#the idea of seb in little shorts gripped me and i couldnt not write this

[effervescentdragon]

@petitprince16 i guess this is for you since i didnt even wait till i seized this opportunity 😅 mwah ❤️

"I guess I'm playing you again," Sebastian says with that infuriating half-smirk he has always had which used to drive Charles crazy even before he finally saw it directed at him. He's leaning against the door of Charles' locker room, and his playing shorts are really short. Charles gets distracted by Seb's legs for a moment too long, before his eyes return to his face and that damned infuriating smirk.

Namely, the way that smirk drove him crazy changed many ways over the course of his career and with the times, but Charles isn't really ready to get into that. He's blushing already, and he has embarrased himself in front of Seb a million times. He'd give anything to be able to embarrass himself against him a million more, if he were being honest, but honesty is overrated, and Seb is retiring at the end of the season.

There's a whole thing happening, him and Lewis playing each other in one final match. Charles knows all about it, from Pierre and George and Mick and everyone, and he doesn't know what he thinks. Doesn't know how he feels about it, really. Doesn't want to figure it out.

That's a lie, actually. It's jealousy, and annoyance, and sadness, because Seb has always been there, always, someone Charles looked up to before he climbed the ATP ladder, someone Charles met on the courts all over the world, grass and gravel and all in between, someone Charles even beat regularly for a while. He's still not sure if that was the best or the worst thing to have happened to him. But aside from that, Seb was a voice on the phone in the middle of the night and the face across from him in the bar, a warm hand on his neck and even warmer lips on his in the dark of the nights in England and Spain and Australia and everywhere in between.

And now he's retiring, and playing Lewis for his final match, and Charles is just supposed to, what? Go on? Play like nothing is changed? Live on like Seb isn't leaving?

He can't. He has to, though. He hates it with his whole being, but he has to. Fuck.

"Yeah," Charles replies, and tries to smile. "I'll try not to grind you into dust." He shrugs. "At least you can win against Lewis, later."

He isn't sure why he said it. He wishes he hadn't, but he knows Sebastian, and the damage is done already. Seb knows him, too, always has, always had a way of cutting through Charles' bullshit and opening up the most vulnerable parts of Charles, prying him open and making him admit things he didn't even know he thought, or felt.

This time is no different. Sebastian looks at him, really looks at him. His mouth opens a bit on a quiet exhale, and there is recognition and understanding in his expression. Charles flushes fully, bites his lip and puts his hands in his pockets. He scuffs his shoes and tries to think of their upcoming match, but it's no use. His mind is stuck on the fact that Seb is leaving, and that this will probably be the last time they play each other.

A warm hand splays on his shoulder, and soft fingers graze his throat. He looks up into Seb's eyes, then glances around, to see if anyone is in the locker room with them. There's nobody there, and Seb presses his hand into Charles' collarbone. The touch burns, but Charles is used to it. Seb's touches always burned.

"Charles," Seb starts, then cuts himself off. Charles' name always sounds unfinished on Seb's lips. Maybe it's because Seb rarely finishes what he wants to say to Charles. "I - you -" he tries again. Charles is sweating too much already, and he can feel his shorts cut into his stomach. He tries not to move, but Seb is too close already.

"It's okay," he makes himself say. "I - understand."

Seb scoffs. Charles blushes again, but that's fair. He doesn't understand, not really. He's young, and hungry for victory, and he doesn't understand why Seb would walk away. How he even could.

Seb says nothing, and silence is pervasive for a moment. Sounds of the crowd are muffled, and Charles feels his heart in his throat. This tournament isn't really that important, but Charles still wants to win. He wants it more than anything, except, maybe - no. That's foolish. Seb has made his decision. There's nothing that can make him stay anymore. There is nothing worth staying for anymore.

"Charles," Seb says again, and this time, there is something soft in his voice, somthing that hurts Charles. It's the same tone he uses when they're done with fucking and they're wrapped around each other, right before one of them has to get up and leave. That's when they talk, about silly things, and important things. That's when time stops for a while, and everything gets relegated to second place, tennis and playing and winning and injuries and all of the world that's outside their bed. That's the times Charles yearns for and fears the most. "Do you have plans for the summer break?"

Charles blinks. Seb's final match is in July, during the first week of the break. Charles has already confirmed he'd be there, with Seb's PR team and his own, and Lewis' people too. He was planning on coming to Germany, watching the match and then fucking off to Ibiza or somewhere else where he could drink his - whatever away. He doesn't know what Seb is asking. He doesn't know what this all means.

"After July," Seb says, and there is something in his eyes that makes Charles' breath hitch and stop in his throat. "I have some things to do, to wrap up, but August, I - I will be free." Charles doesn't think he's only talking about tennis. "I'll be - I will have time. And if you, if you want - I have a tennis court at my place in Switzerland."

It's not a question. It's not even an offer. It's - it's not like Seb, not to say what he wants, at least not to Charles. He's never had issues with telling Charles exactky what he wants, and what Charles is doing wrong, and what he's doing right. It's not like Seb, to mince words. It's not like him at all. It's more like - Charles.

He looks at Seb, and sees it all then. The tightness of his lips. The crow's feet around his eyes. The way his chest rises and falls. The way he clutches onto Charles' red shirt harder than it's necessary.

Charles feels himself start to smile. Seb is close to him, but Charles takes a step which brings him right into Seb's space.

"I have no plans," Charles says quietly. Seb's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "I would appreciate using your tennis court. To exercise, for next season."

Seb licks his lips.

"That means this isn't our last match."

Charles can feel Seb's breath against his own lips. It smells like watermelon, like the gum Seb likes to chew. It's familiar. It makes him giddy.

"I'm still going to win," Charles says cheekily, and it startles a laugh out of Seb.

"You think?" Seb asks, and his eyes sparkle. His fingers trail a burning path slowly over Charles' skin.

Charles looks at Seb's lips, then back up into his eyes.

"I know," he says with a certainty he has rarely felt in his life. I won today already, he doesn't say.

He's pretty sure Seb knows it already, if the grin on his face is any indication.