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mediumtires · 8 months

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Toto is in his office, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

short sequel to Growing Pains, from Toto’s POV. 2.6k

Christian has crow’s feet. On the right, it’s eleven deep lines, four of them curving upwards when he smiles, the rest fanning down, and off to the side of his face. Left, it’s seven. A few less, but still just as deep. They pull in his cheeks when he smiles.

Toto loves those lines. He was there when there were only four on the left, six on the right. Deeper though. They were even deeper back then, for some reason.

Toto was also there for the teeth. He was there when Christian started to let his stubble grow, he was there for the first grey hairs that led to a life changing haircut. He was there when Christian quietly started to size up his jeans.

He was there when Christian got appendicitis on New Year’s Eve, was there for food poising more than once, was there for broken toes and bruised fingers when they were renovating the farm. He was there when Christian’s brother got diagnosed with cancer. Was there for the party too, when he was finally cancer free.

What Toto wasn’t there for was Christian winning his first title in eight years. It’s not a secret, he knows, Christian knows. Of course they know; it’s one of the biggest hurdles they ever had to overcome, the fact that he wasn’t there for it.

He’d made his position crystal clear; December 2021, and the months after shaped by the decisions he had made. Toto had his team to worry about that night. Lewis, Valtteri, Bono, Andrew, James, everyone else. Himself. He’d had enough to worry about. He didn’t think about Christian very much that night. Not about his crow’s feet, or the ring on his left hand, or the fact that they were in big big trouble. He’d done it deliberately, knowingly. And he doesn’t regret it. Hasn’t, since, mostly because he can’t allow himself to. He’s regretted many things, the aftermath, the months of fighting. But he doesn’t regret standing up for his team that night.

Only now… Now Toto is in his office at home, behind his big desk, with the door closed, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, right in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

There’s a video playing, one that he’s not sure he even clicked on himself, one that he really shouldn’t be watching. What he should be doing is preparing for his meeting with the Petronas people first thing tomorrow morning.

Instead, his eyes follow Christian, champagne soaked, shaky handed, teary eyed, on his way from the pit wall to the garages to the podium back to the garages. He looks—Toto can’t think of the right word for it. He can only think about the look on his face, equal parts mind shattering relief, pure joy and pure devastation, though Toto knows that part is only for him to see. And his crow’s feet. Eleven deep lines accompanying his watery smile.

He looks devastating to Toto. It’s a strange realisation because until now, Abu Dhabi has only ever been painful to think about. And it still is, in most ways. Only now that he’s looking at his husband through a screen, watching him getting celebrated, congratulated, touched by a million other people, Toto is kicking himself that he wasn’t there to see him like this when he had the chance. He never got to see this joy on Christian’s face in real life. Instead, what they did was so much worse, so much more painful.

Toto has trouble swallowing around the knot in his throat. Suddenly he has the stupid urge to put his hand to his computer screen, touch his fingertips to the bright lights and follow the soft lines of Christian’s face, sweaty and champagne wet, teary eyed and grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks. Toto wants that version of him, badly, so badly in fact, that his heart seizes in his chest, thudding hard.

Christian is in the kitchen. He’s making dinner, the dogs at his feet following his every move with big hopeful eyes. Christian doesn’t turn around when Toto comes in, his voice drowned out by the extractor fan as he says, “Dinner’ll be another few.”

Toto couldn’t care less about dinner right now. He stalks up to where Christian is watching over sizzling eggs in a pan, and a second later he’s got him pressed to the counter, licking into his mouth. Christian makes an undignified noise at the back of his throat and the spatula he was holding topples to the floor. Toto doesn’t care. His hands are on Christian’s cheeks, and he can feel his crow’s feet beneath his thumbs. He tastes salt and the tangy sweetness of cherry tomatoes.

Christian presses his palms flat to his chest and pushes. “Hey!” He tries to bring distance between them, and Toto lets him, of course he does, but he still curls himself around Christian’s body, tucks his face into his neck, kisses the leathery skin there too.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Christian’s arms come up around Toto’s back only reluctantly. “I’m going to burn the bloody eggs!”

“Sorry.” Toto should be letting him go. Christian has put effort into making dinner, and Toto respects that. Still, he has a hard time moving away from him.

“What’s—” Christian’s face is one big question mark. “Darling? You alright?”

