Reliable Sources
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Title: Reliable Sources
Characters: Fernando Alonso, Mark Webber
Rating: Red Flag
Summary: Mark and Fernando are motorsport journalists, but it’s not exactly what they signed up for.
Beta: The wonderful la_vie_chanson
Disclaimer: This is not real. All lies.
A/N: Written for Secret Santa 2013 on f1slash, for larapidez.
When he hears the beep of the card reader, Mark glances at the clock on his laptop. 1h40am. Typical. Kimi has never been one to let his guests sleep over, not even the ones with sultry brown eyes and sexy accents.
“You smell like sex,” he says without looking up when Fernando drops his laptop bag at the feet of the bed.
“Lo siento,” Fernando says automatically, even if he knows there’s no need to apologize. He starts to strip from his clothes, bringing them to his nose to smell them before throwing them aside.
“Good interview?” Mark asks, looking up from his screen and rubbing his eyes. He’s been editing his piece on Seb for the past two hours; his eyes are dry and his vision blurry but his deadline is tomorrow, so he had to keep working, plus it’s been a good distraction while Fernando was with Kimi. He can’t help making snappy comments when Fernando is out with a driver, but it’s not like he has the right to judge. He does the same, it’s just part of the trade. You don’t become the best motorsport journalist by copying other people’s work. You need your own sources, reliable sources, and there are no better sources than the drivers themselves. It’s all business and transactions. Some much needed, discrete intimacy for the drivers in return for an interview with more than just the practiced speech given by their PR assistants. All the best journalists do it, and though it’s not what he had originally signed up for when he studied journalism, he had accepted it. He’d like to say that it made it easier that Fernando was doing the same, but the truth is, it makes it harder.
“Kimi, he don’t speak much, but got enough for an article. Was worth it,” he says, tossing the last of his clothes on the dirty pile next to his suitcase before disappearing in the bathroom for a shower.
Mark never asks how the sex was. They’ve agreed not to talk about the details, it’s easier that way. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder or didn’t worry. It’d be so easy for one of them to get swept up in the fantasy of it all, having a driver as lover, living the high life, flying in private jets and living in big mansions. But he’s never had the urge, or at least a lasting urge, to leave Fernando, and he can only hope the same is true for Fernando. He hates sharing, hates when Fernando comes in smelling of sweat and come and another man’s cologne. It triggers this boiling rage inside him, the primal instinct to defend what’s his, but he knows better than to put boundaries around Fernando. It’d be a surefire way to lose him.
So instead, he puts his laptop aside, stretching to pull at his tense muscles when he gets up from the bed. He undresses quickly and lets himself in the bathroom, noticing the red marks near the bottom of his neck in the mirror. Mark runs his fingers over the bruised skin, a quick reminder that Seb gets a bit possessive and likes to leave imprints behind. He slides the shower door open and takes a moment to appreciate the view, Fernando’s naked body completely soaked, soap bubbles sliding down his body, from his chest, where he’s currently washing, over his abs, bubbles temporarily getting trapped around his crotch until the water washes them down his legs.
Mark cups Fernando’s face and kisses him, but no matter how long or hard he kisses him, the taste of vodka and cigarette still lingers on, and it makes him angry, because it’s the Finn he’s tasting, and it reminds him that hours, or maybe minutes ago, Fernando was being fucked by someone else. He wants to wash that thought away, wash the evidence away, so he takes the sponge from Fernando’s hands and washes him, every corner every inch, until all he can smell is the familiar smell of Fernando’s body wash.
He hugs Fernando then, clings to him tightly, burying his face in Fernando’s wet hair and he’s afraid that if he lets go, if he relaxes his embrace, Fernando will slip out and leave, leave the shower, leave the room. Leave him. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to carry on like this, pretending he can share, pretending he doesn’t care.
“Is okay,” Fernando says, rubbing his back. “I’m here, I’m yours Mark.”
Mark sighs, because even if it’s true, he’s not sure it’s enough. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”
They finish washing up and drying themselves before curling up under the blankets with laptops on their lap, the clicking of fingers on keyboards the only sound in the room.
“What’s your schedule for next weekend?” Mark says as he pulls up his own calendar on the screen.
“F1 again. Vergne. You haven’t… with him? Have you?”
“Nah. Interviewed his teammate though.”
Fernando seems to ponder that, but doesn’t comment. Mark is glad, because his interviews with Dan, and it had been more than one interview, had left him feeling guilty for weeks.
“What is your schedule,” Fernando asks as he powers down his laptop and turns off the light on his side of the bed.
“GP2. The magazine asked for an article on Mitch,” Mark says, and the young driver’s face flashes in his mind, twisting a knot in his stomach. So he follows Fernando’s lead and calls it a night, spooning with him, pressing light kisses to his shoulders and over the large tattoo on his back and neck, the one that constantly reminds him how strong Fernando can be, and it makes him wonder whether he’ll lose himself before he loses Fernando.
.