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The reflection of the sun upon the waves is almost blinding as Sebastian breaks through the ocean’s surface head-first and blinks water out of his eyes. Below his feet, he can finally touch the reassuringly even stability of the ocean floor again, and he drags his toes through the slick sand, just because.
It’s so hot that he can immediately feel his hair beginning to dry underneath the merciless gaze of the sun, and he’s not sure, but it seems like the water has warmed up quite a bit since he sought refuge in its cooling arms. Might just be his body growing used to the temperature, though.
As he makes his way back over towards the beach, his eyes find the bright scarlet of their parasol with ease, and the closer he gets, the more he longs for the meagre shade it provides. Before the ocean grows too shallow to fully submerge himself in it, Sebastian cups his hands and uses them to splash water all over himself in one last attempt to stay cool. His lips taste of salt as he runs his tongue over them.
Blisteringly hot sand sticks to his wet feet and legs as he bids the Atlantic Ocean goodbye for the time being, and tries to safely manoeuvre his way back to the huge blanket they brought along.
Charles is stretched out on it, wearing nothing but his swimming trunks and a pair of designer sunglasses. He’s laying on his stomach, intently staring at the screen of his tablet that’s resting on the ground in front of him.
Seb shakes his head fondly and drops down next to him, careful not to get any sand on Charles. Whatever has Charles’ undivided attention keeps him from noticing Sebastian’s return, and it takes a quick touch on his shoulder for Charles to look up at him.
“Seb! You’re back!” he exclaims and smiles broadly enough for his dimples to become visible. Sebastian cannot help but return it.
“The water is amazing today; you should give it a try, swim a bit. I’ll keep watch over our stuff,” Sebastian suggests, and goes to lie down with the intent not to move for a while. A sweltering heat wave currently holds Europe in its grasp, and swimming is truly the only bearable form of exercise left.
But then Charles sits up, shoves his tablet aside and stops Sebastian with a decisive hand on his chest.
“I know you’ll go back in later, let me reapply sunscreen before we forget about it.”
Sebastian can’t make out his eyes behind the tinted lenses, but there’s a deceptive lightness to his tone that makes him think there might be an ulterior motive behind the innocent suggestion—not that he’s going to give voice to his suspicions on this fairly secluded but still very much public beach in Brittany.
I think you just want an excuse to touch me are words that belong in a much more private setting, especially if you’re a pair of relatively famous athletes desperately trying to hold up the thin veneer of plausible deniability that protects your relationship from becoming public knowledge. Charles’ career remains a factor, after all, even if it’s 2025, he’s got two titles under his belt now, and Ferrari has already offered him a contract extension until 2027.
So he shrugs and reaches for his backpack to grab the gaudy, orange bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen they specifically bought for this trip and that seems to already be at least half empty when he weighs it in his hand.
Charles snags it up and shakes it a little, the look on his face determined.
“Come here,” he says, motioning with the bottle to the space in front of him, legs spread so Sebastian can easily fit between them.
He doesn’t need to be asked twice, and scoots over obediently, back to Charles’ chest, waiting for the telltale snick of the cap. Instead, Charles runs careful fingers through his wet, tangled hair and hums thoughtfully.
“This is so messy now…you’ll have to let me comb it later.” Then he does it again for emphasis. It feels nice.
“Sure.”
Maybe it’s not the most intimate of touches, yet Sebastian can’t help but glance around to check whether anyone is watching. Nothing’s given him the impression that they’ve been recognized yet, and everybody appears to be absorbed in their own little worlds, so he doesn’t comment on it.
Just relax, says the selfish little voice in his head that’s always carrying a bit of Jenson’s devil-may-care attitude. Let yourself enjoy these things. You’ve been going steady for almost four years now. In any other situation, this would be a completely reasonable thing to want in a long-term relationship.
Sometimes, he wonders whether he asks for too little but then remembers that Charles tends to worry about asking for too much, and there’s humour in that, in their odd insecurities and this weird balance they hold.
Things are fine, as long as they can talk about them, can work on them, and find solutions. Problem-solving can even be fun with the right incentives.
He doesn’t really have the strength to fight back today, half-formed arguments abandoned in his head at the first touch of Charles’ hands on his skin.
Under Charles’ diligent ministrations, it’s easy for Sebastian to relax and lean back into it, eyes falling shut all on their own. Even covered in sunscreen, Charles’ hands are almost too hot on his skin, the sensation a fine line between just right and too much.
When Charles starts to massage the sunscreen into his skin, Sebastian has to struggle to suppress a moan. Skilled, nimble fingers dig into his pressure points with the perfect amount of strength behind them, finding tension in Seb’s muscles he hadn’t even been aware of.
He reaches out a hand and wraps it around Charles’ right ankle, squeezing it lightly to signal that Charles needs to be more cautious unless he wants Sebastian’s body to react in a way that’s definitely not fit for an audience. Sebastian can feel the low thrum of arousal slowly growing, and it takes all of his focus to stave it off, his breathing pattern deepening and evening out, almost like he’s trying to meditate.
