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sanity is overrated
Fic: You Are My Sweetest Downfall 
17th-Mar-2015 11:31 pm
lewis.hamilton
Title: You Are My Sweetest Downfall
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1324
Pairings, Characters: Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg
Genre/Warnings: Angst
Summary: And the routine continues as Nico finishes a fucking second behind Lewis, but it’s still behind all the same, no matter if it was a mere millisecond or an eternity since both seem to last an equal amount of time.
Author's Note: Australian GP gave me hella feels.




He knows how it goes, has does this dance many times before. No matter how much he pushes, begs the car, this feral machine, to go faster, faster, desperately strategizing, Lewis also remains ahead of him. It’s always been this way; Lewis crying if he didn’t win and Nico yielding for him. And it’s shit, it’s shit because Nico loves him and hates him all the same, his best friend and his worst enemy.

And as he watches Lewis shoot out in front of him, not as good of a start as Abu Dhabi but pretty damn good all by itself, Nico can’t help but feel the blinding, crippling frustration, the same he felt last year that built and built and built until it all came tumbling down at Spa. Control, he tells himself because he doesn’t think he can go through what he did last year; he wouldn’t be handle the backlash again, from the press, or the other drivers, his team or his dad. He doesn’t think he can lose Lewis again, right after they started to rebuild all the destruction and damage to their relationship that Spa left in its wake.

He doesn’t think he can go through the tense silence and the angry drunken phone calls at the dead of night. Nico remembers the one when Lewis screamed at him, “Why did you do it?! Why the fuck did you have to do that? Fuck you, Nico!”

And Nico, drunk off of half a bottle of shitty whiskey that had been lying around his apartment for God knows how long and sleep, screamed back, “Because I’m fucking tired of also being number two behind you! How do you think it feels to always be behind, whether it’s a millisecond or a whole lap?”

Nico remembers the tense silence that followed, both breathing heavily and silently fuming, acting like they were bratty teenagers again, frustrated from not winning and the pressure that was on both their shoulders, Lewis’ drive to always win and Nico’s need to show his worth, to prove himself to the world and more importantly, his father.

Nico trails after Lewis, always lurking but never quite able to catch. He pushes and pushes, and it pays off a small amount when Nico hears, “Fastest lap time of the race, well done,” in his ear and it gives him a confidence that Nico hasn’t felt since Brazil last season or Monaco, or even Germany. And yet, he still trails behind his best friend, his worst enemy by mere seconds, which feels like eternity in this type of competition.

The race stays like this, Lewis leading and Nico following, and nobody else too threatening behind them, and Nico is reminded of their childhood, growing up with Lewis, karting with him. Everything was a competition, and it had been fun. And now, now it’s just frustrating and tension-building and pressure-inducing as Nico feels the disappointment radiating from his side of the garage one too many times as even as he pushes his car too the limit, he’ll never catch up to Lewis.

It’s routine at this point, but it’s still shitty.

And the routine continues as Nico finishes a fucking second behind Lewis, but it’s still behind all the same, no matter if it was a mere millisecond or an eternity since both seem to last an equal amount of time. Nico watches Lewis’ car being pulled into the first place spot in the garage with a mixture of envy, admiration and disdain, and knows that he’s playing a very dangerous game.

“Don’t get too involved with the other drivers, Keke used to say to him when he just broken into F1, “it will only hurt in the end,” but it was already too late because Nico had memories of secretly holding Lewis’ sweaty, calloused hand before karting races and stealing shy kisses during nights they stayed in hotel rooms. Once Lewis had Nico wrapped around his finger, Nico could never dream of uncoiling himself from the unhurried sweet kisses that they share or the compassionate heat created during sex.

When Nico climbs out of car, he forgets about life for a moment and automatically moves towards his team. He always thanks the engineers, conditioned by his father to respect and appreciate the people that make things possible. But he’s being called on to the opposite direction and there’s Lewis standing there, tucked under Toto’s arm, his endearing grin spread across his face, where Nico could only manage a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes in return.

“Awesome job! I really was afraid you were going to catch me at the end,” Lewis tries to say over all the noise and commotion the crowd is causing as they exit the garage area and move towards their teams.

“You deserved the win,” Nico tells him, his voice weak but sincere because Lewis had raced amazingly, it is just Nico was shortcoming.

“I’ll see you in a little bit, we can talk later?” Lewis replies as he moves to go congratulate his team, eyes still on Nico, worried.

“Yeah,” Nico mumbles, watching the world champion walk away, greeted by cheers and hundreds of hands waiting to be blessed by the touch of his hand. Nico wishes it was the same for his team, but second is not first and Nico is not the world champion.

And as Nico climbs into an already warm bed and tucks his head into the crook of an outstretched arm, he couldn’t help but wonder what if it had been him on the top of the podium in November, what if it had been him with his first world championship under his belt, following in his father’s footsteps. Would he be laying in this bed right now, wondering about winning and losing?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” a familiar, tired voice said from the other side of the bed, shifting closer, and Nico is covered in an expanse of warm, caramel skin. Lewis’ warm body has always been a source of comfort after tough races. “What’s wrong?”

Everything, Nico thinks, but “Nothing,” is what he says and he knows Lewis can tell he’s lying; they have know each other for far too long to not be able to pick up the distress in each other’s voice or the glint of darkness in their eyes that they get when they’re lying to each other.

“You can talk to me, you know. We’ve known each other long enough and been through too much together to still be like this,” Lewis reminds him, and both of them feel like it has to be said after the year from hell that they had experienced together and apart. Talking to Lewis about things is a welcome but almost foreign concept and practice to Nico now, after being so closed off from him for so long. It fills him with a warm, pleasant feeling striking deep to his core, knowing that he has his teammate, his lover, his best friend back after a period is total and destructive darkness.

“I know,” Nico replies but doesn’t offer anymore, not wanting to bring Lewis down from his well-deserved high; it’s not his place, not yet, not ever. Instead, he scoots closer to Lewis’ heat, trying to lose himself in it. “I love you. Too much, even, so much that it’s crippling and unforgiving and harsh, and I want to hate you but I can’t because you’re you and I’m me, and that’s just who we are.

There’s a pregnant pause for a second as both of them process what he said, the meaning and feelings of defeat and utter, uncontrollable adoration behind his words.

“I’ll always be here for you when you really need it, Nico, I promise you that,” Lewis replies instead, and that means more to him than three silly words and even the top of the podium.
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