Toto bends to pick the spatula up from the ground and turns away to give it a quick rinse in the sink. “Ja,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Christian’s expression is critical when he takes the spatula back. He goes back to stirring the eggs, stocky and yellow, then turns the heat down with a flick of his wrist. Toto wants to kiss him so badly. The images of Christian, victorious in Abu Dhabi won’t leave his mind. Nor his chest.

Christian turns back around and this time it’s he who pulls Toto in by the hips, presses their bodies together. He leans in and there’s a kiss to the corner of Toto’s mouth, feathery light. Toto can’t help but wrap himself around Christian again, breathing him in, relieved. “What’s going on?” Christian asks carefully, fingertips dipping beneath the waistline of Toto’s chinos.

He feels so familiar in Toto’s arms. Toto has so many regrets right now, but he can’t possibly tell him. Not with everything they’ve been through. Not with how hard they’ve worked to come out the other side, he can’t bring it all back up again.

“Nothing,” he murmurs into Christian’s hair. Eyes closed. He smells familiar too. Toto would recognise him anywhere by this alone, the musky notes of his cologne, a hint of leather from the wristband of his watch, undertones of sweat mixed with laundry detergent. “I just wanted to kiss my husband.”

“Come here then.” This time it’s Christian’s fingers on his jaw pulling their faces close, and then it’s gentle brushes of lips, painfully meaningful, tongues coming together in deep licks, Toto brushing the roof of Christian’s mouth, the back of his teeth, tasting everything. He wants all of it and more, and he’s so mad at himself for everything that happened in 2021. He wishes he could turn back the time, make better decisions, just a couple. Not even to win, it’s not about that. Just. For them. He should’ve done better.

Christian kisses back with the same intensity. One of his hands is on Toto’s cheek, fingertips brushing into his hair, lightly stroking his temple, his cheekbone. His stubble rubs against Toto’s top lip and Toto wants more of it, wants this forever.

“‘m sorry.”

Christian pulls back, confused. “Mhm?”

Toto wants to kick himself. “Nothing.” He leans in again, but Christian doesn’t let him get away with it.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”

Toto breathes around a deep sigh. He lets his forehead tip to Christian’s but keeps his eyes shut. Breathes him in. So familiar.

“It’s nothing.”

“Toto,” Christian warns.

“I was watching something. That’s all.”

“Porn?”

Toto pulls back with an offended puff of breath and when their eyes meet Christian is laughing. “Darling, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t watching porn in my office, Christian.” He’s genuinely offended Christian would think— “I— Come on.”

A grin spreads over Christian’s face, making his crow’s feet crinkle, fanning deeply up and down the sides. “Whatever you’re doing in there is fine with me, darling. No hard feelings.”

“Just—shut up,” Toto tells him even though his heart is still cracked wide open. He turns away. Walks over to the stove to stir the eggs. They look a little more brown than yellow now.

“Hey.” Christian brushes both of his palms down Toto’s back, then wraps his arms around him from behind to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Sorry. You’re upset. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Toto sighs softly.

“It’s clearly something. You ambushed me in the kitchen. Something’s up.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Toto. Darling.” Christian’s arms tighten around him, both palms pressed to the softest part of his stomach now, left and right to his navel. He tingles from the inside out.

“I was watching a video about Abu Dhabi.” He admits to it quietly, half of him hoping Christian won’t hear him over the sizzling of the pan. “I don’t even know… It just popped up, it was attached to an email. But I didn’t mean to bring it up again, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

Christian doesn’t say anything for a few very long seconds. He holds Toto in the same manner as before, his face mushed to the planes of his back, his body warm against Toto’s, over a decade of familiarity to the touch. Then he says, “You said.”

Toto’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring down at the pan.

“You said you were sorry,” Christian clarifies. “For watching the video, or for what happened in Abu Dhabi?”

Toto’s chest smarts, pulls into a tight hard knot. “I don’t think… Let’s not talk about it again.”

“Because you’re uncomfortable?” Christian asks. “Or because you’re afraid I haven’t forgiven you yet?”

Toto doesn’t have an answer. The only thing he knows is that the eggs are burning. Christian doesn’t let him go but now his hold feels like it could crush Toto any second.

