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“So?” Ten Lee steps back from a humongous display of stuff that he so painstakingly put together. “What do you think?”
This shrine to Nakamoto Yuta, Formula 1 superstar, WDC hopeful, 19-time race winner, Red Bull Racing Oracle/Aston Martin/Honda whatever driver, takes up almost half the room.
It’s huge, filled with just gift baskets, flowers, stuffed toys, chocolate. Oh my god. So many stuffed toys. So much chocolate. There are gifts from fans, words of wisdom from idols, good luck charms from family members—there’s so much. Drawings of Yuta as his favorite characters. Drawings of Yuta as himself. Drawings of Yuta as a tiny little chibi anime stylized version of himself with all of his cool piercings and a shade of purple he hasn’t dyed his hair yet.
Yuta, Yuta, Yuta.
A cardboard standee of Yuta decked out with laurels and a vintage Red Bull jacket and Alpha Tauri brand sunglasses towers over Nakamoto Jaehyun—pretty unrealistic if you ask him.
Jaehyun is pretty sure this is what the inside of his own brain is like whenever he’s around his husband.
However, the one thing he’s pretty damn sure of is that this is the last thing that Yuta wants to see right before the biggest Grand Prix of his life (exaggerated, but not really exaggerated at all).
Somewhere in the corner is a broken flashing light that Jaehyun nudges with the toe of his boot. It continues flickering as he hesitates, “Mmm, Ten—I think that maybe Yuta will be overwhelmed by all of this.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Maybe—maybe we downsize a bit.”
“Downsize?” Ten asks, incredulous at the very suggestion.
“Downsize.”
Ten shakes his head, brows furrowed like no tomorrow—Jaehyun is in for it with that expression.
“Genuinely, I’m confused. Why would we downsize this? It’s beautiful.” he points to an entire section of the room dedicated to Hello Kitty Yuta. The limited edition Hello Kitty Yuta Meiji chocolate bars from when Sanrio collaborated with Red Bull. Several large Hello Kitty plushies wearing Red Bull race suits and holding tiny Hello Kitty branded Red Bulls. “Like look at that. Fucking adorable. Why would he hate it?”
Jaehyun tries to wrack his brain for a reason that doesn’t sound disrespectful or rude. The last thing he’d want to do is disrespect Ten, out of all people on or near the grid.
The real reason is that this entire affair gives Yuta the heebie jeebies and it all—all of this— it places a sort of undue burden on Yuta, who’s already the man of the hour as the more senior Japanese driver, as the one who never does well at the Japanese Grand Prix, as the one who is famous for being cursed in Suzuka, the one who loves Suzuka but Suzuka doesn’t love him back, etc. etc. He’s practically Yuta Leclerc.
Jaehyun knows this. Yuta knows this. Ten knows this, but if you slap a Hello Kitty sticker on it, maybe the loss won’t hurt as bad.
“Well?” obviously exasperated, Ten asks. His hands are on his hips and he’s tapping his toe, giving Jaehyun a look that tells him, “I’m waiting!” and Jaehyun can only stand there and stammer for an excuse.
Ten is so impatient today—is it different from any other day? It’s best by now to give him a pass considering this is by far the most stressful and frustrating race of the year for the Nakamoto camp, and also, next year, Yuta’s due to sign another contract—Red Bull or anywhere else? Anything is possible. He’s having the best season of his life. He could go anywhere. But he could also stay, and Jaehyun’s prepared to follow him wherever he goes.
That’s off topic. Jaehyun needs to find a reason why Hello Kitty Yuta doesn’t have a place in today’s schedule.
His thoughts are interrupted by the door creaking open and closed, and Jaehyun is met with the sight of the large and in charge Johnny Suh with the tiniest iced Americano in his hand, a Mercedes cap on his head, and some dark sunglasses on his eyes.
“Bro.” Johnny comes forward to dap Jaehyun up, and they do. Thank god for Johnny.
“Hyung,” Jaehyun replies in that tone of voice where it’s more of a plea for help than a neutral reply.
Ten demands, “Johnny. Hug.” They give each other a big embrace and Johnny finally sets his Americano down and takes his glasses off. Whistling, he makes a round around the room, on the little islands of carpet he can step foot on that are uncovered by Yuta merchandise.
“Jesus. You’ve really outdone yourself, Ten.”
“Haven't I?“
“You have.”
“But Jaehyun hates it.” Ten chucks a Yukitty plushie at Jaehyun, which he catches with one hand. “Hates it, Johnny.”
“I think—” Johnny smirks at a little lion plushie with a small replica of a plushie from Mark’s store. Yumark teammates. “I think what Jaehyun means is that Yuta likes it a bit more lowkey.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that. No way in hell.”
Understandable, coming from the driver who’s backflipped into the Monaco Red Bull pool the past three years, the driver who’s dyed his hair crazy colors to match his helmet several times (last year was pink, this year is orange, save for the occasional special helmets, which this occasion definitely calls for.), the driver who has always been outspoken and flashy about everything you are not allowed to be outspoken or flashy about in Formula 1. It is hard to believe.
But Jaehyun just knows. He just knows. Receiving a hero’s welcome here is equivalent to promising the hero’s downfall. He made that phrase up himself. He's proud.
“You gotta trust me on this, Ten.”
“Trust you,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “Why would I do that?”
It’s okay. Jaehyun doesn't mind. Ten will come around soon enough.
“Oh, wow, hyungs,” a familiar voice says from behind Jaehyun. The door clicks shut, Jaehyun turns around, and he is met with Mark Lee, Yuta’s longtime colleague and Red Bull teammate of one year, Jaehyun’s longtime childhood best friend. “This is—wooooooow.”
