Okay I know I'm reading too much into this and also just am objectively wrong but something something something about Seb's little murmur of Mark's name when he walks in the room just breaks my heart. Mark walks in and Seb has already been getting scolded via the radio and the Red Bull team member meant to stay by his side- and he knows he fucked up- he knows very well that he is in trouble. He may not agree with it, and to this day he maintains he would take the exact same actions during the multi 2-1 incident, but in that moment there's just a small outreach from Sebastian to Mark and he's immediately shut down. Mark is fuming and not willing to hear it and he knows Seb well enough to know that if they get into it at all, it won't be with an apology. Seb is young and possibly over-confident and above all else stubborn- but that small "Mark," sounds like just a plea from a kid asking for someone to reassure him, even if he doesn't deserve it in that moment.
Mark... yeah. Obviously, he's been my teammate for a long time. We didn't always have the best times together, but I'm sure that we'll still respect—we always had huge respect for each other, and we'll have the same in the future, I think. I wish him all the best.
this is a little Pierre/Esteban based on *that* fan zone exchange in Singapore.
Pierre is glad that he had the presence of mind to wear his sunglasses.
“I was not going to pick Pierre, anyway!” Esteban says into his microphone.
Pierre blinks behind his sunglasses. He shouldn’t be surprised by Esteban’s answer. It’s a stupid question. Who would you pick if you were stranded on a desert island with two other drivers? No teammates allowed. Pierre laughs and tries to play it off like he’s supposed to. It’s just for the fans, right?
He must not be playing it off very well because Esteban turns halfway and puts an arm around his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. Pierre feels a rush of pure anger, white hot and electric, starting in his chest and radiating outwards. He could turn and shove Esteban right in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Pierre is not going to do that, of course, but he imagines it for a second.
That’s when Carlos, of all people, comes to Pierre’s defense, firing a shot across the bow at Esteban.
“You see, I would have picked Charles, Esteban,” Carlos says. “I like my teammate.”
Charles stands next to Carlos, giggling like a loon. Charles and Carlos are good at this kind of thing, the public relationship. They can put on a performance when they need to, both of them playing along. Pierre and Esteban cannot do that.
When the group of them are finally free to go, Charles falls into step with Pierre. He gives Pierre a look and hooks an arm around his shoulder. It’s too reminiscent of Esteban’s touch just a few minutes ago and Pierre shakes him off.
Charles stops walking. “Carlos and I have to go,” he says.
“I will be alright,” Pierre replies.
It’s the truth. The anger is already fading, settling into a more familiar kind of dull ache in his chest.
Charles gives Pierre one last look as Carlos pulls at his elbow. The two of them are swept away by a sea of Ferrari staff members all wearing red polo shirts. Pierre and Esteban are left alone in their wake.
Pierre rips his sunglasses off. “You did not have to say it like that,” he snaps at Esteban.
Esteban stands there, resolutely unapologetic, just like always. “It was the rule of the game, Pierre,” he says. “I could not choose my teammate.”
Pierre doesn’t have a comeback for that. He shoves his sunglasses back on and storms away.
+
During qualifying, Pierre is knocked out in Q2 while Esteban makes it to Q3. Maybe that’s why Pierre feels the anger bubbling up again — hot and insistent — in his chest. Is it anger, though? Or is it anger laced with something else?
Pierre hasn’t showered and he knows Esteban hasn’t had time yet either. He stomps across the hallway, bangs one loud knock at the door, and bursts into Esteban’s driver’s room. Esteban startles and turns around, his face shining with sweat, his race suit peeled down to his waist.
“Pierre,” he starts. “Ça va?”
Pierre doesn’t say anything. He strides across the room and now, here in private, he does shove Esteban. He shoves Esteban down onto the little armchair in the corner. Pierre curls one hand around the back of Esteban’s neck, his other hand at Esteban’s jawline. Pierre draws Esteban in, kissing him hard on the mouth.
After a second, Esteban gives a little murmured moan, melting into it. Esteban parts his lips, just like he always does, and Pierre licks into his mouth. It’s how they always used to kiss, such a long time ago. It’s how they still kiss each other now.
Pierre kneels one knee on the chair in between Esteban’s thighs. Esteban brings his arms up around Pierre’s torso, trying to haul him in even closer. Pierre can taste the sweat on Esteban’s upper lip. They both smell like fuel and exhaust, dirty air, from the track. They smell the same, taste the same. They drive the same car.
Pierre pulls back from the kiss first. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the mix of sweat and saliva. He can see Esteban’s eyes tracking the movement of his hand across his lips.
After all, Pierre thinks, isn’t this their desert island?
happy birthday mash. the continuous core of the mash narrative is its provision of a warm safe and loving sanctuary in the middle of a chaotic and unpredictable world be upon ye (from Prime Time Families: Television Culture in Postwar America, Ella Taylor, 1989)
We looked inside some of the posts by
hardhue
and here's what we found interesting.
Average Info
Notes Per Post
13K
Likes Per Post
9K
Reblog Per Post
4K
Reply Per Post
14
Time Between Posts
30 days
Number of Posts By Type
Text
14
Photo
3
Explore Tagged Posts
Fun Fact
Kazakhstan’s Minister of Communications and Informatics has blocked the Tumblr site because it contained 60 sites of terrorism, extremism, and pornography in 2015.