Fuck, Charles really knows him too well and the fact that it’s such a huge turn-on for him does turn into a problem occasionally.
Then Charles lets off a bit and leans in, his breath way too hot as it ghosts over Sebastian’s ear.
“God, you’re tense…just let me help you out a bit, Seb. We’re on vacation.”
The irony of that statement doesn’t escape him; he can imagine clearly just how smug of a grin Charles must have been wearing when he said it.
Nodding costs him an immense amount of energy he can’t exactly spare with how much self-control is needed to keep himself from turning around, grabbing Charles and doing extremely inappropriate things to his mouth. Also, the fact that he’s reasonably certain that Charles is aware of all this makes it so much worse somehow—in the best possible way.
“Yeah, and you’re the one who’s supposed to relax, Mr Championship Contender. I’m just along for the ride.”
Sebastian came up with the idea after the race in Silverstone four weeks ago, after he’d seen just how exhausted Charles truly was, unable to even attend the after-party of his own victory. By the time they’d gotten back to the hotel, he’d been more or less ready to pass out in Sebastian’s arms.
With three races left before summer break, Charles clearly needed some time to refuel, and Sebastian had roped Pierre into his plan to make that happen. Pierre helped him find the best spot for a short trip and organised their housing arrangement: a nice, luxurious bungalow not too far from the coast. It belongs to one of his investor friends who rents it out during the peak of tourist season.
Although it’s merely a long weekend’s pause from the never-ending hustle and bustle of F1 during the hottest days of the year to date, he’s glad he made the decision to steal Charles away—not just for entirely unselfish reasons, either.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m chilling,” Charles says and snickers, massaging more sunscreen into Sebastian’s skin and coming dangerously close to one of the ticklish spots he likes to abuse.
“Mhm, is that so? Then what were you studying on your tablet so intently? Let me guess, more telemetry data?”
Charles snorts and pokes him in the ribs.
“Wrong.”
But he doesn’t elaborate, and Seb doesn’t needle him any further. This may be a vacation, but Sebastian is content to let Charles pore over any and all material Ferrari makes available for him, as long as he doesn’t turn obsessive. After all, Charles’ passion for the sport is one of the things Sebastian loves most about him.
Plus, he already looks a lot better than the last time he returned from Maranello, tense and tired. The sweltering heat, the smell of the sea, the occasional breeze, the carefree atmosphere…they’re all doing their part in helping Sebastian to take Charles out of his head a little, even if it’s just for a few short moments before the remainder of the championship fight catches up to him again.
Things are very competitive this season; between Charles and Carlos in their Ferraris, George and Mick in Mercs, and Max and Liam in the two Red Bulls, all six still have a theoretical shot at edging out the win. Especially George has shown over the past three years that he’s capable of manifesting wins out of little more than nothing, even stealing the championship from Charles in 2024, ruining his chances at a hattrick.
In practice, however, the only obstacle that Sebastian can see standing between Charles and his third title is Ferrari’s penchant for drama, poor communication, and self-sabotage. If it was a matter of determination and talent alone, the title would be Charles’ already, that much Seb is assured of. Sadly, there’s always Ferrari’s strategy team to contend with—the additional unspoken opponent in the room.
He shakes his head fondly and tells Charles, “I believe in you,” which earns him a noncommittal hum.
They sit in silence for a while, with Sebastian staring out at the glittering ocean surface, following the ebb and flow of the waves into an almost meditative trance as Charles continues to massage his back, having given up on any pretence of caring about how much sunscreen he uses up. Their breathing rhythms are completely in sync, and it’s the only sound Sebastian’s brain seems to be able to focus on.
At some point, he reaches for his backpack and pulls out their thermos flasks, and the moment gradually fades out, impressions rushing back to his awareness like the crashing of waves.
Charles accepts his gratefully and gulps down cold water like he only just realised that he’s parched.
“Monza 2019,” he says then, most certainly a non-sequitur.
“Hm?”
“On my tablet. That’s what I was doing, you know, watching my old races? I don’t know what it is about them, but they have a calming effect on me—it’s like I can concentrate better.” His eyebrows are furrowed. Sebastian has always thought that Charles looks extremely cute when he’s thinking very hard about something, although he’s never admitted that out loud.
“Probably because you can’t change the outcome, it’s all predetermined. You’ve already run them, the results are in the past, as are any mistakes you and others may or may not have made. But you can still learn from them and use them to improve. Question your strategy, your decision-making.”
Sebastian pauses and thinks back to all the times he’s done the same. “Reliving your victories, in particular, can be extremely cathartic…or it can make you wistful and depressed, I’ve experienced both.”
There’s a spark in Charles’ gaze when their eyes meet, a light that holds a sense of warmth entirely different from the unrelenting heat of the weather.
“Watch it with me?” Charles asks, looking all bright and earnest and hopeful, and Seb wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ if he tried.
