Work Text:
There is no worse feeling than being consistently bad at what you do. Well, at least for some time.
Or that’s what Jenson thought was the worst feeling.
Apparently, what’s way worse is finding your teammate so insanely beautiful that your chest aches every time he’s next to you.
It’s not that Jenson has never fancied men before. There have been cases, but it’s usually with actors, athletes or people way out of his reach. Never someone this close to him – a colleague, a friend.
It’s starting to get to his head.
So much so that they’re almost halfway through the season, and Fernando has outperformed him in every race so far. Always a few places higher, always at arm’s length, but Jenson is never strong enough to reach him.
With that in mind, he’s been feeling a little under the weather.
Sitting in yet another meeting (“which could’ve been an email,” as some other drivers on the grid speak about the data analysis meetings), Jenson is spacing out again. Their analysts and strategists are running themselves dry, trying to explain some very complicated tactic that they want Nando and him to use, but, to be fair, he’s not really paying attention to the details. Besides, unlike himself, Fernando is actually listening and taking notes with his McLaren branded pen and notebook. So not only is Jenson gonna get a TL;DR from him after all of this is over, he can let himself make heart eyes at Fernando from across the table while he isn’t looking. It’s the best part about the meetings.
He wonders what it would actually look like if it was real. To lean over Fernando’s shoulder while he’s sitting at the pit wall, kiss his cheek and leave – would that make him flustered? Or to spoon feed him lunch when they sit in the corner of the dining hall together – would he let him?
He doesn’t realise how hard he’s smiling to himself, nearly grinning, until-
“Jenson, bloody hell! Stop being a psycho and pay attention!” The senior strategist yells, which startles Jenson straight.
“Sorry, sorry. What was it that you were saying about the engine?”
“During practice tomorrow, we will need the data about how the car behaves when overtaking, because there seems to be an issue with the exhaust that slows you down, alright?”
“Yes, right, copy.” He says, writing it down.
They go back to yapping at air again, and Jenson sighs, scribbling lines and circles on his paper. He understands how unmotivated he is, how bad the car and the team overall are doing, and how much Fernando is distracting him from the actually important part of the work. It’s all come together into this weird tornado of negatives that keeps spinning in Jenson’s head, which makes it impossible to focus on the good and keep his priorities clear.
As much as he wants to be a good racing driver, he also wants to be happy with himself and his life. Not all things work, as they say.
Balancing it all is hard.
Coming out of the meeting, Jenson is feeling like a Retrograde Mercury. Not even the Belgian sun is helping.
Everything is everywhere all at once and it feels so overwhelming he feels like crying. Not actually sobbing, just a tear or two in a quiet corner – it would be enough to breathe a little easier.
He’s just walking back to their hospitality suite when he hears footsteps behind himself. Quiet, almost sneaky.
Someone taps him on the shoulder. To no one’s surprise, it’s Nando.
“I thought you might want the, eh, notes, from the meeting. You did not write much.” He says, accent thick, handing him a piece of paper, with lines on lines in neat handwriting.
“Oh, mint. Thank you.” Jenson says, taking the paper, briefly going over it. Besides the summary of the meeting, there are a few notes in Spanish scattered across the note. Some of them end with a little heart. He feels his own heart jump in his chest. Probably nothing, he thinks, but what if-
“I also wanted to ask,” Fernando interrupts his never ending train of thought, “if you are feeling okay. You have not been doing as good as usual. And I understand that the car is pura mierda, but that does not usually stop you.”
Jenson suddenly wants to die of heatstroke.
What does he even say to that? Nando stated a fact – he can be good in a tractor. There is no way to play the cards in his favor in this conversation.
For some reason, Jenson’s suddenly really mad at himself. The car is shit, the strategy is shit if not even worse than the car, and his raging love for Fernando is sputtering out of him like lava out of a volcano, and if he has to contain it for longer he will actually explode.
“Listen mate, I dunno what you’re on about. The car and the strat have been shit, I myself am fine. You’ve probably been on your high horse a bit too much.”
He doesn’t know why he said that. To Fernando. Fernando Alonso, two time World Champion, his friend, his teammate. The man he’s hopelessly in love with. He mentally smacks himself on the head.
And Fernando just stands there, confused, all puppy eyes and blinks.
Right, language barrier.
“Just.. fuck off for a bit, will you? Thanks for the notes, but I don’t wanna chat.”
And he turns around and walks away, leaving Fernando to his devices.
What a dick he is. Might as well blow his brains out now.
