#ok uh the others will be drabbles or doubles i cannot write this much every time

[sweetaswithscottymac]

Lewis/Seb and Baku 2017 if it tickles your fancy? Thank you!

i was gonna say i think i’ve kind of already said most of what i have to say on this one, but here’s a little snippet ("snippet" its almost 800 words lol) from seb’s pov. it won’t make much sense without having read the above but the tl;dr of that story is seb goes to lewis’s hotel room to “apologise” for the incident and they have sex about it instead. vaguely m-rated.

*

The hotel bedspread is irritating, almost scratchy against his skin, and Sebastian squirms against it. He stares up at the ceiling. He’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop moving, skipping through the events of the day in no coherent order. The characteristic surge of adrenaline at lights out. That annoying reporter from Ziggo before the race, saying 22 point lead, did you know every time you’ve had that big a lead you’ve gone on to win the championship? Daniel’s sticky, champagne-soaked half-hug in the media pen. Hands, twisting on his steering wheel. Lewis’s dick in his mouth, his eyes narrowed and disbelieving. 

Sebastian blows out a breath, dissatisfied. The day has been excruciatingly long, made longer by red flags and safety cars, by anger and adrenaline he can still feel the memory of in his skin. 

He’s hard again. He’d ducked into a long empty corridor outside Lewis’s hotel room for a few moments of deep breaths, until he was fit to be seen in public again. He’s not in public now though, and the memories are more insistent, circling in on Lewis’s hands in his hair, the taste of him on his tongue. The almost anger he’d felt when Lewis had pulled out.

Sebastian presses his palm against his dick, sighs at the sensation. It’s the first touch he’s had all day, too preoccupied with Lewis earlier, with showing him how good he could be at this. He shoves his shorts and boxers down and wraps a hand around himself, starts to stroke. His hands aren’t big enough to pretend it’s Lewis doing it for him, so he closes his eyes. 

Lewis would be good at it, Sebastian thinks. There’s no way Nico was anything but a princess in bed, and Lewis, at his very core, loves to win. Sebastian can’t make that math add up to anything except Lewis being a quick study in how to take him apart. He wonders if he’d have turned him around, hands on Sebastian’s hips, fingers slipping down to push inside him, not slippery enough, but the rough burn a satisfying punishment. 

Sebastian thumbs at the head of his dick, bites his lip. 

Or maybe instead, Lewis could have pushed Seb down on the sofa, kept him pinned there. Gotten on hand around Sebastian’s throat, the other on his dick, quick and ruthless and—

The tiny, squirming bit of shame that’s been turning over in his stomach since the red flag is back, and growing this time. It’s uncomfortably familiar, a sensation he’d been practiced at pushing down, curled up under the covers after Mark left, physically satiated, but mind never quite as soothed. It had never kept him up long, but it had never entirely gone away either.

Sebastian screws his eyes shut and stills his hand. His own hand, the hot emotion, the scene playing out behind his eyes—it doesn’t feel good. It feels how he imagines a sneaky cigarette on a night out would, two years after quitting.

He shoves his shorts all the way off, but pulls up his boxers and gets up to fish a tshirt out of his suitcase. He crawls into bed.

He never really apologised to Mark, except when Christian insisted on it, because he wasn’t sorry and he didn’t intend to lie about it. Sebastian wanted to win, and he wasn’t going to stop trying to. Mark was never very good about keeping what happened on track separate from what happened off it, and Sebastian had been fine to indulge it — Mark had always seemed to think Sebastian choking on his dick was the real apology, like he didn’t really understand that that was Sebastian winning too. 

This feels different. Lewis isn’t Mark, thank god, and he’s not his teammate. Mark had always felt like someone to beat, another obstacle on the way to the championship. He’s known Lewis for most of his life, has spent the last three years itching to go toe to toe with him.

Lewis is someone he wants to measure himself against, and come out on top. 

He rolls over and grabs his phone from the night stand. 

You’re right, that wasn’t a very good apology. Can I call you tomorrow?

He stares at the screen. It’s the first message in the thread—it’s weird to realise he’s never texted Lewis before.

This is Sebastian, he adds. Then he puts his phone away and turns off the lights.

//

In the morning, there’s a reply. 

I’m free after lunch. 

#ok uh the others will be drabbles or doubles i cannot write this much every time #but thank you! #asks #anon #rpf tag #fic asks