So he shrugs, grins, and acquiesces. “It was a good race.”
They fold up one of the big, fluffy beach towels to use as a pillow, and lie down on their backs in the protective shade of the parasol, with Charles sharing one of his wireless earphones and holding up the tablet so both of them can see.
Charles doesn’t start the video over from the beginning, he just hits play and it continues on from where he’d paused it which turns out to be somewhere in lap 39.
And as the familiar commentary and the beautiful V6 engine noises of racing F1 cars fill his ears and resonate deep within his bones, Seb wonders as he often does nowadays how he could ever have doubted this—them.
All those lonely nights, kept awake by gnawing insecurities, thinking about the hows and the what ifs and the maybes, trying desperately to figure out a way to make it work. Now, lying here, right next to Charles, sides pressed together even in the oppressive heat, he knows with the certainty of tides that it could never be anyone else for him. Sebastian doesn’t think he’s ever been as committed to anything in his life before, besides racing, realising his dream; it feels like that same familiar-yet-strange, single-minded focus, the one where all other options fade into the background and become irrelevant.
Slowly, his mind drifts off, and he tunes everything else out in favour of a matter he finds himself coming back to quite a lot. It’s always there, just waiting to be brought out and examined from every angle, constantly hidden just below the surface, inside the top drawer of his mental desk.
Sebastian thinks about life-altering questions and the right place and time to ask them. The setting, the mood, the atmosphere. Between the two of them, they haven’t really brought the topic up, not with Charles still competing at the highest level year in and year out. But his family has, both of his parents have asked, his friends have asked, even Pierre has asked: when are you going to pop the question?
It feels like just another thing that would be unfair to drop on him, yet another decision, something that might distract him or make him feel like Sebastian’s urging him to come out already, to influence him in some way. And he resents that, wants Charles to take steps in his own time. He’d be alright to keep going like this, the way they are now. However, that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly considering his options, here.
What if Charles is waiting for him to ask? What if Pierre asking about it means that Charles has talked to him about it? What if he gets tired of waiting? What if Charles thinks it’s a stupid idea? What if he says ‘no’?
Predictably, it’s the last what if that really makes him hesitate, the one that makes him freeze up and fight to shove the thoughts aside. People always go on and on about how the worst thing someone can reply with is a simple ‘no’, but there are some questions where there are no worse answers.
After every hurdle taken, the next one follows, another obstacle to overcome. Perhaps some of those are entirely of his own making, but it doesn’t make them any less real to him.
He should just give it time. After the season—
“Seb?”
Oh. The race is over. Sebastian blinks and stares at the screen of the tablet, then he turns his head to look at Charles who is watching him curiously.
“You seem a bit…distracted, Seb. What’s on your mind?”
“Just dinner. I was thinking stir fry, we’ll just have to pick up some more veggies on the way home,” he lies through his teeth, picking up something he’d been contemplating earlier.
“Do you really want to cook when it’s this hot outside?”
Charles puts the tablet away and takes another sip from his bottle.
“Hm, good point. Maybe just a salad and some fresh sandwiches, then? Although we’ll still have to go grocery shopping.”
Sebastian sits up and stretches. That massage was absolutely needed, he’ll have to thank Charles later. Repay him, maybe. No, definitely.
“Sounds fine to me. Also…there’s something I need to talk to you about. But it can wait until we get back.”
Now, Sebastian is the curious one. The way Charles voiced it, he’s definitely hinting at something serious. Then again, he said that it could wait, so it doesn’t exactly seem to be dire. Still, wondering about it will certainly keep him distracted.
“Well, I’m going to go for a swim. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” Charles smirks, attempts to wink (and fails miserably), and gets to his feet.
Impossible, Seb thinks.
For some reason, Charles manages to make traversing the hot sand and gravel look graceful, and Sebastian is certainly not the only one watching him make a beeline for the ocean—though he is the only one who gets to do it while resting safely in the knowledge that Charles is his partner and also the man he’s going to share a bed with tonight.
Seb gets to openly admire his body: his lean and toned physique, the play of his well-defined muscles, and his tanned, sunscreen-covered skin that is positively glistening in the young afternoon light.
Charles is effortlessly, undeniably beautiful, so much so that it’s stunning sometimes. He’ll look at Sebastian with those captivating green eyes of his and give him a smile so bright and easy and full of affection that it leaves Seb dumbstruck.
Fuck, he is incredibly lucky.
Life can sure be amazing sometimes. He grins and pulls his own pair of shades from his backpack, eyes tracking Charles as he walks out further and further until he finally dives in, and the hungry sea swallows him up.
*
They stay on the beach for another three hours into the late afternoon, the heat never letting off and the sky staying clear and blue, not a single cloud in sight. Then they start packing up, careful to shake as much of the sand out of their belongings as possible.
Thankfully, Seb’s red hybrid Land Rover, the only car in their shared garage big enough to not only strap their bikes to but also hold all of their luggage, has a fully-functioning AC.
