Work Text:
Mark knew about it as soon as it happened. It was right there in front of him – crushed car parts, endless splinters of metal, sudden screeching explosions of dust, and Romain's Lotus sailing way too close to Fernando's cockpit. Mark was sure that he wasn't the only who swore loudly over the team radio, as he struggled to keep his car on the track and out of danger. He kept one eye on his mirrors, catching sight of at least one medic rushing towards the Ferrari.
Shit.
His grip tightened on the wheel. He wanted to shout and swear and fucking demand a status update on the crashed drivers. He wanted to see Fernando open his eyes and hear him complain about the state of his car and the fact that his point-scoring streak was now over through no fault of his own.
But he couldn't. Because he had a race to stay in.
“We're staying with Plan A. The track is clear. I repeat, the track is clear.”
Mark let out a deep harsh breath. His heart was still hammering fucking fast but his urge to tear off track was banking down for now, because his engineer had casually given him the signal that Fernando was okay. He'd made it clear to Christian from day one that if something bad ever happened to Fernando on track then he wanted to know about it. And Fernando had demanded the same from his team about Mark. Christian disagreed with the idea – because according to him, it would distract his driver from the task at hand - but he’d promised not to go against Mark's wishes. He also made it a policy not to lie to his drivers.
The safety car was out. Mark gritted his teeth.
God, Fernando. He was gonna be there soon.
*
The first person Mark saw once the car was back in the garage was Christian. The team principal waited as patiently as always for Mark to tear off his helmet and gloves.
“Scales, Mark,” he said before the Australian could get a single raw word out.
Mark could feel himself tighten up even more, but did as he was told. Because Christian was right – if he didn't tick all the administrative boxes, then Red Bull would have a lot of legal crap to wade through tonight and he’d get held up here for even longer. Once all the post-race details were taken care of, Mark planted himself back in front of Christian, who was keenly checking a nearby screen and taking note of what he needed to hear about before the free-practice laps on Friday.
Then he looked Mark in the eye. “He didn't need to go to the hospital. No x-rays, not even any blood.”
Mark closed his eyes and his breath shuddered through him heavily. He was a little too close to losing it for comfort, but he could let as much go as he liked in the Red Bull garage. Christian was very particular about where the media got let into, especially after a race. Thank God.
Christian was very particular about everything. He hadn't said that Fernando was fine. He'd said that Fernando hadn't needed a hospital stay. Fuck.
“Press call first,” Christian said, as even as always, though his eyes were filled with clear sympathy. “If you're not there now, you'll get less time with him later.”
Right. Because the press would want to know where he was, and why he’d skipped out on his media duties. They’d make a story out of it. Christian thought of everything. Mark nodded, accepting the ball cap that somebody exchanged for his helmet. Business first. People would expect him to be a little pissed off, since he'd only placed sixth. He had a reputation for being prickly if races didn't go his way. It was useful at times like this.
Christian nodded at whatever he saw in Mark's expression. “We'll debrief tomorrow at ten.”
He was being given the night off from the usual post-race meetings. Ironically, Red Bull had been lucky – neither of their cars had gotten damaged during the race and both drivers had gotten points. Seb was going to be unbearable now that he'd overtaken Mark on the championship table.
Mark fell into step beside the PR girl who'd keep him moving around the press ring. His heartrate was almost normal now. Fernando wasn't in hospital. All Mark had to do was give out soundbites and not trip any media radars.
All he wanted to do was head straight for Ferrari. Thank God nobody expected him to smile.
*
He turned his cellphone on as soon as he got into the Red Bull motorhome. He tossed his cap onto the couch and had one arm out of his racing suit as the messages loaded up. A lot from his family of course, telling him that they were glad he was okay and good job on getting to sixth place from twelfth. There was an undercurrent of 'thank God it wasn't you in the crash' in all of them. Mark didn't begrudge them that.
There was a single message from Christian.
His back hurts from impact.
If that really was all that Fernando had suffered, then he'd been extraordinarily lucky. That would fit. Mark stripped his racing suit down to his waist and opened his bedroom door, eyes still on his cellphone. A second later, he realised that he wasn't alone. Fernando was sat on his bed.
They looked at each other for a moment, eyes hungry. Then Mark dropped his phone to the floor, shut the door, and cupped Fernando's face, all in what felt like five seconds flat. Fernando was smiling, but there was an overwhelmingly drained air to him, like the colours had all run out of him. Mark's hand stroked his cheek, some part of him unclenching at the tactile confirmation that Fernando really was still all in one piece.
Fernando's smile curled sardonically.
“I do press, I say 'my back, it hurts' and then Stefano say I must come here. I think he plots with Christian.”
