Work Text:
I love you, I’m sorry
He knows. Fuck, he knows. As soon as he opens the door to their home Lewis is certain beyond a shadow of doubt. Toto knows that he’s leaving. Leaving for Ferrari. It’s clear from the quiet of the house, there isn’t even a whisper of noise, but his Mercedes is parked out front. He wants to turn around and leave without looking back, it would be easier not to have to face him. Lewis pushes that thought away and slowly sheds his jacket and shoes, the rustling of his clothes breaking through the somber silence.
The kitchen and living room are pristine, nothing out of place, the paper on the coffee table the only thing indicating that Toto was ever there. Lewis isn’t sure whether he’d rather have been greeted with broken plates and shards on the floor, his things strewn everywhere, visible signs of his anger. It’s always more dangerous when Toto doesn’t lash out but keeps it in, crumbles in on himself. It doesn’t happen often anymore, years of therapy have helped him, Lewis likes to think that he did too. During the pandemic he went quiet as well. Gradually, so he hadn’t noticed at first. Not until it had gotten bad, until it had been too late. Clawing their way out of that hole had felt impossible. Every day a fight, insurmountable grief permeating everything. That they had recovered was a miracle, Lewis knows that. Balanced on knife’s edge, so much on the line, but somehow, they had made it out. Alive, together. Surveying the quiet scene of their home Lewis isn’t sure if they’ll make it out of this.
Lewis finds him on the terrasse, staring out into the garden. His first thought is that he looks handsome, wearing those tailored chinos. Broad shoulders straining against the light-blue button up, arms crossed in front of his chest. If it were any other day, he would have gone over to Toto wrapped himself around him in greeting, maybe convinced him to fool around outside for a minute, before inevitably being carried off into the safety of their home. Of course, if it had been any other day Toto would have already turned around to greet Lewis, the crow’s feet beside his eyes deepening as he smiled, strong arms easily pulling him into his side.
Now he simply stands there not acknowledging that he’d heard Lewis coming outside. Slowly he makes his way to him, coming to stand beside him, the few centimeters between their shoulders feeling like a gulf. Not touching feels so wrong, but he’s not sure if his touch would be welcome, if he’s welcome at all. Lewis chances a glance at him from the corner of his eye. Toto looks tired, his face pulled into a frown, but not angry. He’s sure that part will come. The arms crossed in front of him seem defensive all of a sudden, as if he’s trying to ground himself somehow. Most of all he notices the tear tracks on his face, the red rimmed eyes. They are dry now, but the signs are unmissable. Lewis swallows and turns away from the sight. Toto cries so rarely, never in front of others, but always with Lewis. Over the years he’s come to terms with the fact that Lewis not only loves him but wants to be there, wants to comfort him when those tears come. That he’d cried alone, without anyone there, because of him. Lewis swallows uncomfortably around the lump in his throat.
His eyes are drawn to him again, unable to stay away as always, observing Toto with a mix of sadness and apprehension, unsure what will happen, what he’ll do. “How long?”
When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is deep and raw, from the crying. He sounds broken. He’s carefully avoiding looking at him and Lewis wants to scream at him. Scream for him to please look him in the eye, to do something, to lash out. Lewis pushes the impulse away and whispers. “The signing was in December.” It’s January. He uses carefully neutral language as if he hadn’t been the one signing the contract, as if there’s any hope of distancing himself from that, sparing him the pain. Toto inhales sharply at his words, finally looking at him. The devastation in them nearly makes Lewis sob. He simply stares at Lewis for a few moments, then he seemingly crumbles completely, sitting down on the edge of the terrasse heavily, hands running through his hair.
His accent is prominent, as it always is in stressful situation. “December. I assume you did not do it in the few days between Christmas eve and Sylvester.” No, of course he hadn’t. They’d spent the holidays together in Austria with Toto’s family, both of his kids having free holidays for the first time in two years. It’d been nice to watch them together, opening the presents that they’d gotten them, they were grown now but sometimes he still caught glimpses of the children that he’d met all those years ago, tiny and curious about their papa’s new friend. He’d lain with Toto as he cried about them growing up in the middle of the night, devasted and happy beyond measure at the same time. And all throughout that he’d known in the back of his mind that it would come crashing own, that it was only a temporary reprieve before all hell would break lose, once he found out.
Only now does Lewis wonder how he had found out. Ferrari hadn’t announced anything yet, they’d settled on announcing it after he’d have a conversation with Mercedes, with Toto. A conversation that hadn’t happened yet, that he’d been avoiding, unwilling to destroy the fragile peace that the holidays had brought with them. In the end it didn’t matter who it had been, he knew now.
“No, it wasn’t then.” He sits down beside him, careful to keep the distance between them. “When would you have told me? Tomorrow? A week? A month from now? Or not all, so that I could find out from the press release along with all the other idiots?” Lewis flinches back at the accusation, he wouldn’t have done that, of course he wouldn’t have. “No. How can you even think that?” He knows how it looks; he can see why Toto would ask it. He doesn’t mean it, he knows Lewis too well, they know each other too well, for this. But nearly a month has passed since he signed the contract, he hadn’t told Toto when he’d been in negotiations with Ferrari, and he hadn’t told him when he’d gone to sign the contract. Just kept quiet, living as if nothing had changed.
It had been a precious situation, floating in the in between. Negotiations with the Mercedes board had already stalled months before. There was nothing that either him or Toto could have done about it, they talked in circles, always the same arguments. Eventually they had stopped talking about it entirely, some sort of preservation instinct, to keep their relationship intact. He’s sure that Toto had known he was talking to other teams but knowing that, to being confronted with the reality that he’s leaving for Ferrari are two different things. Finding out from someone else, a month after the fact, it must feel like a betrayal. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, from someone else. But I would never do that.” He’s almost pleading with him, hoping that Toto can see that he would never stoop so low.
Beside him Lewis can hear the deep sigh that Toto lets out. “No, I know that. I shouldn’t have said that.” He looks at Lewis apologetically, brown eyes full of sorrow. “But you see how this looks.” It doesn’t look good.