And Sebastian would chide Charles for putting it on full blast as soon as they’ve stowed their stuff and entered the vehicle and before they’ve even left the parking space, considering the huge difference to the temperature outside, but he’s mostly thankful.
Charles reclines in the passenger seat, eyes closed and Sebastian watches as he starts to relax as the car cools off, his expression almost blissful. He smiles and pokes him in the side, making Charles blink at him lazily.
“My body is way more exhausted than it has any right to be. This heat is really messing with me,” he says, sounding just as worn-out as Sebastian feels.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to get back,” Sebastian agrees, pulling up the address of their bungalow on the GPS and manoeuvring the car onto the road, “but we still need to go grocery shopping first.”
“Ugh, fine. But we’re getting ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” Seb asks, the smile from earlier still pulling at the corners of his mouth, “That’s a great idea, actually.”
It’s quiet for a while, only the motor and the whirring of the AC audible while Charles is focused on his phone, scrolling through Spotify playlists and clearly looking for something that fits the mood. Sebastian watches the road, eyes fixed on the old, grey Volkswagen Golf ahead whose owner can’t seem to settle on a lane, both too tired and too cheerful to get upset about shitty drivers.
He listens as Charles impatiently clicks his way through a playlist, not giving each song more than a couple seconds of playtime before he switches to the next one, and tries to name them in his head. About half of them are entirely unknown to him.
Finally, he picks a track that Sebastian remembers featuring prominently on the radio sometime during the 2010s, something that sounds way too upbeat for its melancholic lyrics and that he wouldn’t be able to name for the life of him. Though it is pleasant enough for a car song on an early summer evening, he has to give it that, at least.
And so, the two of them spend the next couple minutes enjoying the music and the reprieve from the heat, sitting in their seats, wearing their sunglasses: Charles appearing utterly carefree, leaning back, Seb awake and alert, half his mind on the road ahead and the other half mulling a proposal over in his head.
When the song changes—this time to a track by The Killers, he’s fairly certain, anyway, he could even hum along with it under his breath, really—he decides to bring up the news he’s been wanting to break to Charles for roughly two hours now, but decided to hold back until they’re somewhere more private. Well, this seems like as perfect a time as any.
“I got a call the last time you were out swimming. Danny wants to do Le Mans with Lewis and me next year. He sounded serious about it, too, said he already has a team lined up and everything. Apparently, Jense’s involved in that. Since Danny’s retiring at the end of this season, he needs a ‘palate cleanser’. His words, not mine.”
Charles’ head snaps up. “And? What do you think? Are you up for it?”
The palpable excitement at the possibility makes him grin.
“Yeah. I think I’d regret it if I didn’t try at least once. All of it sounds like so much fun, honestly—the cars, the people, the circuit, the atmosphere! Who wouldn’t want to be involved and write their own little chapter in that part of motorsports history? I’m honoured that he asked me, actually.”
“I would. Want to do it, I mean. Participate in Les Mans with you. Maybe after I'm retired.”
There’s a dream-like note to his voice, like he’s already there in his head, right in the middle, imagining all of it. Charles is very honest and direct in what he wants, and he’s not afraid to dream big and optimistically work towards goals far away in an as-of-yet nebulous future. He’s not afraid of hope. Sebastian adores that about him. So much that it hurts.
“Who’d you get as a third?” He asks, content enough to entertain Charles’ fantasy a little further.
Next to him, Charles hums in contemplation.
“Mick? Pierre? George?”
“Definitely all valid options. But…Pierre? Even after Bahrain?” Sebastian teases, watching from the corner of his eye as Charles presses his lips together and grumbles.
“He’s still apologising for that and it’s been…what? Months?” Charles says, ruefully shaking his head. “I told him I forgave him like a week after the crash happened, but he just can’t seem to let it go.”
“Just give him time,” Sebastian says, thinking back to his own fair share of apologies, “he’ll accept your forgiveness eventually.”
Charles sighs and runs an exasperated hand through his hair, only to look up again almost immediately, staring so intently at Sebastian’s side profile that he can feel it even with the sunglasses blocking Charles’ expressive eyes.
“So you’d do it? With me?”
Figures. Charles is like a bloodhound when it comes to answers and commitments, he doesn’t like it much to leave anything open or up in the air, especially not when he’s so obviously invested in it.
“Of course. You, and whoever else you’d want to bring along.”
Excluding Max, because Max makes Charles over-competitive in a manner that gives him a mean edge Sebastian can only deal with in small doses. Max and Charles—the way their relationship changed and evolved over the last couple of years, especially after Charles’ title wins in ’22 and ’23—remind him too much of his worst times with Mark, back in his Red Bull days. It’s so toxic that it gets corrosive, at times even chipping away at Charles’ mental fortitude, something that Seb tries his best to prevent. Suffice it to say, Max isn’t exactly in his good books.