Jenson now knows that there are worse things than being shit at your job and being in love with someone that cannot reciprocate it.
There is no worse feeling than getting into a stupid argument with someone you dearly love.
After Jenson’s words and a later crash in Monza on Sunday, causing a double DNF, the air seems to be thick with tension everywhere he goes. Every interview and press conference with the same age-old questions feels like stepping on spikes, every fan scream feels like a knife to the head.
And Jenson being Jenson, is afraid to hurt his pride and apologise to Fernando.
But Fernando doesn’t look bothered at all. Just a little more avoidant, a little less caring. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
The biggest loss is the meeting notes. Because now Jenson can’t let himself space out or doodle. He has to sit through hours and hours of the team going in circles because they physically cannot tweak the stupid Honda engine enough to actually give them a chance at winning. And he has to listen to every second of it. The never ending train of yappage, however important it is.
Sometimes during the meetings, he’ll write a draft of an apology note to Fernando. And another. And another. And another. Page after page, torn out of the notebook and ending up crumpled on the floor. No one pays any mind, except Alonso. Him and his attentiveness. It makes Jenson sick. Lovesick, even more than he actually is.
After a particularly difficult 3 hour long PR and marketing training where they were told to ‘act like friends’ because it’s ‘ruining the team image and spirit’, Fernando and Jenson were left to their own devices near the board room. And if Jenson wasn’t a coward, he’d come up to Nando and actually have that conversation. But he was, in fact, a coward.
So in order to get the repairs going, he fished a decent draft of the apology note out of his pants pocket (one of the many in it) and tapped Nando’s shoulder.
He looked up at him, eyes a little more bleak than they were before. God, how he’s missed those chocolate gems, staring at him with such wonder. He hated how sad they’ve turned, and wanted nothing more than to bring their spark back.
“Read this and come find me later.” Jenson spoke dryly, shoving the note into Fernando’s hand, and quickly turning around to leave.
Another thing that he hated was that Fernando never protested. Just stared after him, longing, but quiet.
Jenson really hoped it would work.
[To Fernando,
I’m really sorry that I was such a dick to you back in Spa. I had no right to treat you like that even if I was really frustrated with how the season was going for me. And I’m sorry for not coming up and apologising in person. I feel like it wouldn’t work, for some reason.
P.S. There’s another important conversation to be had. Find me after Singapore.
P.S.S I really miss your meeting notes. Please write them for me again :)
love, JB] (and a little heart in the corner)
Singapore goes fine. Nowhere near what Jenson wanted it to be, but P6 is respectable for a car that drives like a crossbreed of a wild horse and an old tractor.
To be fair, he doesn’t really care all that much for the races anymore. He just wants Nando back – his notes, his attention and his beautiful chocolate eyes. And he really hopes that there were no really complicated words in that apology, none that Fernando couldn’t understand.
Jenson is back at his hotel, tucked into bed, watching TV – some Asian drama that he stumbled upon while browsing through the channels. The main couple seems interesting – they’ve also got a sort of work romance going on. Reminds him of Nando and himself.
As soon as the main action kicks in, there’s a knock on his door. Light, almost like it doesn’t want to be heard. Jenson’s heart starts hammering in his chest. If everything went right, then it’s who he’s been expecting.
He yells a ‘coming!’, throwing on a shirt and some sweats, having been almost completely bare before.
When he opens the door, it’s like seeing him for the first time again.
Fernando is dressed in a plain black shirt, plaid red pants and Crocs that look like they’ve seen better days. His hair is fluffy, and he smells amazing - like sandalwood and tea – must be fresh out the shower. ‘Cleaned up for me,’ Jenson thinks, but quickly shakes away the thought, welcoming Nando in.
Both of them plop down on the bed, backs against the headboard, staring at the wall, waiting for the other to start.
“I read your note,” Fernando begins, “and I forgive you, Jenson.” To which Jenson breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles an almost incoherent ‘thank god’.
“But I also wanted to ask what I did to upset you, in Spa? I was very confused when you asked me to.. eh.. ‘fuck off for a bit?’”
Jenson laughs wholeheartedly. How stupid he was, and how clueless and adorable Fernando is.
And if some things never change, it’s Nando’s confused expression.
Jenson had to take a second to collect himself, but speaks eventually.
“You did nothing to upset me, Nando. I’m really sorry for being such a prick. The season’s been worse than ever, and the amount of meetings we had to sit through was getting on my nerves.”