Lewis loses track of time; they just sit beside each other in the garden as the sun sets. He starts shivering as the last sunrays disappear behind the horizon even Monaco gets a little cold in the winter. Finally, Toto breaks the silence. “I don’t know what to say. What to do.” He confesses. “I cannot fully grasp it. I know it is true, but it is a shock.” Lewis can’t help rolling his eyes at his words. “What did you think I was doing? They were never going to give me what I want, I realized that. Did you think I was just waiting around, not talking to anyone else?” Toto shakes his head, brows furrowed in consternation. His right hand almost touches Lewis’ cheek as so many times, before pulling back abruptly as if he’d realized what he was doing. It crushes him. “No, I thought- I had thought that you would speak to me. That we are- partners.” The last word comes out subdued, unsure. Lewis wants to sob at the uncertainty in his voice, wants to reassure him that they are, but he isn’t sure himself. “I’m sorry. I needed to leave, but I am sorry this is how you found out.” There is nothing more that can be said. It’s done already. It’s too late. Again, but this time Lewis had ignored the downward spiral instead of being caught unaware.
Toto gets up from the terrasse without a word, the weariness in his posture obvious in the hunched shoulders. Now that Lewis is looking up at him, seeing him fully and not just from the side he’s sure that Toto has a migraine. The way he’s squinting his eyes and periodically rubbing at his temples, he wonders how he could have missed those obvious signs. He’s almost at the veranda doors when he stalls for a moment. “I just never thought that you’d leave me.” He doesn’t turn around and head inside without a glance back.
Lewis wants to go after him, tell him that Toto’s taking it too personal. That he’s leaving Mercedes not him. But he isn’t sure if there really is a difference.
-
They don’t talk about it. Mercedes and the board are notified, he tells the team and it’s the hardest thing that he’s ever done to date. A lot of people talk about it, internal negotiations on how to best handle this, something that no one had expected. A lot of strategizing, how the development of the car will be affected now that he’s leaving. He sits trough countless excruciating meetings where his move to Ferrari is examined to the bone again and again. The NDAs he signs all blur together, the gist being “don’t talk about Mercedes to Ferrari”, as if that hadn’t been clear.
But he and Toto don’t talk about it. Not in the strange limbo between him finding out and the day it’s finally announced, and not after. Lewis wants to blame him, but he doesn’t bring it up either. It’s not normal though. Toto’s obviously spending more time at the factory and in calls to people Lewis doesn’t know. Discussing things that Lewis is no longer privy to. It’s a jarring thing to be suddenly on the outside. Toto feels the same, there are multiple occasions where he starts talking about something, clearly about to ask Lewis for his input, but then he abruptly stops himself, remembering that it’s no longer possible. The ensuing silence is awkward and painful, neither of them knowing what to do to fix it.
It cannot be fixed. In a way there is nothing to be fixed. He isn’t sure whether he means that the move doesn’t affect their relationship, or that it’s already fucked beyond saving.
He does know, deep down, but confronting that is too painful. So, they don’t talk about it.
What is perhaps even more painful than the silence that permeates their home is the fact that Toto has stopped touching him. Physical intimacy had come surprisingly easy to them, both in private and in public. Toto’s arm wrapped around his waist as he pulled him close post Quali, a hand on the back, even bone crushing hugs that sometimes lifted Lewis of the ground, all of it had been natural to them. Even before that fateful night in 2014. Those touches are easily explained by the natural camaraderie that exists between men, especially in their environment. No one batted an eye, no one suspected anything more going on.
Just as no one cared when the touches stopped when the season started again. There was always a distance between them, hugs were brief, no longer basking in the full body contact as they so often did. Toto didn’t touch him, not in public and not in private. When they sleep in the same bed Toto stays on his side of the bed, barely moving throughout the night, the days of Lewis waking up on his chest, wrapped up in strong arms long past. It tears at him, Lewis feels so lonely so rejected, every time Toto doesn’t move in. His body cool where normally he’d be feeling the warmth of his touch. It grates on him, every day that they go without talking, without touching, it feels like he’s being repeatedly punched in the gut.
It's the first night home after the shit show that is Miami, they’d gone to bed hours ago. Toto isn’t asleep, he can tell from the pattern of his breathing despite the darkness in their bedroom. Lewis on his side, curled in on himself, facing Toto’s back.
“Do you hate me?” The words slip out quietly, he can’t keep them anymore, voice quivering embarrassingly. For a few moments it seems as if Toto is going to continue to pretend that he’s asleep, then the sheets rustle as he turns around to face him. It does nothing, the room is far too dark, and his eyesight is fucked. “Why do you ask?” That’s not a no. “We don’t touch anymore. You haven’t touched me properly in weeks, not even a fucking hug.” We haven’t had sex since that day he thinks but keeps it to himself. “I’m not going to fuck you, Lewis. Is that it?” Toto’s voice has an annoyed edge to it as he responds. “I didn’t say that. That’s not what I asked at all.” He takes a deep breath in. “Because you hate me, right?” Lewis isn’t sure what kind of self-sabotaging bullshit he’s currently digging himself into, but he can’t seem to stop himself.
“Yes.” A few breaths pass between them then he speaks again. “No. No I don’t hate you.” It’s a balm for his soul, hearing those words. “I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s not what I want.” Lewis isn’t sure what Toto wants, not anymore, maybe he never truly did. Making him suffer, punishing him for leaving seemed likely. The sheets rustle again as Toto shifts. Then suddenly a large hand is touching his bare upper arm, heat seeping into his body rapidly. “Come here.” Without any resistance he lets himself be pulled into him, body folding into Toto instinctually, settling his head on his chest, head just under his chin. It’s a position they’ve fallen asleep or woken up in so many times, despite the weeks that have passed Lewis body completely relaxes. The tension drains from him as Toto’s arms wrap around him.
