked in the first place. Seb seems to understand, and just answers them both. “I have always known, but it did take me a long time to find a name for it. 2018, maybe? I didn’t come out at Ferrari, because that would have been a PR nightmare. I never felt like I needed to come out, either. Fans only see the image of me that they want to see, so it became something just for me and the few people who know about it.”
“Truth be told, I always knew you were struggling with your gender identity. Maybe with your identity as a whole, if I’m honest.” Sebastian turns his hand, entwines their fingers without a care in the world. Lance feels probably more safe than he has ever done before. “I think I recognized the signs. I just didn’t want to push you into revealing something of yourself you weren’t ready for, yet. But I talked to Laura, and she said she felt bad for you, so, here we are.”
Lance takes a sip from his now-cold tea, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was good to be understood. He slumps even further down against the other, placing his cheek against their shoulder. Sebastian repays him by running their fingers through his hair. “I think I feel more feminine, but I don’t mind he/him pronouns, at least for now.”
Seb hums, doesn’t try to correct him, doesn’t try to steer him into a direction.
He thinks about his childhood, about Chloe leaving a clip in his hair, about the way he always preferred more feminine clothes. He should have spoken up about it a long time ago. His chest feels lighter, now. For the first time in years, he feels like he can breathe.
“You know you’re not alone, right?” teammate glances down at him, continues running their fingers through his hair. The motion is soothing, and Lance can feel parts of him sliding back together. It’s not overwhelming, it isn’t the grand explosion of clarity which he’d originally expected. It just was , but that was more than alright for now. “We’ll come out together, when you’re ready. No need to push yourself off track.”
*
Sebastian keeps their promise, just as the other driver keeps their mouth shut about it. The both of them tiptoe around the truth during interviews, twisting sentences to include proper pronouns, jumping across questions that could reveal too much until they’re both ready.
Monaco 2022 is a disaster for him, but a victory in its own right for Seb. The city becomes a playground after the grand prix, blooms like a rose when the evening falls and all of them slip away for a party or two. Even Sebastian follows him. Monaco has that effect on people, the city beckons them with glowing lights and a certain charm that they cannot find anywhere else on the calendar.
They had gotten an invitation to a queer event courtesy of the racing pride organization. Every other team had gotten them, too, but they’re pretty sure they’re the only two drivers in attendance. Somewhere through the evening, Sebastian gets their hands on two buttons which indicate preferred pronouns for the entire world to see. They clip the he/them on Lance’s chest with pride, just as they wear the they/them one with an equal amount.
Laura snaps a picture of them, they’re laughing in earnest. Sebastian has an arm across his shoulder, Lance has his head tipped back, clearly caught in the middle of a joke. The emerald blouse clings to his frame, the straps of fabric which were supposed to be tied in a bow undone. A shimmer of black lace peaking out from the low cut v-neck, and the lipstick called Yash makes the look complete. Sebastian wears their usual flannel with the sleeves rolled up, but the button catches the lights of the club in such a way that the text is clearly visible.
The both of them are sobered up enough by the time Wednesday rolls around, the first of June looming over them as teams roll out their usual pride coloured icons. Scripted speeches fed to team principals with the acting skills of a worm fall to flat ears as they scroll through Instagram. Seb with their cheek resting against Lance’s shoulder to peak along as he goes through the motions.
“You sure you wanna do this?” he’s logged in to the Aston Martin F1 team account, his finger hovering over the upload picture button. “I don’t think we can take this back if we do.”
“I’m ready if you are.” it sounds honest, it always sounds honest with Sebastian, and Lance is more than ready to take the leap. He centres the picture, makes sure that the PR agreed upon filter is in place, even when it will surely ruin the so carefully curated feed.
Astonmartinf1 Happy Pride 💛🤍💜🖤