Chapter Text
Was Jenson being obvious? Probably.
Here he was in the corner of some gaudy hotel bar like a creeper, eyes on the beauty sitting on the bar.
Yes, on the bar.
Somehow Lewis had convinced the bartender to let him park his ample behind on his counter, legs swinging as he sang with the circle of men surrounding him, looking up at him with stupid faces as they sang drunkenly.
Lewis didn't drink, Jenson knew, but apparently he had no problem surrounding himself with drunk men as long as they were fawning over him.
Was he jealous? Jenson put his drink down, sighing.
He heard pearls of laughter erupt from Lewis as one of his suitors twirled in front of him and he ground his teeth in irritation. No more, he thought, and stood up. He fixed his jacket with nervous hands and ran a hand through his hair. He headed towards the bar, hoping to catch Lewis' eye.
But the younger man did not notice him until he was in front of him, staring down one of the men because he had put his hand on Lewis' thigh.
"Jenson," Lewis greeted, smile turning confused. "Hey, man. You're here."
Jenson smiled, putting his hands in his jean pockets to seem casual. "Hullo, mate," he said, ignoring he men's glares. "Yeah, I got here a while ago. How, eh, how's it going? Got yourself a little fanclub, I see."
Lewis hummed, snapping open the handheld fan he had been keeping on his lap. "Just some friends," he said, fanning himself. He looked at the man closest to the bar and winked at him.
Jenson stepped closer, pushing back a blonde man who stumbled back into a stool with a drunken groan. "Your 'friends' seem to have decidedly unfriendly plans," he commented, eyeing the bunch derisively.
"I got it handled," Lewis said unconcernedly, snapping the fan shut and smacking a wandering hand that had made its way shamelessly close to his crotch.
The hand's owner moaned as he removed the hand, more in lust than pain.
Smack me, thought Jenson, then he turned red. "Still, maybe I should stick around," he said, puffing his chest out.
Lewis giggled. "You wanna protect me, Jense?" He asked with a grin, leaning back on his hands. "How adorable."
Jenson was thrown back over a decade, seeing a much younger Lewis standing in front of him, Ron Dennis' handprint on his cheek.
"You wanna protect me, Jense? Don't make me laugh."
Jenson swallowed, the sounds of the bar fanding into the background.
"You changed your number," he said suddenly, vaguely swinging in place.
Lewis' eyebrow quirked at the statement. "Yeah," he mused. "Couple times, since last we talked. Fans, you know. Gotta kept the phone safe."
"Right," Jenson nodded, smiling slightly.
"Why?" Lewis asked then, sparing a quick smile to one of his suitors, who poked at him pathetically. The others had taken the hint and scattered for the moment. "You've been calling me?"
"I've been wanting to," Jenson said, looking away. "Just, uh, reconnect."
"What for?" Lewis asked, still smiling idly.
Jenson's heart squeezed. "We were teammates once," he said meekly.
Lewis laughed. "Because I have such a great track record with teammates," he said sardonically. "You'd know. You picked Nico."
And that was it, wasn't it? Thought Jenson. As far as Lewis was concerned, there had been two sides in the Silver War. You either backed Lewis or you backed Rosberg, unless you were Vettel and managed to oscillate between the two like a court jester-slash-therapist. Lewis had decided back then that Jenson was on Nico's side of the war, not without reason.
"We were more than that," he continued. "Once."
Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Were we?" He asked coolly.
Jenson leaned on the bar. "We could have been," he said. "And I know I carry most of the responsibility for that not happening."
"So now…what?" Lewis straightened up, putting the fan down. "You come to me now, years later, hoping I might have a bone to throw at you?"
"More than a bone, I hope," Jenson said, leaning on the bar. He put himself between Lewis' legs, looking up at him. "I love what you've done with your hair."
"I'm afraid you're too late," Lewis said with a cruel smile. "I'm no longer interested in love, in what I was oh-so-willing to give you then. One man could never keep me happy, especially one like you."
Jenson swallowed, eyes prickling. "I would worship you," he whispered, leaning forwards.
