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23 races and a whole year of traveling. That’s what you sign up for when you choose to become a Formula One driver. Countless sleepless nights, jetlagged mornings, and several hour flights that’ll make your ass feel like it’s been stiff your entire life.
Sebastian never found this to be a big challenge. In fact he prided himself in being one of the most well rested drivers when he was on the grid, always sure to get at least five hours in every day so he had stability going forward. He had a system, and it always worked for him— although it didn’t work very well for those around him, who had to constantly wake him up whenever he took one of his naps.
So when Sebastian retired— and could finally get more than five hours of sleep — he started getting an itch. He couldn’t tell for what specifically, but oh that itch was annoying the hell out of him.
At first he thought it was the lack of races he was going to, but he went to Suzuka for the bees and yet a few days later the itch was back.
“Suzuka was so not for the bees,” Fernando laughed out one night, as they sat cuddled together under one blanket on the sofa, watching some cheesy romcom Seb had put on. It was Love Actually. Fernando doesn’t know why he pretends like he doesn’t like the movie when it’s one of his favorites.
“It was for the bees!” Sebastian argued, pouting. “What else would it have been for?”
Fernando grinned at Seb, “Just admit you wanted to see me. There is no harm in it.”
“Not everything is about you, you know?”
“Sure,” Fernando shrugged. “Except when it is. Which is always.”
The cheeky bastard. Sebastian rolled his eyes before leaning in and connecting his lips with Fernando’s, because what else could he do other than kiss that stupid grin off of his husband’s face?
Safe to say they didn’t pay attention to the rest of the movie that night, if you catch Seb’s drift, wink wink.
Looking back, however, that was probably the last time he and Fernando had spent quality time together. Don’t get him wrong, he liked that Fernando was so dedicated to his job. In fact Fernando’s determination and unwavering persistence was what attracted Sebastian once upon a time— 2013 was such a long time ago, wasn’t it?— but now it was giving him such an itch.
That itch again! Always that damned itch. What was it? He knows it’s not a physical itch, that's for sure.
“It’s just— it’s been bugging me the hell out lately and I don’t know what’s causing it!”
“Are you sure it isn’t a rash?” Fernando’s voice came through Sebastian’s speakerphone.
Sebastian stopped chopping vegetables to roll his eyes. “No, it’s not a rash you fuckhead.”
“Okay, strong language,” Fernando shot back, but not without a sly grin on his face. He likes that he’s turned the Sebastian Vettel, four time world champion, back into at least a little bit of a cunt.
“It’s not a rash because it’s not physical, you know? It’s more of like…a metaphorical itch.” Sebastian explained, continuing to chop vegetables for his dinner. “And it’s been coming and going but lately it’s just been so prominent I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Is it because you miss racing?” Fernando never had a problem asking the hard questions. It’s just another thing in the long list of things Sebastian loved about him. Oh, love . Sebastian hasn’t told Fernando he loved him in quite a while now. They weren’t really the vocal affirmations type of couple. Of course Sebastian knows that Fernando knows he loves him, but it wouldn’t hurt to say it sometimes. Seb keeps a mental note for that. “No, I don’t think it’s because of racing,” Sebastian finally answered. “I think it’s something more.”
“Ah. Well you tell me when you figure it out because my brain power is all gone here.” Fernando replied, fidgeting with his hands. He does that often when he’s on a call. Sometimes when he takes business calls and he’s home, he fiddles with Sebastian’s hand instead, feeling the texture of the rings on his fingers that he’s felt thousands of times before. “What’re you cooking?”
“How did you know I was cooking?”
“I can smell it.”
“How do you say that word in Spanish again? Ah, cabrón.” Sebastian retorted. Even with the thick German accent seeping through, it was enough to make Fernando grin like a schoolgirl with a crush. He loves it whenever Sebastian tries to speak Spanish for him. He thought it was so cute. Blegh. Cute.
“I’m just playing with you, amor.” Amor. Sebastian hadn’t heard that from Fernando in a while outside a text. He had to stop cutting vegetables again in fear that he might slice his finger off while blushing over a term of affection. “I know you’re cooking because I can hear your music lowered down in the background,” Fernando finally added.
“Mmm. Like my music choice?” Sebastian asked, regaining his senses enough to notice that he has cut these vegetables way too fine. He should have been finished with this five minutes ago.
“I always do. The Beatles again?”
“Top hits, you know it.”
“Yeah, I like it.” Fernando shrugged. It wasn’t his usual taste, but Sebastian liked it and that was enough for him to try and like it too. “If I was there I would have had you play Get Back.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes fondly, smiling to himself as he put his way too fine vegetables into a boiling pot on the stove. “You and Get Back. Honestly you should have married that song instead.”
