#Polish Jazz
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71: Kwartet Jorgi // Kwartet Jorgi
Kwartet Jorgi Kwartet Jorgi 1987, Pronit
Music for morel foraging in the year 1249 A.D., or combing long blonde hair in a ruined tower, played on violin, guitar, cello, and shepherd’s pipes. Absolute hidden gem of progressive folk here, blending Slavonic early music-sounding melodies with the wandering improvisational qualities of jazz. They at times anticipate the lurching, gnawing cello-heavy scores of the recent bumper crop of folk horror films (especially on album highlight “Olmorts Olof Svensson”), but there’s no sinister intent to Kwartet Jorgi’s music. Rather, they’re seeking to capture the clamour of bogs, bird cries in the higher canopy, airy sounds in the broader ‘soughing’ adjectival universe. I’m usually no great lover of the flute or pipes as a lead instrument, but shepherd’s pipes player and primary composer Maciej Rychly exploits the full possibilities of his instrument, giving these lengthy instrumental settings a vocal protagonist.
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Though the emphasis on flute and the proggy grooves of the “Muzyka jaskini łotrów” (“Rogues’ Cave Music”) suite bring to mind early New Agers like Mike Oldfield, Kwartet Jorgi largely succeed in the liner notes’ stated goal of “reaching for the sounds and obvious things that each of us passes by without hearing.” It’s a beautiful recording, and one worth rediscovering by today’s woodland cultists.
71/365
#kwartet jogi#polish jazz#polish folk#polish music#progressive folk#jazz fusion#music review#vinyl record#'80s music
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Debut album (1967) by this phenomenal vocal jazz group known later as NOVI Singers. The name stands for New Original Vocal Instruments.
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Krzysztof Komeda, “Ballad for Bernt (No. 1)”
Roman Polanski's "Knife in the Water" Original Soundtrack.
Sax-tenor: Bernt Rosengren
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Komeda Quintet
Astigmatic, 1965 · play album
Krzysztof Komeda (p), TomaszStanko (tp), Zbigniew Namysłowski (as), Gunter Lenz (b) & Rune Carlson (d)
* Lp info
Website
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My dumb mood. We are a sinner.
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I shall be sleeping because my demons and nightmares came into my blank mind. As usual as each nights.
#krzysztof komeda#polish pianist#jazz#soundtrack#polish jazz#christopher komeda#my dumb mood#nacht#my music#passion#my blank mind#mój bełkot intelektualny#dadaizm#Youtube
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EABS & Jaubi - Madhuvanti In Search of a Better Tomorrow (2023).
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U2 i polski jazz 🧠. To jest to, co ostatnio huczy mi w głośnikach 🎷🎸. Hagaw fajnie wchodzi przy czytaniu „Sklepów cynamonowych” Szulca (o dziwo!) 🫶.
No i jeszcze Miles Davis, a także i soundtrack z „Chłopów”. Film średni, ale ścieżka dźwiękowa cudowna 🤩.
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Crazy Girl, Soundtrack From The Motion Picture "Knife In The Water" - Bernt Rosengren With Komeda Trio
Cover by Rosław Szaybo
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LOOK AT TF ONE JAZZ AND PROWL❗️❗️❗️❗️
So far I can only find 2 ver of Jazz (without and with T-cog) and Prowl without T-cog
#transformers one#tf one#tf one 2024#tf one spoilers#transformers#tf jazz#jazz transformers#prowl#tf prowl#prowl transformers#jazzprowl#cutiesss#aaaaaa#look at them#pookie#they are “more polished” and “prettier” after getting their t-cogs which is hella cool#i know prowl's chevron will become longer and sharper after he gained his t-cog sksk
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Glowing Green Puppy, Tiny Tots, and Damian 'I am not turning into my Father' Wayne.
I've been seeing a few DPxDC Dad!Damian ideas so I'd like to toss my idea into the void of the internet.
Damian is on a lead about a glowing green puppy, that can apparently change size and go through walls, and finally manages to track it down before even his father hears about it. The puppy seemed to be stealing random things too.
He was fully ready to use all the tricks in the book to get the puppy to trust him... and after a few days/weeks he manages to gain its trust.
He just wasn't expecting the puppy to drag him to abandoned warehouse and drop him in front of a few kids that were hiding out in it.
