Work Text:
Ten years of professional gambling, one spectacular personal bankrupcty, and Sonny was back where he started: in racing.
It was what he was good at - probably the only thing he was truly good at - and it was what made him feel whole. The only problem was that after over ten years of forced retirement, it wasn’t easy finding an open seat.
Sonny was happy with whatever he could find. When Beck Motorsport approached him with the offer to enter the Indy 500 race - the only IndyCar race this particular team would participate in that season - Sonny immediately said yes. They probably picked him because he was cheap. Sonny would’ve even gotten behind the wheel without any pay. Hell, he would’ve probably paid money in order to be allowed to drive (not that he had any spare change to offer).
Beck Motorsport only had one car and no budget to speak of. They entered the Indy 500 for the prestige. They participated for shits and giggles, because the Indy 500 race was a huge party, the biggest event of the season. Sonny, however, took things seriously. He qualified in the lower mid-field but finished fourth, just missing the podium by a tiny margin. That was extremely impressive, given the team’s one-off status and the overall competitive field.
The following season, Team Penske - one of the big names in the IndyCar series - signed Sonny based on his one-time stint with Beck Motorsport. Sonny was thrilled to have a one-year-contract, a steady income, and - more importantly - a permanent seat behind the wheel. He didn’t have to constantly look for a new open seat somewhere. Instead, he had a race calendar filled with seventeen races all over the US and even one international race. And even better, Team Penske had signed another veteran driver for their second car, a guy named Chip Hart.
The pair represented one of the strongest line-ups in the series. They were consistently fast and reliable, and especially Sonny placed high on a regular basis due to his fiery aggression.
Both Sonny and Chip were already in their mid-thirties, an age where most drivers (Chip included) began to think about retiring. Chip kept talking about investing in his own team, Chip Hart Racing, starting in the IndyCar series where you only needed one car and didn’t have to enter in every race. With a bit of luck and hard work, he would be able to move on to NASCAR, his true love. Chip had even already designed a logo for his team, a stylish CHR that he would use as decal on anything and everything. He was ready to retire as driver after the current season, completely unlike Sonny, who was determined to race for as long as his body and mind were willing.
Chip kept telling Sonny that he would always have an open seat at Chip Hart Racing. Sonny kept laughing and telling Chip that he might take him up on the offer someday. Far into the future.
At the moment, they had something else to focus on though. The Indy Japan 300 was held at Twin Ring Motegi. The damn IndyCar series traveled to Japan for one damn race. A logistical and financial nightmare for everyone involved, and not every team made the trip. Team Penske, of course, hauled everything to Tokyo and then transported crew and cars the 75 or so miles north to Motegi.
In order to save at least some of the costs, everyone was asked to share hotel rooms and cover their own meals and local transportation. Good thing Sonny and Chip got on like a house on fire.
*****
The hotel room looked kind of like a typical American hotel room, only...not. There were small differences in the decor, the door to the bathroom, the TV on the wall. It gave the illusion of home while at the same time proclaiming loudly that they were anywhere but home.
Chip walked over to the window and stared down at the street full of people and lights.
Sonny dropped his duffel, watching him. “Feels weird being the tall one for once, huh?”
Chip’s reflection gave a tiny smile, which faded just as fast.
Sonny grinned softly. “You’ll get used to it. Japan’s...different. But good different.”
Chip didn’t answer. He kept watching the city like it might attack him at any moment.
Sonny walked over, gently bumping shoulders. It was completely out of character for Chip to be so pensive and unsure. Sonny didn't know this side of his teammate, his friend, and he decided to do everything in his power to make him feel comfortable. “C’mon. You wanna know which buttons on the toilet actually... uh... help you? And which ones launch a surprise attack? Trust me, you push the wrong damn button and take off like a rocket, man.”
That pulled a snort out of Chip. Progress.
*****
They walked down the streets toward dinner, the night carrying sounds of chatter and sizzling food from open storefronts. Chip stayed close - not crowding, just near. Sonny noticed but didn’t comment.
The noodle shop Sonny picked wasn’t much bigger than a garage bay, tucked between a bakery and a convenience store. “You’re gonna like this,” Sonny promised, pushing the door open. “Trust me.”
Chip hesitated, but Sonny guided him forward with a light touch at his back.
“I’m gonna order for us, ok?” Sonny offered. “You just sit here and look pretty.”
Chip gave a short nod - trusting, tired, not even reacting to Sonny's gentle tease. This showed Sonny more than anything how uncharacteristically overwhelmed Chip seemed to feel.