“I don’t hate you either.” Lewis whispers into his chest before closing his eyes. That night they fall asleep wrapped up in each other, the way it used to be before it all went to shit. Lewis feels better. It doesn’t matter that it’s only temporary. He doesn’t know what they’re doing, not like it will save them. It’s fucked, it’s already over. The only thing they are doing is prolonging the inevitable.
-
He’s going to fucking murder him. Wring his neck until he chokes to death, claw out his eyes and wipe that stupid look of his face. Lewis isn’t a violent person, he really isn’t, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way to get through to Toto beside violence. Every second week he has another stupid comment about Lewis, or backhanded compliment whenever he’s feeling generous. The way he always says it with that blank face as if it was fact. As if it all didn’t affect him, pretending to be above it. And Lewis can’t do anything, can’t respond, just goes to work like it was any other day. Lewis knows he isn’t, of course he isn’t. That someone from PR hasn’t told Toto to shut the fuck up is a miracle of its own, it must be hurting them to have this consistent negative press, coming from the fucking team principal.
At home he treats him as if he was hysterical, annoying wife. Someone you put up with because you have to, prying into your affaires. Like Lewis is going out of his way to be difficult, as if they weren’t partners in all parts of their life.
Following Silverstone there had been a brief period of peace, as if they had returned to times before. He’d been lulled into false sense of peace, of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, not even for summer break. Anger was boiling in him, skin itching, he wanted to fight someone, preferably the tall disaster that needed to be taught a valuable lesson. Toto wasn’t home yet still stuck in some meeting with the engineers as he’d informed him placidly when Lewis had called earlier. What for he couldn’t possibly fathom, the car wasn’t getting better, they’d be better of just leaving it as is instead of trying out upgrades that wouldn’t work anyway. Well, if he couldn’t fight him right now, he could pass some time and annoy him.
Toto’s home office was on the second floor, at the end of the hallway, the set up reminiscent of the one at Brackley. Lewis sat down heavily in the chair. It was the one that he’d purchased for him after having had enough of his complaints about his back pain. Ergonomic or some shit, fucking comfortable, he could understand why Toto spent so much time here in the past few months. Lewis idly spins in the chair for a few minutes contemplating what to do, his feet only just brushing the floor. Then he starts rifling through the things on his desk. They are never in a disarray no matter how stressful things get, Toto always keeps order in his office, it’s always annoyed him. He isn’t looking for anything in particular, there will be nothing of interest to him anyway. Ever since he’d found out about the deal with Ferrari, he’d started keeping the most important documents in the safe. It was over the top to Lewis, not like he would ever use that to his advantage, but he let Toto be. How they coped with the situation would of course be different, if he needed that he could have it.
But evidently, he hadn’t been coping at all, going by the bullshit leaving his mouth, printed in the press whenever Lewis opened his phone, greeted by another headline containing his partners words. It brought him some sort of sick satisfaction to look through his drawers, knowing how annoyed Toto would be when he comes home, he hates when his things aren’t put back in the place they were before. Deliberately he leaves papers out of order, doesn’t fully close drawers he opens, let’s some pens clatter to the ground. Lewis could be a bitch of a wife if that’s what Toto really wanted. Hysterical and nosy wasn’t a problem.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Toto’s angry voice causes him to look up. The Austrian stands in the door of his office, still wearing his suit jacket the two top buttons opened. He looks exhausted and furious at the same time, forehead creased. Lewis couldn’t resist a smirk at the sight. He wasn’t the only one that could get under the other’s skin. “Just being the bitch, you make me out to be, darling.” His words are full of faux sweetness, dripping with condescension. He enjoys the way Toto immediately tenses in response, more the tone than the actual words. Nothing gets him quite like someone looking down on him, no matter if real or not. “Get away from my desk.” His voice is quiet, but the anger is boiling just under the surface.
“Why? Do you not like me going through your things? Not like I could divulge anything of importance, the car is too shit for that.” He asks whilst opening another drawer, not even pretending to look at the contents of it, eyes glued to Toto watching him react. It’s so satisfying watching him tense, finally reacting. Showing his emotions, that mask of cold distance quickly crumbling. “You can’t look at those, Lewis. Can’t you remember, you’re leaving.” The words come out strained, he isn’t shouting, not yet. “How could I fucking forget, hm? Every second day you say something, it seems like you cannot wait to get rid of me. Keeping your mouth shut is suddenly an impossible feat for you!” He feels himself slipping. The anger that has been building up for so long taking over.
“Is this about the press again? Calm down, it isn’t what you make it out to be.” Now Toto’s the calm once again, looking down on Lewis and his emotional outbursts, unaffected and cold. Seeing that façade go up so easily makes his hands shake. He’d truly love to punch him. “It is. It’s like you want to ruin this for me! Make sure that the last year I have with Mercedes is the worst it could be! You’re fucking punishing me for this. You’re the one taking it all too personal not me!” Belatedly he realizes that tears have started pooling in his eyes, angrily he wipes them away. Why does this always happen?
“Of course it is personal! You’re leaving me! How is that not personal?” Toto’s voice is raised as well, he’s moving closer to the desk, closer to Lewis. He should really examine his identity issues, identifying with the team was well and good, but he wasn’t sure whether Toto could define himself as a person without Mercedes. And that was a huge fucking problem. “I’m not leaving you! Me leaving Mercedes doesn’t mean I’m leaving you! Get that trough your thick fucking skull!” It was easy to say. Mercedes and Toto weren’t one and the same, but even before that they hadn’t been doing well. He’d signed to Ferrari without mentioning it once to him. Maybe he was leaving Toto, by leaving the team. “It’s the same thing. Don’t be pedantic.” The dismissiveness in his voice makes Lewis scoff. Instead of responding he opens the last drawer, needing to bend over to properly see inside. He’s about to hurl an insult at him when he freezes.