"Oh! Cujo you finally brought your new person over!" says the only red-haired one in the group, and she was holding a baby, as two almost identical toddlers ran over to the excited pupper that began to run around them.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#crossover#dp x dc#blue rambles#danny phantom dc#writing ideas#random idea#dpxdc#de-aged danny#de-aged dani#de-aged jazz#de-aged dan#future dad!Damian#cujo is best doggo#looking out for his people as best as his tiny pupper brain can#Damian tries to deny that he's turning into his father#in terms of adopting children#but he likes Jazz's smarty smarts and manners and abilities to keep the other kids in line#Danny's look of wonder/stars when he gets talking about Cujo or of space#Dan's raw fighting abilities that just need some polish and takes his training tips seriously#and Dani's ability to actually toss things at him and actually able to land a few hits#He deny's it hard that he is 'like his father'#and tries to keep the kids a secret#along with Cujo#whose just happy to be there#how and why the Fenton's are de-aged I leave open ended
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Universal Misunderstandings
Summary: Based on @keferon's Mech Pilot Jazz AU. Jazz is a Mech Pilot who gets lost in space.
I wrote this in like... an hour, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. I just needed to get it out, even if it's a little clunky. (Also I don't write Jazz and Prowl often, so they might be a bit ooc)
If you had asked Jazz what was the craziest thing he ever saw, he would say the moment the giant ships entered earth’s atmosphere for the first alien invasion. Or maybe when he joined the mecha program to fight those aliens, and saw the mecha suits they would be piloting for the first time.
He wasn’t sure if meeting a race of giant robots was any crazier than that, but it was at least top three now.
Being a mecha pilot was surprisingly routine in some ways, similar to the times he was a NASCAR driver in some strange ways. How he would check his machine before every mission, how he piloted it like it was an extension of him, and how painfully aware he was of the danger all around him.
Only now, instead of being at risk of crashing into another driver or spinning off the track, he was at risk of being killed by giant aliens with five faces and so many tentacles.
No one was even sure why the aliens attacked in the first place, only that they desired some sort of potent energy source that was only discovered after they drove the aliens from one of their mines on Earth - and what was found in them revolutionized their technology forever.
They called them Lightning Crystals, based on the blue glow and the little shocks they delivered. The crystals were rare, but extremely potent in energy unparalleled by anything on earth.
Exactly what they needed. Oh, sure for solving global warming and creating efficient technology of course. But they also were the missing element in the new M.E.C.H. program – giant robots which could be controlled by a single person, able to pack as much punch as the aliens. With the Lightning Crystals, they could power these giant machines and finally drive them from their planet.
Jazz was one of the top pilots, though his Mech Suit was focused on rescuing people from peril and buying time as they evacuated a city that would be attacked. It was almost once a month, or several times if they were unlucky – the aliens would land, attempt to get a foothold on their planet, but were driven off by the Mecha. Only to appear again the next time.
And so, the routine was set. Go out, punch some aliens, retreat and recover, and start all over again later. It wasn’t glamourous, but Jazz knew he was doing his part in protecting the planet.
That changed when the Space Program was initialized.
The director of MECH realized they needed some sort of foothold in space, to fight back before they landed on the planet and destroy the ships they had just out of striking range out in the void.
Jazz was selected as one of the first, as his smaller robot would be more ideal for space travel – or so they told him, he wasn’t totally sure if that was bullshit or not anymore.
And so, Jazz found himself being launched into space to fight Aliens. He wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into an anime, but it definitely felt like one.
During the fight though, something went wrong.
Jazz had been thrown into one of their ships, there was frantic beeping and flashing, and suddenly he felt his whole body feel every sensation at once – and when he got his bearings and noticed the ship was in motion again, he realized, with a sinking terror, that he couldn’t see earth in any direction around him.
His worst fears were only confirmed when he was thrown off the small space shuttle, and couldn’t contact ground support after he crashed onto an unknown planet.
He had to take a few hours to himself, and screamed inside his mech suit’s protective armour. Jazz didn’t know when he passed out from crying, but he felt somewhat refreshed. Not any better, but… not exhausted.
All things considered… he would be alright for a little while. He found more lightning crystals on the planet, and had some rations he could stretch out for awhile. But he wasn’t sure what to do, without any idea where he was or how to contact home.
He set up his homing beacon, and just hoped again all odds that maybe it would be picked up by someone.