Lewis chuckled, leaning down. He ran his nose down Jenson's temple to his cheek, breath teasing his skin. "You're not the only one," he said, eyes on the group of grumbling men still hanging around, keeping a respectful distance.
Lewis leaned back, smile gone. "Go back to your drink, Jenson," he said firmly. "There's nothing for you here."
After a moment, Jenson turned.
But it would not end there.
The next night, as Jenson was returning late from the paddock, he paused on his way to the lift.
A strange man was cornering Lewis against the side of the lift, whispering in his ear. At first, Jenson was tempted to turn around but the tense line of Lewis' shoulders beneath his Ferrari team kit warned him of something being off.
Sure enough, when the lift dinged, Lewis put a hand against the man's chest and pushed. The man grabbed his wrist and leaned in to kiss him.
"I can't," Lewis huffed as the lift's doors opened up. "I've got Quali tomorrow." He moved back, tensing even more as the man didn't release his wrist. "Let me go."
"Come on, sweetheart," the man drew him back. "You promised."
The doors attempted to close, then reopened. Jenson took a step forwards.
"No, I didn't," Lewis glared, stomping on the man's foot and rushing into the lift.
Jenson began to jog, hearing Lewis frantically click on his floor's button and shouted 'hey!' as the man managed to slip inside. Jenson arrived just in time to see the doors close, catching Lewis' nervous eyes for only a second.
"Shit."
Jenson looked up and saw the the lift was heading to the 22nd floor. He ran to the other side of the lobby just in time to see the doors to the second lift open. He pushed past an elderly couple to get in and pressed the button.
As the lift ascended, he ran a hand through his hair and hoped the floor plan on the 22nd was the same as his floor.
He got out of the lift with no interruptions and jogged through the hallways towards the other end of the floor. He heard shouting before getting there and turned a corner to find Lewis and the man.
The man had his arms around Lewis, half-carrying him with one hand partly over his mouth.
"Lewis!" Jenson shouted.
Both men looked at him. Lewis recovered quicker, turning in the hold to punch the man in the neck. The guy choked and let go of him. Lewis moved back and brought his leg up in an elegant kick, hitting him on the chest. The man fell back with a groan. Lewis climbed on his back and twisted his arm behind his back.
"Apologise," he said.
Jenson walked over, feeling kind of useless and yet turned on.
"You bitch— ah!"
"Apologise," Lewis twisted the arm further.
As he got closer, Jenson saw that he had a split lip and the very obvious mark of a handprint on his cheek. He gritted his teeth. "I'd do as he asks, mate," he said, hands on his hips.
Lewis looked up at him, eyes narrowed.
"He was asking for it!" The man spat out.
Lewis scowled, but let go of his arm and stood up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, visibly calming down.
The prone man groaned and tried to push himself up. Jenson put a foot on his back. "Listen," he told Lewis. "Why don't you go to your room? I'll take care of this with the hotel."
Lewis opened his eyes, wiping his face. For a moment, it looked like he was going to refuse but then he sighed and nodded. He reached into his jacket pocket and frowned, patting himself down.
"Looking for the keycard?" The man beneath Jenson chuckled. "Reach into my pocket, sweetheart, and you'll find it."
Lewis grimaced.
"I'll get you another and I'll have the hotel change the lock settings," Jenson said kindly. "Here," he reached into his trouser pocket and took his own keycard out of his wallet. "Number's on the card, go there for now."
"You don't have to—"
"Please," Jenson said, offering the card. "Let me help."
After a moment, Lewis took the card.
An hour later, Jenson walked into his room with a headache. Hotel security had thrown the man out and banned him, but they couldn't do more unless Lewis wanted to call the police and press charges. Obviously Lewis would not want to do that. Then Jenson had to ask for the lock change, which was a real pain because the hotel insisted the premises were safe now and who was he anyways to speak on Mr. Hamilton's behalf?
A friend, Jenson had settled on.
Not good enough. They had agreed to change the locks, but would only give Lewis a key. So Jenson left, annoyed.
He walked into the room, a rather nice one paid by Sky Sports, and groaned as he stretched. He looked around and didn't see Lewis. For a moment, he thought the man had blown off his offer, but then he heard humming from the back.