Mark snorted – because of course Christian had thought of everything. He’d made sure that Fernando and Mark had time together in complete privacy. He'd see that Seb got all the Red Bull press attention tonight for his podium finish and now that Fernando had talked to the press, they'd be more interested in Lewis's surly reaction and just what penalty he and Romain might get for their part in the crash.
Mark pressed closer and bent down to fuse his lips to Fernando's. Fernando immediately dragged him as close as possible, his mouth open and demanding. They were both unashamedly needy in the aftermath of their frazzled afternoon. Maybe in that crazy few seconds on track, the same thing had flashed before both their eyes. They could have lost each other.
Fernando dragged impatiently at Mark's regulation undershirt. Mark did the same to Fernando’s. He wanted to see flesh; he wanted to check every damn inch for damage himself. Fernando clearly wanted to consume and be consumed. A near-death experience would do that. The fact that Fernando wanted it so eagerly and expressively with him set a fire through Mark's veins that made his movements even more frantic.
Then Fernando made a pained noise and all movement stopped. Mark’s eyebrows drew together.
“How bad is your back?”
Fernando tried to shrug casually, but it wasn't all that convincing. “It hurts, I take pills. They say I will be fine by Italy.”
Probably muscle pain from the shock of the impact. Mark kneaded experimentally under Fernando's shoulder. The Spaniard tipped his head back and his mouth formed a completely different kind of sound. Mark smirked. The fire for Fernando was still there in his veins, but there were other ways he could check that everything was where it was supposed to be.
“Lie down.”
Fernando opened his eyes and looked slyly up at Mark. “I take my clothes off, yes?”
Mark replied wordlessly by pulling his own shirt off. They both knew where this was eventually going to go, and whilst teasing was a lot of fun, surprising Fernando gave Mark just as much of a kick. Fernando looked pleasingly off-balance at the sudden sight of Mark’s lean rangy figure. Then he quickly stripped off the rest of his own racing suit and sidled back onto the bed.
Mark tilted his head. “Show me your back.”
Fernando turned over and Mark briefly fought with the bedside drawer. He seemed to remember that something Jensen had laughingly thrown at him after they’d accepted fan gifts at a recent public appearance might be useful in this situation. Yep. He squeezed out some massage oil and warmed it up between his hands, knee-crawling along the bed until he was straddling Fernando’s thighs. His eyes stayed fixed on Fernando. His back was unmarked. But he was still in pain. He was alive to feel that pain.
Mark pressed his hands to the warm skin beneath him, testing out just how much pain Fernando was in. Fernando made a small throaty noise, but didn’t protest. Of course, Fernando had always enjoyed a little pain, but this was different.
“You say if it feels bad,” Mark warned him.
Fernando nodded and nestled down into the covers. He was more than willing. He wordlessly trusted Mark to make him feel better. Mark dug his fingers in carefully, beginning to seek out the aching parts. Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of tension and tightness in Fernando’s back. Go figure. Mark began working on it, his hands moving confidently on the body that he knew so well. Every pass of his fingers was more reassurance that Fernando was here, that he didn’t need extensive medical attention, he didn’t even need stitches. He was here and all he needed and wanted was Mark.
Fernando sighed with a great deal of contentment. Mark kept moving his hands. Fernando was still going to be stiff and sore and complaining tomorrow. There wasn’t much Mark could do about that. Poor Stefano.
“Por favor?”
Fernando had lifted an arm, indicating that the massage was great but he wanted some more intimate company now. Mark shook his head, huffing out a short laugh. Fernando was never anything less than just a little bit spoilt. But there’d been a fascinating wisp of wistfulness to his words just then too, an innocent yearning neediness that spoke of how privately shaken-up he’d been by his close call that afternoon. Yeah, Mark could relate. He wanted to wrap himself around Fernando for days.
He stripped out of his gear and maneuvered down beside Fernando before dragging the Ferrari driver practically on top of him. They could rest for a while before grabbing dinner. Fernando was docile and boneless, letting Mark arrange him so that he was tucked under Mark’s chin and blanketing the Australian almost completely. Mark let out a breath, more tightness uncurling inside of him. Fernando wasn’t the only one feeling tense and tight.
“Is good.” Fernando sighed warm breath over Mark’s skin.
Mark buried a hand in Fernando’s thick hair and just breathed him in. Fernando was here and in one piece. So was Mark. Fernando squeezed Mark’s hip. A wordless intimate thank-you. Mark kneaded at Fernando's scalp, enjoying the way that Fernando nuzzled into his chest in response. Fernando always felt so good.
Both of them were hard, but for once neither was inclined to do anything about it. Later, and definitely tomorrow, they would do plenty. There was a very good reason why Christian hadn’t scheduled to meet with Mark until10am. Plenty of time.
Mark closed his eyes, savouring the weight of Fernando, and just breathed.
What a fucking day.
-the end