Though Max would hardly be Charles’ first choice, Sebastian’s sure, despite the fact that Charles is fighting so hard for their off-track interactions to go back to how they were, or at the very least stay civil. So his exception doesn’t seem worth mentioning.
“As long as you’re there, we can figure it out together. Make it our thing.”
The smile on Charles’ face is brilliant, and to him, it shines brighter than the sun. Sebastian couldn’t possibly love him more.
*
They stop at a small supermarché nearby, run by an old French couple that kept trying to pinpoint Charles’ accent the last time they went, and the wife watches over Charles as he picks out the reddest, shiniest tomatoes while the husband prompts Sebastian in short French phrases, attempting to get a friendly conversation going that he can keep up with, and mostly succeeding.
Although the place has no AC, they aren’t in any hurry to tick off the items on the short shopping list Seb typed up on the beach. Stress will catch up with them fast enough as soon as this short vacation is over, so there’s no harm in letting Charles take his time deciding on which ice cream flavour he feels like today.
Sebastian listens patiently as the husband complains about Ligue 1, his French good enough now to understand that the man is unhappy with Lorient’s current coach and line-up. It doesn’t seem like either of the two follow motorsports at all, neither Charles nor Sebastian has been recognised, or if they have been, they haven’t been confronted about it.
All in all, Seb enjoys how much slower the clock seems to tick out here, on this oppressively hot Saturday evening, as they collect the last few ingredients Sebastian still needs for sandwiches and salad dressing, as well as a few hand-selected big and juicy peaches Charles was staring at for a second too long. He imagines the smile it’ll put on Charles’ face when he serves the slices up for breakfast in bed tomorrow.
Finally, Charles settles on a tub of stracciatella ice cream which is a choice Sebastian can more than live with.
*
When they get home, Charles gently takes the grocery bag from Seb, places it on the ground and kisses him, deep and languorous with no urgency behind it. He tastes like salt and sun and sweat. He still smells like the sea.
“This is what I wanted to do on the beach,” he says, before he fuses their lips together again, kissing his own impression of the ocean back into Sebastian’s mouth, deep and tempestuous.
“Really,” Sebastian mouths against his lips, loath to part for oxygen, “but it was already so terribly hot out there. I would have melted into a puddle.”
“Don’t care,” Charles replies, kissing him back even harder.
“You have some sunburn on your nose, love,” Sebastian says, reaching out and carefully touching it with his finger, “right about here. Should probably apply some lotion to that.”
The grin that breaks out on Charles’ face is highly contagious, especially since he mirrors Sebastian and whispers conspiratorially “So do you.”
Sebastian leans forward and rests his forehead against Charles’, touching the tips of their noses together; it’s a bit uncomfortable, he was definitely too careless with the sunscreen, but seeing the look in Charles’ eyes makes it totally worth it.
*
They put the ice cream in the freezer, ditch the remaining groceries in the kitchen and hop in the luxurious shower by the master bedroom to rid themselves of the residual sunscreen, sand, and saltwater, clothes impatiently strewn all over the floor of the hallway.
Charles standing in the pouring shower stream looks exactly the same as he had wading through the shallow surf of the Atlantic Ocean; his soft, slightly tanned skin is glowing under the cold, white bathroom lights just as it had under the harsh, hot glare of the sun, his hair is soaked through, the water running down his sculpted chest in rivulets. In the right moments, his appearance is more vision than man, and all Sebastian can do is stare.
The expression on Charles’ face is terrifyingly vulnerable and open as he meets Sebastian’s gaze, nothing hidden in those stunningly clear green eyes.
What’s Seb supposed to do in this situation? Not kiss him?
His lips are on Charles’ before he even realises what he’s doing, and Charles meets him halfway and kisses back just as eagerly. Their lips move against each other, lazy and decadent, and he can feel Charles’s fingers in his hair, the sensation causing a pleasant shiver down his spine.
When Charles pulls him in even closer until their bodies are pressed flush against one another, the kisses turn smouldering. He can feel the friction of their unshaven beard stubble, and even with all the multifaceted impressions of the day behind him, this is where he feels the most real, more himself than anywhere else—in Charles’ arms. Sebastian closes his eyes and wholly surrenders to the sensation, basking in it.
“Seb, fuck, please—I need you,” Charles whispers into the kiss like it’s a precious secret. The words taste sweet like dessert wine.
They start rutting against each other, and he catches Charles’ low, bitten-off moans in his mouth, and swallows all of the other little noises he makes, too, greedy for the tiniest reaction. Seb is overwhelmed, heady with desire, and Charles’ eyes have grown dark and heavy with lust.
Honestly, it takes them a lot longer than is technically reasonable to get out of the shower again, with both of them distracting each other and barely managing to give the other space to get clean, but eventually, they do manage.
As is almost a tradition of sorts whenever they do shower together, Charles steals Seb’s t-shirt while they change into clean clothes. So he sighs, smiles indulgently, and trades his threadbare 2012 Rolling Stones reunion tour t-shirt for Charles’ soft and expensive-looking red t-shirt, branded by one of Ferrari’s current sponsors that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public.