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Prowl wasn’t a very social cybertronian, everyone knew that about him. He wasn’t anti-social, but he didn’t have an easy time communicating with others.
He would be too blunt, or maybe just not react the right way, and suddenly they were upset for reasons he didn’t immediately recognize. He got better at learning what was and wasn’t acceptable in the broad terms, but he struggled with specifics sometimes.
But Prowl was also brilliant – that wasn’t ego, it was repeated often enough that even he had to accept it. The Tac-Net within his processor was faster than any standard internal strategy computer, but that was only a tool. His processor was able to churn through all the data it gave him, and utilize it to its fullest extent with his own creativity and intelligence.
It made him one of the vital assets to the Autobots, and later to the combined cybertronian armies which fought the Quintessons – a walking battle computer, able to analyze a battle field and begin a counter strategy before the opponent even realized it.
So, his communication issue was merely a minor inconvenience in comparison.
Even still, he didn’t have many friends, and he was used to his own company. Prowl didn’t think on it often, just focusing on his task.
Prowl was alone while crossing a large stretch of uninhabited space, a spiral galaxy system which consisted of planets either barren or void of sentient life, when he received the ping on his console.
Unknown Energy Signature, Distress Beacon Detected. Prowl frowned as he read across his screen, because it didn’t make sense at first. He pulled the ship around for a second look before he lost the signal, and saw it was located on a nearby planet.
His Tac Net spat back possibilities when probed, ranging from “Quintesson Trap” to “New Emerging Sentient Life”, and he deemed the risk low enough to check at least.
Prowl wasn’t a social mech, but he wasn’t as heartless as some soldiers said he was.
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Jazz didn’t notice the ship until it was almost right above him, but he was still in his Mech Suit luckily enough. Using the larger bulk of this robotic body, he tried to wave the ship down using his long arms with a burst of frantic energy.
The Mech robot was psychically linked to himself, and so it was easy enough to arrange the machine’s body to look like a crazy person looking to hitchhike on the highway. He didn’t care though, only happy that someone, anyone, had found him.
It definitely wasn’t human, there were basically no ships of this design and even if there were none had launched yet. Another alien race didn’t seem too far off either, whoever they were. But really, they could be made of goo and Jazz would probably hug them in thanks.
He only really started to realize that this might be a bad thing when the ship landed, because that thing had some pretty big guns. Or maybe those weird energy blasters he saw before, and this was one of the aliens trying to colonize his planet.
Still though, he swallowed his fears and put on a brave face – even if no one else saw. He strutted up to the large ship like he owned it, and… waited.
The ship door opened soon enough, lowering down into a ramp, and out stepped… another robot?
Jazz blinked, suddenly very aware of his body inside of the mech suit, when he saw it… or them?
He didn’t know what to think, seeing the human-like face and odd proportions of their body. Was this another mech suit of some sort? Why did it have wheels?
Jazz had to snap out of it, because the robot started talking to him.
“Dobbqfkdp,” they said with a stoic demeanour, “xj F ql xpprjb vlr ibcq qeb afpqobpp pfdkxi? F txpk’q xtxob qebob txp olylqfz ifcb qefp cxo lrq fkql qeb dxixuv.”
Unfortunately, Jazz didn’t understand a word of it. The robot was holding the blaster on their hip, obviously ready to attack if Jazz proved hostile.
Hesitantly, he turned on his communications radio and spoke.
“Umm, sorry my guy, but I don’t know what you’re saying? I’m a bit new around here is all,” he said with a somewhat nervous laugh. He almost wished his own mech had a face, so he could express how he wasn’t hostile.
There was silence for a moment, the wind blowing by around them and picking up a barrage of maroon plantlife that looked like flowerpetals. It was serene to see, but Jazz kept his focus on the robot whose eyes were widening in surprise.
They then cleared their throat, deliberately taking their hand off the gun and offered something. Jazz stepped forwards hesitantly, seeing it was a small chip.
The robot gave a forced smile, obviously trying to not appear threatening but looking awkward instead. “Jv xmlildfbp. Bah-weep-Graaaghnah, weep ni ni bong.”
Somehow, against what was rational, the phrase they said made Jazz relax a little. It was a ridiculous nonsense in English, but somehow it made the offer seem less unknown.