“I know you’re sorry,” Christian goes on. “And we’re past Abu Dhabi. Things are okay, yeah?”

Toto swallows hard. “Yes.”

Christian presses another kiss to his back, soothing this time. “Good. So why are you sorry?”

“I—” Christian doesn’t let him go. “I didn’t see you.” Toto’s voice breaks on the last syllable. “That night in Abu Dhabi. I was too concerned with other things, I didn’t watch the podium, I didn’t even leave the garage. So I didn’t know what you looked like that night until just fifteen minutes ago.” Heart in his throat he adds, “And I regret that. Not being there for it. Because you looked—”

Beautiful. Proud. Relieved. Real. Heartbreakingly authentic.

“I could’ve shared that with you, that night, the win, your success, but I didn’t. And I regret that. More than anything I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I—” And now he’s fucking choking up.

“Oh.” Christian moves then, unfreezes and untangles himself from Toto’s back to turn him around by the hips. “Oh, darling, no, come on.”

Toto can’t look at him, but then again, he can’t really look at anything because tears are blurring his vision.

“No, darling, no, come here.” Christian wraps him up in a hug then, pulls him in, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other around his shoulders, and he presses the side of his face to Toto’s neck. “It’s okay. We’re past that.”

Toto doesn’t say anything. It doesn't feel like they’re past it. This is the first time he has allowed himself to cry about any of this in front of Christian. It’s been months, and it doesn’t feel like they’re past it.

“I know you would’ve been there if things had been different. But it was complicated, I know that. I’m not mad.”

“I’m mad,” Toto croaks, and as he says it, he realises it’s true. “I am so mad, Christian. I’m mad I didn’t get to share any of it with you. It was such a significant moment, and I wasn’t there with you. We won’t ever get that back.”

Christian takes a moment. “Okay,” he then says quietly. “Now I understand. I get it. I’m mad too.” Toto stills. “Not at you. At the whole thing, the circumstances leading up to it. It’s no one’s fault. We knew it would be difficult to keep things separate, and in the end, we didn’t manage. That’s okay. And it’s okay to be mad about it.”

“I’m not trying to bring it all back up again, I know we’re past it. It’s in the past.” Toto curls his arms around Christian’s back and pulls him in tighter, noses the side of his face, the imprint of the lines around his eyes. “I just didn’t realise how much I missed out that night. You looked so—”

“What?” Christian probes, curious.

“Sexy,” Toto croaks and there’s a second of silence before Christian breaks out into a loud, husky cackle.

“Are you— Toto, are crying because you didn’t get to fuck me that night?”

“Maybe.” Toto cracks a small grin and smothers it in Christian’s hair. They both know it’s more than that. But they also know there’s no way they can turn back time. What happened happened. It’s in the past.

“Oh fucking hell. You have no idea how badly I wanted you to be there that night.”

“Ja?”

“Yeah,” Christian says, and then he pulls back and looks Toto in the eyes and says, “Yes, darling. Of course I wanted you to be there with me. I wanted to—Look, I wanted to come and find you too, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. So I get it. I have regrets too.”

Toto has to pull him in again and Christian goes willingly, presses their foreheads together, noses brushing, and kisses Toto once more, deep. “I get it,” he murmurs to his lips. “But we’re okay, yeah?”

“Yes,” Toto agrees. Eyes closed. Christian smells like home. “Next time.”

“We’ll do so much better this year,” Christian agrees. “I’ll even let you spray me with champagne in front of everyone.”

Toto rolls his eyes, a small grin pulling stubbornly at the corners of his mouth. “You will let me, yes? That is very generous of you.”

“I know,” Christian agrees smugly. “You’re allowed to do it in front of everyone, too.”

“If you’re not careful, I will be doing something very different than shower you in champagne in front of everyone, darling.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.”

Toto hates him a little bit, his pleased smirk, the self-satisfaction, the green of his eyes twinkling, daring, his crow’s feet so deep, seven on the left, eleven on the right.

Toto doesn’t stand a chance. Not this season, but more importantly, not tonight either.

#since we were talking about growing pains today #i remembered this little snippet i wrote a while ago #lil bit of angsty hurt/comfort on a sunday night anyone?#old men yaoi etc #take this as a token of my affection and also catnip #seven years #growing pains #toto wolff #christian horner #christian/toto

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