*
The evening sun sits low in the western sky, and warm sunlight streams in from the kitchen windows, throwing Charles‘ soft features into stark relief, highlighting his hair so parts of it appear copper.
Sebastian doesn‘t consider himself a poet, but the sight does inspire certain sentiments. There‘s no denying Charles’ classical beauty, and Sebastian wakes up every day marvelling at the fact that he’s allowed to have this, to look at Charles the way he does and to want him, that it’s welcomed, even.
This morning, they’d had an early breakfast of thematically appropriate crêpes with various fillings, which had turned out amazing, although it had only been Sebastian’s first time trying his hand at them.
Since then, they’ve only eaten light snacks, so he is very much looking forward to dinner.
Collecting all of the kitchen utensils required for their dinner prep doesn’t take too long; Sebastian’s grown fairly familiar with the kitchen over the last two days, and a salad and some sandwiches aren’t exactly the height of culinary arts.
Charles jumps at the chance to cut the bunch of fresh tomatoes they need for both, so Sebastian hands him a cutting board and the tomato knife.
Although it is extremely unlikely for Charles to discover any burning passions for cooking in the future, he does know his way around a kitchen well enough by now to make the occasional elaborate dish by himself. Even the challenge of the elusive baked salmon has been successfully conquered, much to Charles’ satisfaction, seeing as he hates backing down and admitting defeat.
Thinking back on how proud he’d been of himself for managing it still makes Seb grin. Considering that baking and anything involving the oven is normally a big red flag for him because he still does not have the patience for it, the success was definitely an achievement worth praising.
Sebastian doesn’t mind Charles’ aversion much, he absolutely loves to bake and he’ll take any excuse he can get to do just that, especially if it gives him an opportunity to put a smile on Charles’ face with his creations.
Right now, he’s lovingly watching his boyfriend of almost four years furrow his brows in concentration as he carefully slices the tomatoes, filled with an indescribable fondness.
This, right here, is how the rest of his life will look like if he has anything to say about it. This is his future, and he couldn‘t be more excited about it.
Although he doesn’t begrudge Charles his fast and exciting life, having lived it himself for long enough, he lives for these slow moments, too, the ones filled with quiet, peaceful harmony. Spending the whole day together from the moment he woke up still inside Charles to this very second—biking, swimming, relaxing, shopping, showering, cooking—living and sharing space, just the two of them.
And as Sebastian starts in on his own tasks, quickly peeling a cucumber with practised ease, Charles starts to speak.
“Listen, Seb, what I mentioned earlier, what I wanted to talk about. I—I’ve been...I want—and please don’t think this is a spur-of-the-moment thing because it’s not, okay, it’s,” he gesticulates wildly, clearly trying to articulate the gravitas of the situation, knife still in hand, “it’s been on my mind for a while. Months. Probably since Lewis came out.”
Sebastian watches him closely, eyes trained on the way Charles first bites, then licks his lips before he continues speaking, looking determined and nervous in equal measure. Where his voice had sounded somewhat hesitant in the beginning, it’s growing more confident with every word.
A part of Sebastian tenses up; he has no idea where Charles is going with this, but he fights to keep it from showing.
“No matter how this season ends, I want to tell people. About us, I mean. My contract has already been extended until ‘27 and, honestly, I’m sick of hiding our relationship, of lying and putting my career first. This—us, is something that makes me so insanely happy, it gives me so much strength and support, I wouldn’t know where I’d be without you. You‘re one of the most important people in my life, and I don’t want to have to pretend otherwise anymore. I’m tired of it, and I’m sorry that I made you wait for so long. You deserve better. Which is why I’m going to tell everyone, and nothing anyone says can stop me—I’ve made my decision.”
After Charles falls silent, it’s like his short speech has sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Seb’s hands rest on the kitchen counter, motionless, one still wrapped around the peeling knife, and his grip tightens around the handle. He’s not quite sure he remembers how to inhale, how to get air back into his lungs, and his own heartbeat sounds too loud inside his head.
The moment feels both fragile and firm at once, endlessly delicate and utterly indestructible.
He blinks, and suddenly, Charles is standing right in front of him, reaching out to cradle Sebastian’s face in his hands. Although the height difference between them is almost insignificant, Charles seems taller in this instant, shoulders broad and neck strong, the epitome of stability. All Sebastian wants to do is lean into him.
How does he do it? Putting himself out there over and over and over again, how does he find the courage? It’s something Seb greatly admires about Charles, this will to wear his heart on his sleeve around him, to embrace his feelings wholeheartedly and unashamedly with no visible traces of fear.
There shouldn’t be any room left in his chest with how big Charles makes Seb’s heart feel, full of thoughts and desires and an insane, dangerous amount of hope. And yet, something in him expands further when it is Charles who leans into him instead, pressing his face into the junction between Sebastian’s neck and shoulder. Instinctively, he drops the knife and wraps his arms around Charles’s back, hugging him close, closer.