He walked towards the bathroom and found the door open, Lewis' soft voice drifting through.
Jenson peered inside and chuckled when he saw Lewis buried in a sea of bubbles. The racer laid on the tub, his braids piled up in a bun, looking relaxed as he sang. The mark on his face had faded into a small purple mark on his cheekbone and his split lip was already clogging.
"Hey," Jenson greeted. "Comfortable?"
Lewis opened his eyes and lifted his head from the small cushion on the edge of the tub. "You're back," he said, shifting slightly. "This is a nice tub. Sky didn't spare any expense, did they?"
"Well, I'm a respected pundit," Jenson chuckled. Then he sighed. "Listen, I— the man's gone, can't come back to the hotel. You won't be pressing charges?"
Lewis shook his head.
"Thought so," Jenson nodded. "Where were your bodyguards?"
"They drop me off at the hotel entrance," Lewis shrugged.
"Might want to reconsider that," Jenson muttered.
"Why?" Lewis smirked. "When I've got you to save me."
Jenson blushed despite himself. "I barely did anything," he said, looking down. "You had it handled."
"Of course I did," Lewis said, not unkindly. "I told you."
There was a lull and Jenson cleared his throat. "Uh, they wouldn't give me a new key to your room," he said. "Sorry, mate. They said you need to go down and get it yourself."
Lewis groaned and stretched his neck to look at his watch from where it was laying on a tray by the tub with the rest of his jewellery. "It's fucking late, man," he said.
"Yeah," Jenson blew some air. "You can stay here tonight? If you want. Or, uh, I'm sure someone from Ferrari can—"
"Thanks," Lewis interrupted him, smiling politely. "I can crash on the sofa."
"Take the bed," Jenson said immediately. "Eh, take the bed. I know your back isn't great after, heh, the purpoising and everything so go ahead. I can take the sofa."
"Hmm," Lewis' eyes narrowed, almost playful. He peered past Jenson into the bedroom. "It's a big enough bed. You're old, you should probably take care of your back too."
Jenson laughed. "I'm only five years older than you, you wanker!"
Lewis laughed too. It was sweet.
Jenson felt slightly embarrassed when his humble offering of workout clothes was rejected in favour of some silk embroidered complementary hotel pajamas he didn't even know where in the cabinets. When Lewis rejected his 'clean, I swear!' pants in favour of, well, nothing, he felt dizzy.
Luckily for Lewis, his skincare products were not locked up in his hotel room like the rest of his things because he took them to the paddock with him. Thankfully, his nice bag had not gotten damaged in the struggle.
"You bring all that to the paddock but not an extra pair of boxer briefs?" Jenson asked incredulously, watching Lewis take out bottle after bottle from a deceivingly small metal case.
"Oh, I've got some," Lewis said distractedly, rubbing bubbly soap into his forehead. "I just prefer to sleep comfortably."
Ah.
Once Lewis was done, he woke up Jenson from where he had fallen asleep on the small chair next to the bathroom.
"Loo's free," he said, chuckling as Jenson blinked blearily at him. "If you wanna shower or change."
He had his hand on Jenson's arm and it distracted the Brit, who wanted to register every second of the warmth of his fingers on his cold skin.
Lewis frowned at him. "Jense?" He prompted.
The older man blinked and straightened up, mourning the loss of Lewis' touch as the hand fell away. "Ta," he said. "I'll have a shower."
"Cool," Lewis smiled and turned away.
Jenson stared at him.
"Stop staring at my ass and go shower, stinky," Lewis said as he crawled unto the bed.
Yes, crawled. And Jenson was pretty sure he was wiggling his arse on purpose just to tease him.
He was asking for it.
Suddenly, Jenson felt sick. He stood up quickly and marched into the bathroom, ignoring Lewis' confused call.
The man had made clear, quite bluntly, that he wasn't interested in Jenson. The last thing he wanted to do was make Lewis think he owed him a sexual favour after offering his room for the night. He couldn't stand to be just one more person that took advantage of him. He would not be.