“It’s their best one!” Fernando argued. “What would you play if I was home?”
Sebastian paused to think. “Probably Now and Then.”
“Their newest one? Well that is just cheating. We both like that one.”
“Yes, exactly! That’s why it’ll be the one I’ll play.” Sebastian doesn’t mention how he envisions slow dancing to it in their living room, his head on Fernando’s shoulder and their vinyl record spinning slowly. That was too much emotion for a phone call. “Well, I have to go anyway, so maybe play that song some other time.” Fernando replied.
Ugh. Work stealing Fernando away from Sebastian again. It was getting annoying and frankly, he was getting really itchy— oh.
Oh. Oh my god. There was no way. There was no way that that itch— that god forsaken annoying itch— was because he…missed Fernando? Not because he missed racing, or traveling, or even Formula One, but because he missed his fucking husband.
In hindsight, Sebastian should have considered that his first option. But they were just not that type of couple that Sebastian thought he would never get this… sappy, over Fernando being gone for so long. I mean, he handled Fernando being away for Dakar and Le Mans, so why couldn’t he handle this? He supposes with age comes emotion.
“Seb? Are you still there?” Fernando’s voice crackling through his phone snaps him out of his great revelation.
“Uhm,”—Sebastian shook himself back to his senses— “Yes, yes. Sorry schatz, I just thought I put the stove too high again.”
Fernando chuckled, reliving the memory of that one time back in 2022 when they both still raced, that Sebastian tried to cook in their AirBnb to raise Fernando’s spirits after a shitty qualifying. They then had to move to a hotel room the next night because they were kicked out for almost burning the place down.
A knock comes through Fernando’s driver room door. “Fernando, practice one prep starts in five,” his trainer’s muffled voice announced. “ Fucking practice.”
“I know right?” Sebastian’s voice crackled through his phone. Fernando almost asks what the hell he was talking about when he realizes he said his thoughts out loud. “Just one more race and I’m coming home,” Fernando sighed. “One more shitty race.”
“Who knows, maybe the FIA will find something illegal in the Red Bull cars and Lewis’ car and then you’ll win the championship.”
“I’m glad to know you’re more delusional than me.”
“Not delusional— just insanely optimistic.” Sebastian smiled. There’s a beat of comfortable silence where they know they have to say their goodbyes. This is how all their calls go. “I miss you. Stay safe, okay?”
“As if I never,” Fernando retorted. “Bye amor.”
“Bye Fer.” Sebastian contemplates if he should add this last part in. “I love you.” He does. Fernando has his hand on the end call button and the other already on his door when he hears Sebastian say that. It completely stops him in his steps and he almost drops his phone.
Fernando is sure that in the ten years they’ve been together, he can count on his hands how many times he’s said the words I lo — damn, he can’t even say it now. It’s not that he doesn’t love Sebastian, that’s fucking stupid, of course he does. He knows that even if everything is wrong with the world and if everyone and everything turned against him, he would love Sebastian. He knows he would kill for him. Die for him. Run over a man in his Aston Martin SUV for him (he almost did.) Yet despite all this, he just— he couldn’t say the goddamn words.
Fernando grips the door knob tighter than necessary before turning it. “If you don’t come to Abu Dhabi in the next two days so I can kiss you stupid I will kill you. Bye.” He ends the call and goes to get ready for practice.
Oh.
Oh wow.
On the other side of the world, standing before a stove, Sebastian Vettel is dumbfounded.
So I can kiss you stupid.
Well how the fuck am I supposed to say no to that? Sebastian thinks, transferring his slightly burnt food onto a plate. He’s itching again. Oh christ— he’s itching again.
Fernando knows Sebastian refuses to go to races. He knows he hates being crowded in the paddock. He knows he hates being the center of attention when there are so many other wonderful drivers the press could be focusing on. He knows he’s trying to help the environment by not flying to races. Fernando knows all this, yet he still says those stupid words that would have Sebastian pack his bags and fly to mars in an instant if that’s what it took to get it.
“Shut the fuck up cabrón before I kiss you stupid.” Was Fernando’s exact words to him back in Monaco 2013, lifting Sebastian by the collar and pressing him against the wall. They, of course, had their first kiss that night, and the rest is history (not really, they had multiple fights and hate sex before it became good ‘ol history.)
Sebastian was itching. He wanted to scratch it away but he just didn’t know where the itch was. Well he knew why it was, at least. He groans into his hands before opening his phone to an airline app.
Fernando better keep his fucking word.