#i have so many thoughtsaboiythis btw if u haven’t realised

[milflewis]

or can you make sewis toxic

the gc said what if seb n lewis were teammates at merc during baku 2017 earlier today and my brain is fucking melted and this came out. what if lewis went to ferrari after 2016. what if baku happened while they’re were both in the title fight for a wdc with ferrari and make it be the worst possible scenario. what then

“I’m not very nice today,” Sebastian laughs, titling back in his chair, smile bright and toothy, red shirt loose and too big along his shoulders. His fingers are ringless, tapping away on the arm of his chair, no bracelets either excerpt for a thin material one, faded blue, and a thick sensible watch. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry but then again, Sebastian never does. Lewis only shrugs, letting his eyes soften, reaching over to bump Sebastian’s chest with his closed fist, light and easy. Mattia is peering over the file in his hand from across the room. “It’s alright, man. Losing can be difficult to swallow.”

Sebastian is far too good at his job to glare at Lewis. His smile simply widens, chin tilting down so he can glance up through his lashes. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Lewis laughs, stretching his legs out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles, until his back clicks quietly. “I would,” Lewis says and the helmet painted in Lewis’s colours on the shelf behind Mattia holds the exact same number of stars, one grey, two silver, one red, as Sebastian has titles. You’re not special, Lewis thinks. Not to me. I see you. I know you as a racer. As a human being. I. See. You.

I’m not Mark Webber, Lewis had said to him, last year after they had handed him the trophey and he’d become the first Ferrari world champion since Kimi. Sebastian had only laughed, furious and spitting and grinning, no?

Nah, Lewis had leaned in close, smelling his sweat and champagne and the race track that always seems to cling to Sebastian. I’ve beat you in your own team, haven’t I?

That hadn’t wiped the smile off of Sebastian’s face, nothing had that year, not once he started losing and never stopped, but something in his eyes had flickered, got you, and he had said, they aren’t my team, like it was awful and terrible and the worst thing he could think of. He didn’t say they’re yours because apart from the very few times Sebastian very distinctly is, he generally isn’t much of a liar.

Lewis had known him a long time at this point, as a friend and stranger and colleague and rival and teammate and ally and rival, and had just shrugged. Yeah, they are, man. They’re Ferrari, they’ll never be mine. And they’ve got to be someone’s — too needy not to be.

Then why are you here. It was the first time since Lewis signed the contract on the heels of 2016 that he saw Sebastian desperate and it was even partly real. Maybe I just want to win with every team, Lewis had watched Sebastian’s fingers pull at the sleeves of his race suit, the material damp and thick. That’s what the papers are saying, anyway, so it must be true.

Sebastian hadn’t said anything to that, jaw still set and tight, knuckles white where he had twisted them into the material. Lewis could’ve forgiven him for choosing Nico over him, or at least, not choosing Lewis. Could’ve and did. He was even able to forgive him for not saying anything when the shit stupid jokes came back after he signed and the Tifosi lost their shit, bouncing back and forth between ecstasy over getting Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari, stealing him from Mercedes as if Lewis hadn’t walked away on his own two feet, and the horror of having a black driver in their beloved team.

What he is not able to let go, and probably couldn’t even if he tried, is Sebastian not taking back what he said after Baku, never telling anyone that he was wrong, even after the FIA of all people stood in Lewis’s corner. It wouldn’t have hurt so much except —

Well, Lewis had thought, hadn’t he, and —

— it didn’t matter. Not in the end.

Sometimes, Lewis looks at Sebastian, beside him on the podium, across a team briefing, staring in front of him, behind, right there, and he hates him. He’s pretty sure that they could’ve, maybe, possibly, been something.

Sometimes, he even catches Sebastian staring back but for all that he swans around, all open palms and look here, look, look, I’ve got nothing to hide, I swear, he can be so very difficult to read. And it’s been a over a year since Lewis has trusted himself around the other man.