It’s far too warm for this, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters right now, beyond the man in his arms and the wild rush of emotions he sparks within Sebastian, with his words and his touches and his mere physical presence.
His brain is overwhelmed, imagining what it’ll be like once they’re out, things he’s tried not to fantasise too much about in the past because he’d been afraid of pushing Charles in any particular direction with the weight of his expectations.
Of course, it won’t all be sunshine and roses, but to him, that doesn’t matter. They’ve already proven that they’re fit to take on any challenge, and, in Sebastian’s eyes the possibilities, the simple fact that they won’t have to hide anymore, eclipse any drawbacks. This is more than he would have dared to ask for, even after everything.
“I love you,” he breathes into Charles’ ear, and kisses his freshly washed hair, the fresh scent of lemongrass filling his nose, “Charles, Liebling, you’re incredible.”
Charles clings to him and snuggles impossibly closer like he would crawl inside Sebastian if he could.
“I love you too, cuore mio. You make me want to be better, you keep me grounded, and you give me the energy to improve myself in ways I might otherwise not even think about. I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you, Seb.”
When he raises his head to meet Sebastian’s eyes, his smile is so bright and warm and content that it causes a sense of happiness to bubble up inside Seb which is so strong that he’s almost delirious with it. It’s the kind of smile that speaks of high hopes and promises kept.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to do it? Like an interview, or a video, or a social media post, anything like that?” Sebastian asks, more than a little curious.
The fact that people like them need a solid PR strategy for most aspects of their life never fails to irk him, and despite how much Charles’ decision means to him, he’s worried about what kind of backlash Charles might be facing, especially since he’s fairly active on social media. He knows it’s rough out there, in the sea of sheer endless, grey online avatars and the harsh words they don’t feel the need to hide, guarded as they are in their anonymity.
Charles hums affirmatively. “I’m just going to drop a line in an interview. You know the fluff questions, the ones along the lines of “Any interesting plans over the winter break?” or “Now that the season is over, what are you going to do to cool down?” Those ones? I’ll just tell the press people that I’ll spend them with you, my partner, in a ski resort. They’re not getting more than that,” he says, tone insistent.
“They shouldn’t need more than that. I’m not looking to expose any intimate details or invite them to snoop around in our lives—I value our privacy too highly for that. All I want is for it to be…out there, I guess. That we’re together, that we’re part of each other’s lives like that. I want them to know what you mean to me, so there isn’t any room for doubts left.”
“Do you think they’ll say anything? Your team? It sounds like something that Mia and Silvia would be all over.”
Charles shakes his head with no small amount of confidence.
“No, I think everything should be fine. They’ve had three years to get used to the thought. Nobody minds when I bring you up in conversation, there’s no animosity at all. It’s very nice, actually.”
He smiles a pleased smile and continues. “I’ll talk to them about my plans to come out, sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Mia and Silvia already have everything prepared for that eventuality. I think they’ve been waiting for me to bring it up for a while now.”
Sebastian nods, satisfied.
Before they separate, he kisses Charles again, just a quick peck on the lips. And another, in the corner of his mouth, for good measure.
There are a million different emotions swirling through him, and he can barely keep up long enough to identify them. Love, euphoria, gratitude, excitement—they all bubble below the surface, looking for release.
He doesn’t want to step away from Charles. Quite the opposite, he’s never wanted to hold on more. The urge is strangely possessive, and he wonders whether this is what goes through Charles’ mind when he leaves all those marks on Seb’s skin that he’s so fond of, a well-documented history of his commitment.
“We should get back to dinner,” Charles mumbles, and steals another, final kiss for himself, “I’m really looking forward to those sandwiches.”
Both of them grin helplessly at one another before they return to their respective tasks.
Making short work of the cucumber, Sebastian unwraps the fresh loaf of sandwich bread and grabs the bread knife to cut off a few slices, meticulously paying attention to each individual slice’s breadth. After that, he goes hunting for the big, red onion they bought, and finds it half-hidden under the empty shopping bag.
To his left side, he can hear Charles mumble under his breath while he works, and he recognizes the words as lyrics to the song from the car he still can’t recall the name of.
He wishes he could freeze this moment in time, or come back to it somehow. This is what domestic bliss feels like. This is what makes him wonder how he could ever have thought love would only be difficult when really, it’s what you make of it. At times like this, it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Placing the freshly washed and peeled onion on his cutting board, he looks up, finding Charles staring at him intently. Seb cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows questioningly.
Charles blushes and clears his throat, but he doesn’t look away.
“This, you and me? I want that more than anything.”
“More than a third title?” Sebastian quips lightly, but the joke dies instantly when Charles goes quiet before he nods gravely.
“Yes.”