Nestled in the bottom last drawer is a little box, cartier red. He takes it out with shaky hands. It could be anything really, a bracelet or earrings. But for some reason he knows that it’s not. He knows it’s a ring. Toto has gone quiet as well, inhaling sharply when he sees what Lewis is holding. What the fuck is an engagement ring doing sitting in Toto’s drawer, for God knows how long. The tears he had wiped away earlier start to well up again. “What the fuck is this, Toto? Fucking of course. Who were you proposing to, hm?” He manages to look at him, feeling a single tear roll down his cheek. He shouldn’t be surprised; powerful men were always infidels. That wasn’t something new, but he had thought that maybe Toto was the exception, what with his words regarding Horner earlier in the year. But seeing the box, well undeniable that there was someone else. He wasn’t going to propose to Lewis now was he, after a decade of a secret relationship.
Toto remained quiet, the anger drained from him, quietly staring at the box. “Fucking answer me! I deserve to at least know who the hell you were fucking behind my back. Must be one hell of a lay for you to consider marriage.” He spits out, although the words aren’t as sharp as he’d like, he can hear the choked back tears in his voice. Fucking hell.
“I was not cheating on you, Lewis. I have never strayed. There is no one as good as you.” Toto’s voice is so sincere, the way he regards him, he’s telling the truth. He moves even closer, rounding the desk, crouching in front of Lewis so he doesn’t have to crane his neck up, but not quite touching him. “What’s this then, hm?” He asks, voice still trembling, holding out the box. Gently Toto takes the box from him and opens it. Inside, nestled in white satin is a simple, gold engagement ring, beset with small diamonds. It’s fucking beautiful. “I thought it obvious. This is an engagement ring. For you.” Lewis eyes widen at his words, flickering from the ring to Toto’s face. But there is no deceit there, and Toto has never been able to lie to him. It really was for him.
With those two words his whole world shifts, even if he’ll have to return to the real world the next day, where their problems won’t be fixed by this. It doesn’t matter, right now he loves him, loves him so much and is loved in return. “When were you going to ask?” He chokes out the words, still on the verge of crying, but thankfully out of joy and not sorrow. He tangles one of his hands with Toto’s free one, the other carding trough his dark hair. “Well, I had thought it suitable to do when you retired, when there’d be less distractions. That we could get married and have some peace.” He’s just as soft, the furrow of his brow smoothed out, shy smile curling his lips as he looks up at Lewis. They are both delusional, suddenly believing that this future is possible, that it’s more than a nice fantasy. But at least they believed in it together.
“That’s uh. God. I don’t know what to say.” He wants to say yes. Yes, to marrying him, even though it is the worst decision he will make, he’ll do it anyway. When Toto asks, he’ll say yes. And in a way he already has.
He pulls him in heedless of the ring box in his hands, probably worth an unconscionable amount, he needs to feel him, be close. He peppers Toto’s face with kisses, pressing along his cheeks and nose until their lips finally press together in a chaste kiss. Eventually the angle becomes too awkward, Lewis sitting in the chair for once the one bending down toward him, Toto on his knees craning his head upwards, one hand still holding the box. “This isn’t working. Stand up.” Lewis murmurs already pushing the other man up. “I don’t how you can do this, my neck is already aching.” The words are pressed against his lips, unwilling to part for even a second as they clumsily maneuver themselves into a standing position. Lewis ends up half leaning half sitting on the desk, Toto looming over him, one leg slotted between his spread thighs.
They are smiling, a little breathless as they continue to kiss, hands roaming along long limbs and muscles. He licks into Toto’s mouth, one hand running up his back settling on his shoulder the other tangling in his hair, pulling him further down with a tug. Lewis can’t help but smile at Toto’s dazed expression when they finally separate, dark eyes, pupils blown wide. One of his hands had slipped under his shirt, tracing idle patterns along his spine. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He asks coyly, as if it hadn’t been a long time for him as well. Toto only hums in response, eyes trailing up and down his body, seemingly fixated now that he’d gotten so close. But he recognizes the hunger in his eyes, the lust. He draped his arms around his neck. “Did you have anything in mind?”
Finally, Toto seems to regain a little of his mental faculties, his hands settling on Lewis hips. “Nothing special. Whatever you want.” Lewis chuckled, now wasn’t the time to be shy. He pulled Toto down, pressing kisses along his collarbone, upwards to his neck. “Did you want to undress me?” His breath hitched, tightening his grip involuntary. “Yes.” More kisses pressed to his ear this time, before he murmured: “Did you want to fuck me?” “Fuck, yes. Please, Schatz.” He breathes out, voice raspy.
“Well, you should get on with that, because right now I am neither naked nor being fucked.” Lewis teased. God, he was so cute when he was flustered. It didn’t happen often, but by God. He took pity on his seemingly broken husband and pulled him into a kiss. Toto recovered and eagerly kissed him back, hands roaming along the waist of his pants toward the zipper. It took him a few tries, distracted by Lewis’ mouth and his wandering hands before undoing his trousers. He let out a desperate groan when he slipped his hand inside, cupping his cock. It always made him weak in the knees when he felt his hand, feeling how large it was even trough his pants. He was only half hard, but rapidly filling out and losing his composure from just a few simple touches, they weren’t even naked.
He helplessly bucked his hips into Toto’s lose grip, desperate for more friction. “That was easy, Schatz.” He murmured into his ear, the mix of German and his pronounced accent sending shivers down his back, his cheeks flushing. Shy no more. In retaliation his hand found the bulge in his pants, lightly running over it, nowhere near enough friction. “Now, now don’t tease.” He warned, voice slightly strained. “Or, what?” Teasing, Lewis cocked his head, staring up at him with a mischievous smile. Toto had pulled back, dark eyes pinning him to the desk, pink tongue darting out quickly to lick his lips. “Come on, are you going to stare all day?” He spread his legs further, trying to goad him into action. “I could.” He undid the cuffs on his shirt before starting on the row of buttons. “You look delicious like this.” Toto abandoned his quest to shed his shirt, instead grabbing his wrists and leaning over him, pushing Lewis flat on the desk. Distantly he could hear something clattering to the floor but neither one of them, had the minds to pay attention to what it was.