Sonny ordered for both of them, with gestures and charming smiles and a couple of words he remembered from his trip to Suzuka with Ruben over ten years ago. It got them bowls of steaming udon and a plate of gyoza that made Chip’s eyes widen. Sonny grinned, pleased with himself.
They began to eat their noodles. Chip slurped too loudly the first few tries until he figured out the rhythm. He tried very hard to learn how to use chopsticks properly but with Sonny’s help, he managed that, too. At first they ate in silence, but then Sonny started talking. He told Chip a couple of fun stories about the Japan Grand Prix in Suzuka all those years ago, about Ruben - his Spanish teammate - teaching him a few Japanese curse words, because the man was (ridiculous but true) fluent in Japanese, about the time he pressed the “rear cleanse” button on the toilet too long and panicked so hard he tripped into the bathtub.
Chip actually laughed at that. A real laugh this time. The kind Sonny always liked best. He could see that Chip’s posture slowly uncoiled, the tension dripping out of him slowly.
“See?” Sonny nudged him with a knee under the table. “Ain’t all that scary here, right? Told ya I got ya.”
“Yeah, it’s ok when you're here with me,“ Chip mumbled. He looked at Sonny quickly, then dropped his eyes.
*****
Back in the hotel room, the weight of travel and pressure settled on them like a heavy blanket. Chip sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. Sonny leaned against the nearest wall, watching him.
Their shared silence wasn’t new. They were the kind of friends who could go hours without speaking and still understand each other. But tonight, something sat between them that wasn’t usually there - loneliness, maybe, or fear of the unknown in Chip’s case.
“You good?” Sonny asked quietly.
Chip didn’t answer right away. “Dunno. Just...feels like everything’s off somehow.”
Sonny came over and sat beside him, close enough for their knees to touch. “We’re far from home. And Motegi’s smaller than you might expect, but it’s still a lot. Anyone would feel off.”
Chip swallowed. “I don’t like feeling out of my depth.”
“I understand that,” Sonny said. “But I’m here.”
Chip met his eyes. Something unspoken flickered there, and he quickly looked away.
Sonny gently, carefully rested a hand on Chip’s knee. “Hey. Look at me.”
Chip did.
“We’re in this together,” Sonny said. “Just like always.”
The moment stretched - quiet, fragile, oddly warm. And then their lips brushed, both leaning in, both pulling back for a second like they weren’t sure who started it.
Then they kissed again, slightly uneven, uncoordinated, tired. Real.
“Sonny...” Chip whispered.
“It’s ok,” Sonny murmured against his lips. “Just us. No pressure.”
When they touched each other, it wasn’t complicated. Just hands, stroking, exploring, wrapping around each other, teasing. They were still mostly clothed, only focused on their erections, literally giving each other a helping hand, until they found mutual release. A grounding. A way to let the tension bleed out so they could breathe again. It was comfort. It was like home, in a place far from it.
The hum of Motegi nightlife seeped through the window as they lay next to each other on Chip’s bed afterwards, staring at the ceiling patterned with faint city glow.
Chip ran a hand over his face. “Didn’t think I’d ever... Y’know.”
“I know,” Sonny said softly. He kept his hand near Chip’s, not quite touching but close enough to be a reassuring presence. “Nothing changes tomorrow. Still your idiot teammate. Still your friend.”
Chip turned his head, staring at Sonny's profile. “You sure?”
Sonny gave a tiny smile. “Yeah.”
Chip looked at him searchingly. “We good?” he pressed.
Sonny’s smile widened. He sent Chip a reassuring glance. “Yeah.“
Chip nodded, exhaling slowly. Something deep in him seemed to settle. “Okay.”
*****
By morning, things were...normal. Or whatever their version of normal was. Chip was back at the window, studying the hustle and bustle on the street below. Sonny was brushing his teeth and making fun of the toilet again.
Chip looked over at him. They shared a quick glance, a little awkward at the edges but steady.
“Ready for practice?” Sonny finally asked, grabbing his jacket.
Chip rolled his shoulders, steadier than last night. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
And that was it - their language of short words and long understanding, the same as always.
Whatever had happened the previous night didn’t change their friendship. It just added a quiet footnote to it, one they’d never speak about again but would both remember.
Two drivers. Two teammates. Two friends. Navigating an unfamiliar country the same way they navigated everything else: side by side, like always.
THE END