Again, he’s left more or less speechless at such a bold declaration. And it angers him, his own inability to do the same, to make statements like that. Especially, when he has no trouble rambling about anything else all day long while Charles listens, torn between rapt attention and amused indulgence.
He doesn’t want Charles to question his own investment in this. Quite the opposite, he wants Charles to know that he’s in just as deep where they’re concerned, and wants it to be an absolute certainty for him.
Seb knows that Charles is it for him, no doubts about it. Yet, after all these years, he’s somehow still bad at this, still bad at putting into words what he really wants to ask. So, he swallows all of his stupid, unfounded concerns and ignores the fear that’s somehow ever-present when he looks at Charles and wonders how in the hell he is allowed to have this.
“Marry me.”
The tomato knife drops to the board with a loud clatter. Charles stares at him, startled.
Two words—giving voice to the wish that is always there, always lurking, and now it snuck up on him, jumped out and can't be taken back—it’s released now, stretching and expanding with the silence between them that leaves his throat dry, his heart beating a mile a minute, and his insides tied up in knots.
And the thing is, he didn't even word it right. You’re supposed to ask a question, not make a demand. You’re not supposed to spring that on people anyway, he remembers with sudden clarity. Where the fuck was that a second ago?
Charles is visibly stunned; his eyes are wide, the small golden flecks in his iris clearly visible, and he appears completely lost for words, which? Fair. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then swallows again, his entire body language radiating nothing but tension.
Sebastian wants to bite his tongue and take the words back almost immediately. Compared to Charles’ confession, this is rushed and embarrassing and inconsiderate—he hasn’t thought it through at all, his imagination stopped by the mere question, halted by the sheer insurmountable barrier of biting insecurities. He hasn’t thought about last names, families, permanent residences...anything.
For fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even have a ring. How is Charles supposed to take him seriously at all? He’s neither a romantic nor an old-fashioned traditionalist, but Charles—his sweet, earnest, devoted, hard-working, fiercely and unapologetically ambitious Charles, deserves better.
So, yeah, he wants to take the words back badly, but he finds that he doesn’t want to take the sentiment back now that it’s out there. Charles is very much the person he wants to commit the rest of his life to, and Sebastian wants him to know that. Just...not like this.
Almost as if they have a life of their own, his hands begin to nervously play with the hem of his shirt, blunt nails digging into the fabric, before Charles reaches out and holds them still in his own. They’re warm and wet from the tomato juice. One of the seeds is stuck between two of the knuckles on Charles’ left hand, and Sebastian finds that he cannot pull his eyes away.
But he has to, he owes that much to Charles, can’t hide from this of all things, and needs to own up to his words. And so, he forces himself to look up with what feels like a superhuman effort.
Hesitant blue meets dazed green, then both of them blink, and the spell breaks.
“Do—do you mean that?” Charles breathes, barely audible.
It’s the sudden, fervent hope in his eyes that does it, that gives Seb the final bit of courage and pushes him to restate the question. After all, he truly does mean it.
“Honestly, with all my heart. Charles, do you want to marry me?” His voice doesn’t shake, and it fills him with a strange sense of pride.
Instead of a reply, he suddenly has an armful of Charles who tightly wraps himself around Sebastian like a human security blanket and collapses into him, so Sebastian has to lean back against the kitchen counter to support both of their weight.
Charles’ entire body is shaking, and Sebastian’s first instinct is to check for tears, but that’s not it—Charles isn’t crying, he’s laughing, face full of surprised relief. All Seb can really do in this situation is stroke a hand across his back in a soothing manner, until Charles calms down enough to be able to speak. It takes a while.
There’s no desperate wondering why Charles hasn’t given him a definitive answer yet. That doesn’t even come to mind.
When Charles kisses him oh-so-tenderly, just a careful press of his lips against Sebastian, short, but long enough for him to reciprocate, all tension seeps from his body in an instant.
It’s realisation, recognition, and a bone-deep understanding, as he finds his feelings perfectly mirrored in an evenly balanced ebb and flow of give and take.
And when Charles kisses him again, more intensely, he breathes the words into Sebastian’s mouth, tasting both sweet and sour, the faint impression of a ripe cherry tomato, warm and comforting like a summer breeze:
“I do.”
*
The rings they eventually pick are plain white gold bands with the numbers engraved on the inside, 516 for Seb’s and 165 for Charles’.
Sebastian usually wears his ring on his left ring finger, unless he's outside working in the garden. Charles wears his own ring on his finger when they’re in private, and on a simple silver chain around his neck when he’s out in public. Although the press people ask him about it on multiple occasions, all they ever walk away with is a soft, enigmatic smile.
When the season ends and Charles wins his third title, beating George by a mere 14 points, he announces their relationship in his winner’s interview with Ted, a huge, shining smile on his face, drenched in champagne, looking slightly dazed and about as happy as Sebastian has ever seen him. Instead of boyfriend or partner, Charles refers to him as his fiancé.
After that, he does away with the chain, and only wears the ring around his finger.