“Yeah?” He kissed him again, licking into his mouth gently, enjoying the traces of the fruit that Lewis had eaten earlier after lunch. “Yes. Good enough that I’m tempted to simply rip of your clothes and fuck you right here.” Lewis tilted his head, exposing the length of his neck and the smooth unmarred skin there, hooded eyes boring into Toto’s. “Why don’t you do that?” Toto didn’t resist the offer and pressed his mouth against his neck, trailing his lips from his ear down to his collarbone, sucking a mark there. Lewis squirmed at the attention, the teeth lightly grazing his skin. “Because I want to enjoy this, savor it properly.” He let go of one of his writs, trailing it down his body down to his thigh, squeezing it lightly.
Lewis wrapped his free arm around his shoulders as soon as he could, trying to get closer to him in, the attention making his whole body flush, his cock tenting his pants, gasping softly in Toto’s ear. Suddenly both of his hands were free as he focused on getting of his trousers and pants in one go. “Lift up a bit for me, Schatz.” Lewis did as told, in the span of seconds sitting half naked on Toto’s desk, dripping precum on some surely important papers. He couldn’t help but sigh at the pet name, it had been so long since Toto had called him that unironically, just lovingly. “Your shirt.” Not bothering even bothering to form a full sentence. The black shirt he’d been wearing discarded somewhere in a corner of the office. “So gorgeous.” Toto breathes out, staring at him, naked save for the jewelry adorning his body. Muscles shifting under chocolate skin, tattoos winding along his limbs. “How I have missed this.” He presses his mouth to his chest, breathing in Lewis’ scent, letting his lips linger everywhere. When he reached his nipple he mouthed it, latching his teeth lightly teasing out that familiar groan out of Lewis. He paid attention to the other as well, anticipating the addicting noises that would be his reward.
A small noise erupted from his throat as Toto trailed a hand along the soft skin of his abdomen, underneath strong muscles rippling at the contact. His mouth followed the trail of his hand, licking up the salt on his skin, occasionally sucking a light mark on to the skin. “Stop teasing, Toto.” He panted out, inhaling sharply as his tongue briefly dipped into his bellybutton. “Why?” Smug bastard.
“You said you’d fuck me.” His fingers were digging into Toto’s broad shoulders, still annoyingly clad in his shirt. Somehow, he’d ended up completely naked on his desk, whilst he was still nearly completely clothed. He finally lifted his head staring up at Lewis with a gaze full of heat and longing, lips swollen, hair disheveled from his fingers. It was an expression that he knew well. “I’m getting to that, don’t worry. But I’ll take my time. We’re just getting to the good part.”
“I hope so-” His words are abruptly interrupted by a strangled moan as Toto mouths along his cock. The touch was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Lewis arching his back in search of his mouth. Toto leans back, pulling the chair closer so that he could settle himself properly in front of him. He didn’t move to continue his earlier ministration but simply ran his hands along Lewis legs. Admiring his thick thighs, the muscles of his glutes. Now that they were finally touching like this again, after months of barely any contact he couldn’t get enough. Teasing hands running up and down Lewis’ limbs, everywhere but on the weeping length of his cock, leaving him to gasp and writhe on the desk.
“Toto, fuck. Please get on with it.” He made him wait for a couple more torturous moments, that infuriating smug smirk on his face. He had no right to be that attractive whilst being such a fucking arsehole. Before Lewis could muster the mental capacity to hurl an insult on him, he’d bent down again and wrapped his lips around the head of Lewis cock. It had been leaking pre-cum ever since they’d started kissing, straining, neglected of attention as Toto tortured him with the lightest of touches. Getting some proper stimulation made Lewis throw his head back, meeting the wood of the desk with a painful thump.
All of Lewis thoughts scatter as he feels that moist heat, as Toto swallows his full length down with ease, everything narrows down to that feeling. His hands scramble to find his head, tangling into Toto’s hair as his breath stutters. The grip he has on the brown strands tightens as he adds pressure, hollowing out his cheeks, then pulling back to suck at the tip, making sure to lap up all of his precum. “You feeling better, Schatz? This what you wanted?” He has the audacity to ask when he pulls back briefly before continuing that exquisite torture, his throat a little raw already, the sound of it making Lewis even harder if possible.
The wet heat of his husband’s mouth is almost enough to make him forget what he originally wanted. He could easily come like this. Spill himself down his throat, fuck that thought nearly makes Lewis come on the spot. Toto always looks so good after a blow job, swollen lips, a little cum smeared on his face. It’s that in combination with the fact that Lewis is the only that gets to see him like this. Toto Wolff, Team Principal, Billionaire, swallowing down his cock as if he’d never done anything else. That’s what does him in time and time again. It never loses its potency, only getting worse with time.
“You know I am. But you said you’d fuck me.” He chokes out between sharp breaths. Giving his best not to fuck his mouth. Toto smiles, pulling back, replacing his mouth with his hand. “This seems to be working just fine. You are just a few seconds away from coming. It wouldn’t take much.” It wouldn’t, they are aware of this, the careful way Toto is holding his cock is telling. Providing just the right amount of friction to keep him hard but not close to the edge. He doesn’t want Lewis coming like this either. But he wants him to say it again. What his husband wants…
“Come on, I know you want to as well. Fuck me, please.” Normally he would’ve made him beg more in this sort of mood, but the months of no contact have made them both impatient. Soon enough Toto is discarding his button up. Lewis is sitting up, hands fumbling along his pants trying to get of his belt and open his trousers at the same time. The languid energy from a few moments ago has shifted into something more frantic, both desperate to finally feel each other again. The belt is open quickly enough, followed by his slacks. “Not here.” Toto mumbles against his lips, when he finally registers the words over the sound of his own heart rapidly beating and the blood rushing in his ears Lewis only nods in agreement. He couldn’t care less where it happens, he’s busy looking at Toto’s bared body. Surveying his broad chest, the abs that a man his age truly shouldn’t have. He presses himself closer, letting out a groan into Toto’s mouth as their cocks’ touch, trapped between their bodies. Lewis wraps his arms around his neck, his legs copying the move, wherever he wants to move to, he isn’t going to let their bodies be separated for a second.