Hesitantly, Jazz accepted the chip and plugged it into his mech. His eyes nearly bugged out when it started interfacing with his systems, almost pulling it out, before seeing what it was doing – it was scanning the coding and language of his mech’s sytems, pulling them out into a strange dictionary. Soon, it was done with a PING, and the chip ejected itself.
Holy shit, he thought, they have a fucking universal translator, like Star Trek!
The robot’s hand was extended again, obviously asking for the chip, and Jazz gingerly placed it back in the robot’s open palm – somehow having five fingers, which somehow was one of the first things Jazz noticed right now.
He was really overwhelmed, okay?!
The robot inserted the chip into the back of their head, and Jazz had a sinking realization.
Maybe he was jumping the gun, but the way the robot’s eyes went dim briefly as it processed the chip, made Jazz think is this an actual sentient robot?!
“Thank you, I suppose this must be very confusing for you,” the robot then said, in perfect English.
“Ugh… kind of?” He said, shrugging slightly which translated to his robot around him. It was a reflex hard to break, even if it was unnecessary for his mech to emote.
“We’ve known about aliens, but this is the first time I’m meeting one that doesn’t want to kill me,” he said, with a slight laugh at himself. “Sorry, this is really weird.”
“Well,” the mech said, giving a soft smile which looked much more genuine, “I’m sure my kind will be eager to welcome another robotic race to the galaxy.”
Jazz’s mind went blank, as he had two sudden realizations.
Holy shit, I was right, this is an actual sentient robot who is actually talking to me, quickly followed by, they think I’m also a robot.
This… might be messy.
Despite this, Jazz just gave a nod, “Well, I’m sure the feeling is mutual!” He said awkwardly.
“Now… can you help me off this planet?”
The robot gave a brisk nod. “Of course, it’s not uncommon for new space faring species to have transwarping incidents like these. Come with me, my people will help you get home.”
Without any better options, Jazz hopped onto the ship. As he went inside, he realized the whole thing was scaled to the giant robot he was with. Scaled to his mech as well, conveniently enough.
“So, could I get your name?” Jazz said, as he finally was getting ahold of his anxiety. At least he wasn’t dead, and he was going home, so suddenly this was feeling a lot less intimidating.
“Of course, I’m Prowl of Praxus. You?”
“Ummm, Jazz. Jazz Wilson,” he said.
“Very well, it’s nice to meet you Jazz Jazz Wilson,” Prowl said, and somehow that phrase, which wasn’t nearly the craziest part of this situation, got a bark of laughter from Jazz.
“Just Jazz is fine. It’s nice to meet you too Prowl.”
He got a nod of acknowledgement, as the ship flared to life and prepared for takeoff.
Jazz might need to sleep for a decade when he gets home.
(Translation for Prowl Earlier: Greetings, am I to assume you left the distress signal? I wasn’t aware there was robotic life this far out into the galaxy.)
I also won't apologize for using the transformers universal greeting :P, I love that thing. Canonically, it's a phrase so ridiculous that anyone who says it must mean no harm - which is why Jazz somewhat relaxes when he hears it despite not knowing what it means.
I hope you liked this short little story (≧∇≦)ノ it's more just exploring the concept than anything.
Also sorry for using the term mech or mecha wrong, I don't watch enough anime ( ´・・)ノ(._.`)
#transformers#my writing#fanfic#maccadam#jazzprowl#mech pilot jazz au#mecha pilot Jazz au#maccadam fanfiction#almost posted it on ao3#but i decided not to#since it's pretty unpolished#though im not sure anyone but me can tell the difference between polished and unpolished with my writing lol.#Just shows how much I need to improve#transformers fanfiction
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Personal coach Red Hood
Idea by @impyssadobsessions where Jazz needs a personal trainer from a gotham hero and chooses red hood. Eventual ship content. This is more of a setting so far but i have ideas. I accept ideas too, im just balling
I'm going to try a more chill and lax posting with this bad boy. I feel like my rigid way of organizing is making me feel restricted so this will be 1000% vibes and let's see where it goes.
Part 2
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Jazz knew this was a stupid idea. Dangerous. Suicidal, maybe, depending on who would answer her call. But she still had to try.
You may be wondering how a twenty something young woman ends up following Gotham heroes around with a notepad. She wasn’t looking for an autograph, or for the latest scoop on the heroes, trying to uncover their secrets.
She was actually writing down their patterns and observations in behavior, trying to map their patrol routes and create a decent enough file and expectations of the heroes.