“I understand. But I feel like there is, eh, another reason?”
Attentive, him. Very. Jenson has a love-hate relationship with how attentive Fernando is.
“Well, yes. But I need you to promise me something.” Jenson turns his head to look Nando in the eye. He returns the gaze.
“Sure.”
“One, you won’t be upset, and two, this won’t affect our respectable careers. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Jenson takes a very deep breath, and then reaches out for Fernando’s hand, grabbing it like it’s fragile, a relic, and if he drops it, all is gone.
All or nothing.
“I think I really like you. Romantically, that is.”
This was a horrible, terrible idea. Awful, Jense, what was going through your dumb little head when you said that? Great, now Fernando’s going to be upset, gonna tell everyone that Jenson likes him and the news will spread so fast no sort of damage control by the PR team can save him. He’ll get wrecked by the press, his fanbase will reduce to three people and his parents will never look at him the same.
“Ah. I see.”
The silence hangs in the air for a brief moment, before-
“Well, I really like you too. Romantically, of course.”
…
Has anyone seen Jenson’s jaw?
“What?” Is all he can muster.
But no, really, what?
“I like you too, Jenson Button.”
It feels like a fever dream.
Suddenly, there’s almost a magnetizing pull between Fernando and himself. His hands inch up Nando’s shoulder, to his neck – god, it’s so muscular – to his jaw and then his cheek. He’s holding onto him like he isn’t real, like if he doesn’t touch Fernando, he’ll disappear.
Fernando, the bastard, is smiling ear to ear, eyes darting between Jenson’s eyes and lips. He knows where this is going.
And Jenson just goes for it, kissing him like a hungry man.
However surprising that is, the kiss they share is gentle, slow, soft like they’re both afraid to hurt the other. It doesn’t help that their hands slowly start to map out each other’s bodies, touching and rubbing and pinching like there’s no tomorrow.
It goes on for a while, and they eventually pull away, gasping for breath.
“You muppet! You planned this!” Jenson says in mock disbelief. “I cannot believe you, Fernando Alonso. You had me on strings this whole time!”
Fernando chuckles in response, leaning into Jenson’s side. “I did not have you on strings. I thought I made it obvious with the notes.”
“How could it be obvious with the notes?”
“Did you never notice? Your name was always in the notes, next to the little hearts.”
No way.
Jenson got up from the bed, striding over to his work bag and rummaging in it for the small folder with Nando’s meeting notes, taking it out and then coming back to the bed.
He takes a few out of the folder and looks closely. There it is, in tiny scribbles – “Jense”, “Button”, “Jenson”. At least three mentions of him on every note. And the hearts were right next to the scribbles every time.
There’s a particularly long one in one of the notes, which was dated to be Spa. It had Jenson curious, but he spoke such primitive Spanish that he had no idea what it said.
“Can you tell me what this says?” He leans over to Fernando, who’s lying next to him. Nando picks up the note and chuckles.
“Ah, this one. I was feeling very in love with you that day.” He chuckles. “It says: “He looks so beautiful today. I love his hair and his eyes. I love his smile. I love how he never gives up, even if our car is really bad. It makes me sad that he is in bad spirits. I hope my notes can cheer him up.””
Jenson’s heart melts a little more with every word. What a sap he is, Fernando. Even though he doesn’t look like it, at his very core, he is.
“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” Jenson asks suddenly, wrapping his arm around Fernando’s shoulder and bringing him close, kissing his head. Nando squirms, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips.
“Same as you. I was scared that it would ruin our careers and our friendship.” He answers simply. “But I am glad you figured it out and told me.”
“Two birds with one stone, love. Got my teammate back and got a boyfriend.”
“Callarse, Jenson.” Fernando grumbles, leaning up to kiss him. It’s filled with purpose, and that purpose is to shut up Jenson and his big British mouth.
Jenson is smiling after they pull away. “Write me a note next time you want to tell me you love me.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” Nando says, head moving down to rest on Jenson’s chest with a quiet sigh.
Neither of them have really stopped smiling.
The morning is nothing unusual for Jenson except a disturbing lack of Fernando in his bed. He sighs, and then rolls over to the nightstand on the other side, looking for a sign that he was still here.
Instead, he finds a small note, in that same neat handwriting he really loves.
[Jenson,
I left to go pack my things for the flight. I will see you at breakfast.
P.S. I slept really well. All thanks to you.
I love you,
Fernando. (and a heart at the end)]
Jenson smiles.
That muppet. He really did write a note.