Thankfully Toto catches on and then he’s being lifted into his arms. Lewis groans into his shoulder, pressing kisses into the flushed skin. If he hadn’t already been painfully aroused this would have done it. He’d never understood the appeal of being manhandled before toto. Mostly coming down to the fact that he had considered himself straight up until that point, and that despite not being the tallest, his muscles made him quite heavy. The first time Toto had easily rolled him over in bed, not even batting an eye at the resistance Lewis had put up, he had understood. Being so easily overpowered was a heady rush, heat pooling low in his stomach. He’d felts so safe.
He doesn’t notice where they are until Toto crosses the threshold into their bedroom, depositing him on their bed. God, he’s missed him, his laughter, the easy conversations, but he’s also missed the warmth of his body, the long limbs, the strength of his muscles. He’s staring again, only realizing when Toto smugly asks: “Enjoying the view?” Lewis doesn’t dignify him with a response, he rifles trough the nightstand drawer searching for lube. Briefly he wonders whether it can expire, but Toto is crawling onto the bed before he can formulate it properly and the world narrows down once more to the heat between them.
He spreads his legs wide, allowing Toto to settle on top of him, cocks trapped between their bodies, rubbing together with the slowly, lazy rolls of his hips. He licks down to his chest, sucking more bruises around his clavicle, drawing more whines out of Lewis. Tracing the marks he left before, making sure to add a few more along the tender skin of his lower abdomen, along the line of neatly trimmed course hair. “Toto.” He pants out, impatiently tugging on his hair. “Stop teasing.” Finally, he concedes and settles on his haunches, patting one if his thighs. “Alright then, turn around, Schatz.” With a groan Lewis heaves himself up, settling on his hands and knees. He’s exposed, dick hanging between his legs, back arched on purpose but there’s no shame, only pure lust coursing trough him. Toto has seen it all before, the line of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist, thick thighs. Predictably he hears the sharp exhale behind him. “You are gorgeous, Süße.” He rasps out.
His hands settle on him, digging into the meat of his arse, spreading the cheeks to reveal the tight furl of his arsehole, dark pink, clenching. He wastes no time and fits his mouth over the small gap, working his tongue around the rim, liberal with the spit just like Lewis prefers. They both exhale a groan, Lewis dropping his head between his shoulders, breathing shakily. Toto continues until he’s relaxed, open enough to fit his pointed tongue inside. “You prepped for this.” Toto groans out, likely tasting the lube that Lewis had used earlier in the shoer to prep. “Why I wonder? Was this your plane? Hoping to anger me enough and then offer yourself as stress relief? So desperate.” He doesn’t know himself why he did it, he’d hoped that maybe. A little bit of hate sex, some form of touch. But this was so much better, whatever he’d dreamed up paled in comparison. He can’t muster up a response overwhelmed by the moment. “F-Fuck, yes. That’s good.” Lewis groans out.
His hips make little aborted jerks, trying to grind closer but not wanting to inadvertently break Toto’s nose, moaning obscenely as he spreads his rim giving him two broad licks. Then he’s gone and Lewis whines at the loss. He hears rustling behind him, Toto shifting to get the lube, the snick of the bottle and then the wet squelching sound. Then two wet fingers prod at his entrance, easily slipping inside. They’ve no doubt already stained the sheets, but he can’t bring himself to care, the easy slide of his fingers inside him more than make up for it. He rocks back, hole greedily opening and swallowing the fingers as Lewis whines. The stretch deepens as he slips in a third one. “God, you take it so easily. You should see yourself, süße.”
“One of my many talents.” He chokes out somehow, prompting an exasperated laugh. Toto curls his fingers, just brushing across his prostate, swollen and sensitive. “I’m ready. Come on, fuck me.” No resistance this time, no teasing, savoring it, drawing out a little more. He only hears the sound of more lube being squirted out. Desperately he cranes his neck around, trying to catch a glimpse. He’s lubing up the length of his dick. Lewis shifts turning on his back again. The stimulation would be better if he’d stayed on all fours, but he wants to be close to him. Wants to look at his face, hold him.
The thick head of his cock passes over him a couple of times before he finally pushes in. Despite the prep, the stretch is slightly painful, but Lewis only wraps his arms around his shoulders, digging his fingers into the skin on his back. Toto stays still letting him get used to the intrusion, but clearly not unaffected himself. “You can move.” Slowly he draws his hips out, pushing forward and pushing back until there is a rhythm to the wet glide of his cock and an answering slew of Lewis groans. He’s always been loud in bed, unable to keep his noises quiet, it’s delightful to Toto.
He's panting against the side of his neck, the sound of his breaths fills the room alongside the slapping of their skin, and the wet squelch of his hole. It’s been so long since they had sex, since they were this close, since he’d felt him so deep inside, he’s already on edge. “You can fuck me harder. Please.” He follows and snaps his hips harder. Lewis can only moan deliriously. Toto feels so fucking good. He chances a look downwards, where their hips meet. He can’t see fully, but he can feel the mess of cum and lube dripping out of his hole, it’s so hot that he fears that he’s going to burn up and die.
Lewis wraps his legs around him, digging his heels into his ass, encouraging him to fuck as deep as he can. The sounds he’s making are obscene, but he doesn’t care. His husband is fucking him, good, deep, inside where he belongs. For long uninterrupted minutes they simply pant into each other, kissing impossible but he doesn’t move away. Toto’s whispering in his low, raspy voice, he can’t comprehend what he’s saying, the German words still making shivers run up his back.