What did she need the information for?
She needed a personal trainer.
No, not the kind you hire at the gym. She already tried that and it didn’t work. She also tried MMA, and kickboxing and just to see if she could do it, Judo. All were interesting and gave her a pretty good picture of what her body was capable of, and a guesstimate of her physical limitations.
But no. She needed something else, something more… tailored for what she actually needed the training for.
She needed to intern with a hero. The term “sidekick” felt wrong for what she had in mind, since she didn’t want to be that hero’s trainee forever. Or was interested in the current superhero scene at all. They were doing just fine without her.
She just… she felt left out. Danny was amazing but he didn’t need her, not as much as she would have liked. He was a hero, and a pretty good one, but he wasn’t in any place to train her. Not that he wanted to, since he usually avoided her every time she brought it up.
Her baby brother was all grown up and he didn’t need his older sister anymore.
Jazz shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Danny would always need her — she just needed to do her homework and keep up with him on her own. If she just trained enough and could hold her own in ghost fights, she was sure Danny would be grateful and appreciate her support. Who knows, maybe he would be happy that he didn’t need to be wary of ghosts day and night, and actually rest and focus on his neglected studies.
She yawned, lamenting another night that looked to be a bust. Maybe the heroes were busy tonight? Maybe they were on a big mission away? Unlikely that all of them were away, there were usually at least a few of the Bats flying around the city.
Why Gotham, you may ask? Of all the funny-dressed crime fighters on Earth, why these people?
Easy.
They were human.
That piqued Jazz’s interest. She had been between the Arrows and the Bats, but finally chose the Bats because Gotham had one perk over Star City: unlimited supply of ectoplasm. The place was almost as coated in the thing as Amity, which she was grateful for. It saved her from going back and forth to places rich with ghost activity and fishing blobs to eat.
Don’t ask too many questions about the consuming blob ghosts part. It was a necessary evil.
However, it’s been a few months and all she got to show for her efforts was a notepad filled with scribbles she painstakingly copied to her computer and a lot of frustration.
Until one night she caught Red Hood alone as he checked his phone. She waited until he was done texting — she had manners thank you very much — and jumped in front of him before he had the chance to grapple away.
“Hi— oof.”
Thanks the ancients for her reflexes and Judo training, she blocked Hood's punch and following kick. It would probably bruise but it wasn't the end of the world.
“What the fuck?”
“Hi,” she tried again, “I'm Jazz.”
He didn't punch her again, which she took as a good sign. Instead, he took a step back and squared up like he was expecting a fight.
“I’m not looking for a fight,” he scoffed but let her continue speaking, “I’m looking for… I guess you’d call it a mentor? That sounds weird… A personal trainer? No, that’s wrong too. Hm, I wonder if there’s a word for ‘person who is the only one that can teach you very specific information in a field of interest that legally, or otherwise—’.”
Red Hood cleared his throat, making her jump.
“Are you for real?”
“Yeah? I am real.”
Hood looked at her in silence for a few moments. Then, he sighed and rubbed one gloved hand against his helmet.
“Listen, girl.”
“Jazz!”
“Jazz,” somehow she got the impression he grumbled, but the voice modulator did its job really well, “I have things to do, ok? Crimes to stop and stuff. So… yeah. Goodnight.”
He turned around and picked the grapple gun from inside his jacket.
“Wait!”
He jumped and misfired the gun, hitting the wall of the building instead of the roof, like he was supposed to. As the gun recalled the rope, he looked over his shoulder at her. Jazz understood he was glaring at her, she could feel the daggers on her skin.
“Hear me out, ok?” He didn’t move or said anything. “I need— I have tried hiring a trainer, at… back at the gym. You know? But that wasn’t enough. I think I need to train with an actual hero—”
“Listen,” the word was accompanied by the hook of the grapple clicking into place, “whatever it is you are looking for, you definitely are not going to find it with me. So. Scramble.”
He made a shooing gesture with one hand and aimed the gun without looking, shooting it and amazingly enough, hitting the edge of the rooftop. He made a salute as he was launched to the air at high speed.
Jazz didn’t follow, mesmerized by the skill. Hood landed with a flip and without breaking momentum, started running to the next rooftop, jumping impossible lengths. The way he moved was confident, powerful and measured.
She wanted to do that. She needed Red Hood to train her.