It's been too long because he’s already on edge, watching Toto trough hooded eyes. Watching his husband working hard to bring them both over the edge, sweat droplets on his face, the muscles in his arms bulging from the exertion, abs contracting with every thrust. His thoughts drift back to how it started, the anger he felt at his words, now replaced by pure pleasure. Lewis isn’t sure whether he’s doing it to ruin his last year, to punish him for leaving, him and the team, trying to humiliate. Or if he simply can’t process what’s happened and isn’t thinking properly. In this moment he can’t tell which it is. It could be both. What is more jarring is the realization that it doesn’t matter to him.
“I’m close. I want you to come in me.” Lewis pants out. Toto’s close as well, he can tell from the short grinding thrusts, the noises, louder when he’s close to the edge.
“Fuck, so close already? Just from my cock. Going to come untouched, Süße?” It’s phrased as a question, but really, it’s a command. “Yes, yes. Come with me please.”
“You want me to come in you, want it inside of you?” He can’t muster the words to agree only nodding his head, pulling him as close as possible.
“If I could I-” Toto murmurs into his ear, thrusts grinding, pressing against his prostrate with every thrust. “I would knock you up. Would’ve already.” Lewis registers the words, but no words leave his mouth. Instead, his back arches in extasy, eyes rolling back into his head his brain whiting out as he comes untouched, spilling over his chest, squeezing Toto’s cock with his tight, slick walls. Toto follows him over the edge, spilling his hot cum into him.
He basks in the high of his orgasm, only peripherally aware of Toto stilling and eventually collapsing beside him on the bed. “Love you.” He whispers, eyes already fluttering closed. The days events, the emotional turns going from furious to ecstatic having drained him. Lewis falls asleep in the arms of his husband, content smile on his face.
-
Lewis has been ambivalent regarding the secrecy of their relationship for some time. Back in 2014, when he first felt the press of Toto’s lips against his, the heaviness of his palm on his skin, their skin touching for the first time, he’d been terrified. Terrified of it going wrong, of people finding out. Fresh of his second WDC, over the moon, but still at his core terrified. It was of course a mix of how society viewed gay relationships ten years ago, how he viewed himself and the importance that he gave to others in his life. He’d been fine fucking Toto behind closed doors, playing house with him away from prying eyes, but going public wasn’t an option.
Toto didn’t quite have the same issues, the world was largely more forgiving to white, powerful men. But it had fit his purposes, nonetheless, keeping Mercedes as a brand scandal free was good for profit, and how had that profit come along. Over the years as he’d matured and came to terms with himself that fear had disappeared. Now of course this was influenced by other factors, winning a few more championships, cementing his place in history as one of the greatest of all time. The financial success they had, the more and more progressive stance that the world was taking on, it all helped. The backlash they could receive gradually lost its importance, as had other people’s opinions. The secrecy they maintained stemmed from habit and a desire to keep the press at bay. Dealing with the media frenzy that would no doubt ensue was not worth it, and for what? Their relationship was theirs; he didn’t need public declarations to know what they were.
In recent months he’d thought it a blessing. The situation was difficult enough without the added layer of their relationship. If the public were aware of it, everything would have been a hundred times worse, their every interaction studied even more closely, torn to absolute pieces. Not even a shred of quiet would have been granted to him. It would have been an absolute shitshow, it’s hard to imagine this getting worse, but it would have so, he is grateful.
But in the quiet moments he hates it. Lying in bed at night, awake wondering about the future. The most important relationship in his life was crumbling. It was over if he was being honest with himself. There was no rational way that they had a future together. The both of them simply refused to acknowledge that part. They had privacy as they dealt, refused to deal with the end. However, when it was over no one would know. It would be as if it had never existed. Only a handful of people would be aware that they had shared this connection. It seemed unfitting, disgraceful for it to disappear like this, into the ether. The best thing in his life, suddenly gone. And it had been the best thing in his life. It had been good, for so long. Only in recent times had something shifted, Lewis told himself.
Now the end was drawing near and there was nothing more he wanted than for it to be known, that there would be some mark left on the world by them. By the us they had been for so long, by them as a unit, not separate people.
Maybe if people knew how difficult this really was, how devastating this was it would be treated better. With more understanding. Perhaps Toto would be treated with more understanding. (And isn’t it so telling that even after everything, the hateful words they’ve exchanged, all the pain, he still thinks about him. Thinks of how to make this easier.)
-
Abu Dhabi comes quickly. It’s been on his mind the whole year, something to look forward to, something to dread. The days pass too quick, everything is in a blur. He’s choked up one moment the next indifferent and distanced. It isn’t better than the rest of the year, P16 to start, and that only thanks to the penalties of others. It’s shit. It’ll be a fucking miracle if he could finish in the points. He hadn’t wanted it to end like this. Despite everything. But there was nothing that could be done now.
On race day he wakes up early. Surprisingly they had spent the night together. All of Abu Dhabi, together. Falling into bed at the end of an exhausting day had really been all that had been in the cards, the days packed with press and meetings. But every evening he’d found himself in the hotel room they shared. Fallen asleep wrapped up in Toto’s arms. And then suddenly it was the last day. Light streamed in through the windows where the curtains hadn’t been pulled quite closed. Lewis shifts until he’s turned around facing him. He’s still asleep, face slack, the lines on his face smoothed out, brown hair a mess. He watches Toto sleep, listening to his deep breaths, memorizing that relaxed face, he hadn’t seen it a lot this year. He hadn’t seen it much since the pandemic if he was being honest.
Will he ever see him like this again. Bared and vulnerable in his sleep, guard completely down? Or is this the last time? He wishes that they were more normal. That they had spoken about the future, instead of hiding, refusing to confront it like cowards. Now there was this uncertainty, about the end of them. But he was still a coward, so he pushed that thought aside and continued watching him rest.