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#dpxdc#jazz/jason#jazz x jason#anger management ship#hardcover ship#dp x dc#personal coach au#<- tag for this fic#when i have a bunch ill polish and post in ao3
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Duo Bednarek-Zgraja
Walking Colour, 1981 · Play album
Jacek Bednarek (double bass) & Krzysztof P. Zgraja (flute)
Recorded in PR Studio, Katowice - July & August 1981 * Lp info
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The first Lady of Polish Jazz
Portrait of Wanda Warska, by Zofia Nasierowska (PL, 1938–2011) black and white photograph: 40 x 30 cm. (15.7 x 11.8 in.)
Wanda Małolepsza (28 April 1930 – 6 July 2019), known professionally as Wanda Warska, was a Polish jazz singer and composer, was nicknamed the "First Lady of Polish Jazz". Via Wikipedia @abwwia
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Had a slagclaren vision. Mainly inspired by Jenson's race day suit. very much not properly edited.
Jenson/Lewis, 1.5k, T but with implied sexual content. Featuring wingmen Bono and Shov. Set Las Vegas GP 2024.
For Old Time's Sake
It’s always been quite unfair just how handsome Jenson Button is. Even way back in 2015 when he grew that awful moustache. When Lewis had first seen Jenson with it, his eyes had widened and he had to work incredibly hard to bury his snicker when he said good morning to his old teammate in the hotel corridor in Melbourne.
Maybe, it was because deep down Lewis still found Jenson painfully gorgeous, but he wasn’t going to admit just how down bad he was to anyone but himself.
Even now, on a cold Saturday night in Las Vegas, with streaks of grey in his sandy blond hair and beard he looks good in a brown velvet suit jacket. Which no one has any business doing.
In the three years Lewis and Jenson had been teammates, their liaisons had been so few that they could both count them on one hand. The first, in a soaking wet Montreal in 2011, Lewis had come to Jenson still carrying some residual anger about their collision wish put Lewis half into the wall and out of the race. Instead of shouting at each other they just spent the whole night fucking each other instead.
Jenson, being Jenson, had been a perfect gentleman with Lewis the whole time. A tiny part of Lewis had always been in love with Jenson ever since.
“Well done today mate.” Jenson said quietly, leaning against the large black plinth behind them while George, Carlos and Max all chattered away about something Lewis couldn’t make out. He got a whiff of Jenson’s cologne and it had immediately gone to his head.
“Thanks man.” Lewis said to his boots. If he looked at Jenson for longer than a second his mouth would probably say something incredibly stupid that he wouldn’t be able to take back without Jenson flashing one of his charming crooked smiles as he laughed.
(So what if more than a tiny part of Lewis was still in love with Jenson? No one actually knew… apart from Shov and Bono. And they didn’t count because they only said so with knowing glances).
“It’s funny,” Bono said, louder than what he usually spoke, to Shov once the bulk of the engineers had cleared out after the post-race debrief. “I had no idea Jenson was staying at our hotel.”
“Yeah I ran into him this morning.” Shov even glanced out of the corner of his eye to see if Lewis was listening. They really were two of the most insufferable engineers Lewis had ever met.
Lewis logged out of his laptop, and deliberately took a very long time to shut it down, pretending not to care. Bono slowly walked over to Lewis with his hands in his pockets, and a very rare but noticeable glint in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, while Lewis cut him off with a glare. Bono adjusted his glasses instead.
“You joining us then?” He asked with a small smile, his hands still in his pockets as he leaned against the table and crossed one ankle over the other.
“I’ll see how I feel when I get back to the hotel.” Lewis nodded slowly. “But you guys can have some champagne on me.”
Instead of joking that at their age and at the start of the triple header champagne wasn’t the wisest of ideas, Shov just smiled and said thank you as he clapped Lewis on the shoulder. They even hugged, which had been an increasing occurrence over the course of the past year. Like every time they said goodbye it was getting ever closer to their final one as teammates.
“Get home safe.” Lewis said softly as he grabbed his bag from under the table and went to leave the engineer’s office.
“You too mate.” Bono smiled and he and Lewis patted each other on the shoulder as Lewis left. He met his security detail at the entrance to hospitality and Lewis managed to leave the circuit without too much fanfare, and before he knew it he was in the car and on the way back to the hotel where Jenson may or may not be.
Lewis closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest, and let out a slow exhale.
Fuck.
It was either fate, co-incidence, or the universe choosing to laugh at him that Jenson was in the foyer of the hotel when Lewis walked in through the main doors. They both stopped on their own distant spots and looked at each other, their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape.
Lewis took the first step forward as Jenson hung up his phone call and quickly forced it into his pocket. He was still wearing that damn turtleneck and suit jacket.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” Jenson sounded the more breathless of the two. “I thought you and Bono would be tearing up the strip by now.”
Lewis snickered and briefly threw his head back before shaking his head.
“Nah man, we’re both too old for that shit now.”
“Are you too old for a drink in the bar?” Jenson asked sounding half-hopeful. It was almost identical to how their last time together started, back in Sao Paulo in 2012. Lewis had assumed that it was meant to be them saying goodbye.
“We could go up to my suite, I don’t leave until tomorrow.” Lewis slowly scratched at a spot behind his ear and looked around. The foyer was quiet, and anyone currently milling around wasn’t from the paddock. It all felt so temptingly easy. “For old time’s sake?”
Jenson chuckled, and looked down at the ground with his hands in his pockets. He let out a small sigh as his eyes remained stuck on his dress shoes, before he finally looked up at Lewis with his steely blue eyes. Like the sky after a rainstorm.
“Yes.” They both headed for the nearest lift without a word, and were thankfully the only two people in it when it rose to the 12th floor.
They said nothing the whole walk down the corridor, and they didn’t even look at each other. The only sign Jenson gave was when he took one hand out of his pocket, and tightly wound his pinkie finger around Lewis’.
When they finally walked one after the other into Lewis suite they immediately fell into each other’s arms with a long, deep kiss. It was like a routine, Jenson remembered that Lewis liked it when he brushed his thumbs across Lewis’ jaw and Lewis knew that Jenson liked it when Lewis slowly wrapped his arms around Jenson’s waist. Routine. Muscle memory. Definitely not love.
(Though if Jenson did, strangely, ask Lewis to marry him then and there, Lewis’ gut reaction would have been to say yes).
Lewis took his time in unbuttoning Jenson’s suit jacket and insisted he be the one to gently fold it and lay it on the back of the sofa. Velvet needed to be looked after.
Jenson then grabbed Lewis by the hand, and pulled him back in for a messier, more frantic kiss. In case it would be another twelve years before they did this again. Lewis managed to yank Jenson’s turtleneck off his torso and onto the floor.
“Don’t you dare say that you’ve missed me.” Lewis said with a hitched breath as Jenson littered his bare chest with kisses.
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of ruining this for anyone.” Jenson’s voice was low and almost gravelly as he carefully peeled Lewis’ boxers off his thighs.
“Just…” Like so many times before, Lewis was rendered breathless by the sigh of Jenson shifting up the bed towards him. “Be gentle with me.”
Jenson brushed the tips of their noses together, before he kissed Lewis slowly, deeply. Almost as if he was saying I love you.
“Anything for you, Lewis.”
Lewis woke to the sun on his skin and Jenson’s face buried into his shoulder. It was exactly like the last time 12 years ago. Lewis woke first and had a hideous knot form in his stomach at the sight of Jenson sleeping peacefully and Lewis was probably going to ruin it with another goodbye that never said what he really meant.
He could say it now, quietly under his breath, and no one would hear. And Lewis would carry it with him for the rest of his days and Jenson wouldn’t even know… which felt awfully unfair.
But life so often was awfully unfair.
So Lewis gently ran the tips of his fingers through Jenson’s hair, and planted a long kiss on his forehead as the sun made Jenson’s eyelashes look like they were made from solid gold.
Perhaps in another life Jenson wakes up first, and calls Lewis darling before opening the bedroom door to let their silly number of dogs in. And they’re both happy. Maybe it could happen if Lewis was brave enough to say what he meant, but he knew today wasn’t going to be that day.
He buried his nose into Jenson’s hair and told himself that if he fell asleep and woke up again, that maybe it would be that day after all.
#if this is actually semi-decent I'll try and find the time to polish it up for ao3#in the mean time... *jazz hands*#my writing#slagclaren#usual psa that it's fiction based on real people don't share outside of fandom space etc etc etc
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All That Jazz (1979) dir. Bob Fosse
Polish poster by Leszek & Jadwiga Drzewinscy
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