It was unfair he thought, age suited Toto well. People always talked about him and his looks, that he seemingly hadn’t aged much in the past decades, only his hair changing. And he was glad of it, certainly, but there was a certain fear of how he would carry age when it did start showing, it would at some point in the future. On the contrast stood Toto. He has visibly aged in the past decade and half. But the age suited him well, he’d truly only gotten better with time. Every wrinkle and furrow on his face making him more attractive to Lewis. He isn’t quite sure why. The only thing that had stayed was his hair. Just as brown as it had been all those years ago. He had been sure that Toto had it colored when they first started this, what man in his mid-forties didn’t have at least a few gray hairs? But still, no color. He reached out and ran his hair trough the silky hair, searching for any signs that there would be some graying in the future. His touch, although gentle, woke Toto from his slumber.
His eyes reluctantly opened, brown eyes fixing themselves on his face. “What are you doing? I assure you I don’t have Läuse, darling.” Toto mumbled, voice deep and rumbling from sleep, thick with his accent. “I have no idea what that means. I was just looking for grey hairs.” He snorted at his response, but didn’t dislodge the hand in his hair, letting his eyes flutter closed once more. “And did you find any?” Smug bastard, of course he hadn’t. Perhaps he had secret appointments with a hairdresser. “No, you don’t need to worry. As dark as ever.” Toto hummed in satisfaction. He wasn’t a vain man, but his hair was important.
No more words were exchanged that morning. They got up together, heading into the bathroom, brushing teeth side by side, hair disheveled. They looked like any other couple, just going about their morning routine. Toto shaving as he did his morning skincare. The shower steamed up the bathroom as Lewis climbed in after him. Slowly they washed each other, his hand roaming Toto’s broad back, the scent of his body wash filling the air. Hands running along sore muscles, smoothing away wrinkles and doubts. It was the kind of intimacy that came with years upon years of living together. Of doing everything together, that they didn’t need to speak, that there was no shame.
Lewis had set out their clothes for today already, as he always did. They get dressed in the quiet of the bedroom. Standing somberly front to back as Toto helps him with the necklaces, fingers lingering for a bit on the skin of his neck. His breath fanning across Lewis’ forehead as Lewis buttons his shirt, leaving those last two. Shoes, sunglasses, phones.
Without a world Toto pulls him in, Lewis fits perfectly into his arms, nestled under his chin, nearly swallowed up by his broad frame. He presses his face into his chest, eyes closed, heart in his throat. This is the last. If this is the last. How is he supposed to survive the day. Toto grips the back of his neck, and one hand is on his hip. His grip is tight, fingers digging into the point that it’s painful, but it barely registers in his brain. And for a few moments they just stand there, breathing each other in. He listens to Toto’s heartbeat just by his ear, the familiar thump-thump almost hypnotizing. From the tight grip he has on him Toto doesn’t want to let go. Lewis doesn’t want to be let go; he doesn’t know how.
Eventually he does, reluctantly his hands loosen their grip, before falling to his side. He looks at Lewis for a few more seconds before turning and opening the door, waiting for him to walk through.
-
He doesn’t want to get out of the car. Lewis can feel the celebrations going on outside, McLaren have won their first championship in decades. But the only thing he can focus on is that it’s the last time. That this is the end, the last time he’ll get out of a Mercedes race car. During the race it had been far away, he’d concentrated on chasing down car after car until George had been right before him. Now it was over. Then hearing Toto and Bono on the radio, the tears are already pooling in his eyes.
It only gets worse when he gets out. He doesn’t remember much, just all of them crying and smiling at the same time. Taking pictures and hugging about a hundred people. And then he sees Toto and something in him breaks. The look in his eyes cuts Lewis to the bone, it’s so full of love and regret he nearly starts sobbing right then and there. And he needs him in that moment, needs him so much. One moment they’re in the garage surrounded by people and cameras, the next clumsily stumbling into his driver’s room, mouth pressed together, hands frantically trying to strip the other bare, heedless of anyone that might have seen them.
The couch is too small to be comfortable, its’s too short for Toto to fit properly but thy make it work. He desperately clings to his shoulders as he sinks into him, stifling his cries in his chest. They move together, hips meeting in a familiar rhythm, effortlessly syncing up with each other. Lewis feels one of Toto’s hands move to cradle his face, and he presses into it, closing his eyes, basking in the feeling of their closeness. He realizes that he’s murmuring, just under his breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you.” And then the tears start rolling down his face.
He leans up desperately crushing their lips together. “I love you too. I’m sorry too.” And there’s nothing more to say. They gaze into each other’s eyes as they reach the climax, afraid of looking away, missing even a single second.
Afterwards as he’s lying on Toto’s chest, their breathing evened out, sweat cooling on their skin he whispers. “I would’ve let you.” “What?” “You remember. That if you could, you’d knock me up. I would’ve let you.”
-
They dress as swiftly as possible aware that people might have already started wondering where they’ve disappeared to, they’d allowed themselves to linger for too long. Toto leaves as soon as he’s presentable, if he doesn’t now, he’ll do something stupid.
The evening is a blur of tears and goodbyes in between the celebrations of McLaren and Red Bull. Eventually they end up in a club, he doesn’t care which, after all those years they all start blending in together, each the same as the last. Toto isn’t in the mood to celebrate anything but let’s George drag him along, just a few drinks.
It’s loud and humid, people are already drunk pressing together, letting properly lose after a long and exhausting season. He buys them a couple rounds of drinks, uncaring of team allegiance, leaning against the bar, observing the fray from the edge.
Then he finds Lewis across the space of the dancing floor, braids tied up once more, still wearing his Mercedes kit. Toto can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from his figure. As if he could feel the gaze on his back he turns around, their eyes easily meeting. He looks radiant, reminiscent of an angel, bathed in the low lighting of the club, just out of reach. Normally they would have found each other evening in this chaos, drawn to each other like moth to a flame. Leaning against the other, easy intimacy without needing a word.
Instead, Toto remains where he stands, resisting the urge to walk over to him. It’s too late, there’s nothing left to fix. Over. He tries smiling but it comes out more like a grimace. Lewis understands, bestowing upon him one last smile before turning back to his conversation partner.
Toto lingers for a few more moments, simply watching him. Then he knocks back the rest of his drink, pays, and leaves.