Jaehyun frowns in his head. That doesn’t help anything.
“See, Jae? Wooooooooow,” Ten repeats. “Don't you like it, Mark?”
“Yeah, don't you like it, Mark?” Johnny pipes up, tiptoeing through carpet islands to come and dap Mark up. They’re awkward, especially after what happened last year, but Jaehyun just grins, flashes some dimple, and thanks them silently that they’re getting along well together for his sake. “Hey bud.”
“Hi.” Stepping backward, Mark takes off his dad-cap, branded with his number 13, and gives Jaehyun a thin smile. “Lowkey though, this is pretty sick. Like if I had this in my room in Canada I think I would love it a lot.” He comes forward, lifting up a Yukitty plushie and putting it next to his face. “That's adorable.”
“See. Adorable. Jaehyun thinks Yuta will hate it.”
Jaehyun shuffles back and forth on his feet. “I never said that.”
“Really, hyung? I don’t know… this seems like this is kind of his style.”
“Yeah, I know, but—I have a feeling.”
“A feeling?” Ten interjects. “Where’s your gift, then?”
It’s in Jaehyun’s breast pocket, as a matter of fact. Definitely not on par with the Yukitties, though.
“Ten,” Johnny warns, and the shorter man backs off. “Chill, bro.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
The door opens and in comes a messy, dyed grey head of hair and an off kilter pair of glasses, and Jaehyun recognizes that as none other than Lee Taeyong, Yuta’s longtime race engineer and the other, more rational voice in his head. “Do you guys know where Yuta is? Jaehyun.” Jaehyun’s supposed to have the answer to this question, but he doesn’t.
“Sorry, dude.”
“He’s your husband. How do you not know where your husband is,” Taeyong deadpans, and then winces as he realizes how hostile he sounds. It’s an expression Jaehyun’s seen too many times, indicative of the fact that today is the final day of the triple-header, and Taeyong is running off adrenaline and 8 cans of Red Bull™by now. “Sorry.” Taeyong points to Mark. “And where were you?”
“At, uh, my meeting.” Staring out the window, Mark clears his throat and lowers his gaze to his boots. “Y’know. Meeting. Private.” Private meeting. Private meeting with his own engineer, Jungwoo, and his own camp. Private.
“Private.” Taeyong’s nose scrunches up in an emotion Jaehyun isn’t sure he can or wants to identify for himself. Complexities of being a race engineer, he guesses. “Love that. We just finished ours, but he already snuck off somewhere.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“Y’know. Injuries. Protocols. Usual.”
“Usual.” Jaehyun shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at the ground.
Jaehyun could sit in on the meeting if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to. As much as his presence would soothe Yuta’s nerves, out of his own cardiovascular health, he can’t. The last time he did, he almost vomited listening to them going over safety protocols in case of a crash.
Injuries are common in the Nakamoto Jeong house—Jaehyun is clumsy enough alongside having to deal with a sport where balls are hurled at you at 100 kilometers per hour. There was that time Jaehyun shattered his ankle jumping down from a spike; a broken elbow from diving into the ground; countless concussions that still leave him with migraines sometimes; and a broken nose from one of Johnny’s big, powerful spikes.
(It left a bump that’s noticeable enough that Jaehyun hated it at first, staring at it in the mirror and consulting with plastic surgeons to fix it until Yuta confessed that he likes running his finger over it when they’re lying in bed together; that when Jaehyun's sleeping, he likes staring at it and him and thinking about how proud he is of all the work Jaehyun’s done. That’s when Jaehyun started liking his bump. Leave it up to Yuta to make such an imperfection so achingly wonderful.)
Thank god Yuta has been lucky enough not to be majorly injured multiple times. Except for once.
The last time Yuta raced in Japan, he got into a crash that left the front half of his car crumpled like a soda can and his right radius much the same. Jaehyun will never forget the sight of Yuta holding his arm and exiting his car right before it burst into flames and had to be extinguished by several crew members.
The entire race had to be stopped to get the car off the track and transport Yuta to the hospital, and it restarted with 19/20 of the drivers. Mark won first, and that’s really the only thing Jaehyun remembers besides the deep horror he felt watching the crash unfold. The anxiety afterwards.
Yuta walked away with nothing more than the broken bone, several bruises, and a disgruntled month after the fact, but it still rattles Jaehyun every time he sees so much of a tap of contact between Yuta and another driver.
It’s hard not to think about that day when today is much the same.
Every race is special—Yuta has always believed that—but Suzuka is and always will be electric for him. Jaehyun can’t pretend he knows what that feeling is like, or really, what’s going on during these days, except for that Yuta should be winning and that’s all that really matters to the execs that flow in and out of these suites. Winning is the last thing on his mind, considering everything that’s happened, but for Yuta’s sake, he’ll pretend winning is all he wants.
Suzuka is special. Suzuka deserves a special helmet because Yuta honors it like a shrine. Suzuka is Yuta’s dream circuit. Always has, always will be. It felt like this when Yuta had his first big loss here, felt like this when Yuta fucked up his arm, feels like it today, like every race day but worse.
But don’t let Jaehyun be a downer. That’s the last thing he wants to do.
(But it’s hard. Sooooo hard. How do you stop caring about the safety and wellbeing of your partner? How do you do this 20 races a year? You don’t.)
He tries to take his mind off it by scanning the crowd for his husband, as if he’d be in the grandstands with all of the fans. People are bustling about like worker ants on the lower level, the individual garages belonging to every team filled to the brim despite their small sizes. He spots Yuta with his hair blowing lightly in the wind, entertaining Middle Aged Businessman #9402 of the day, weaving in between garages to say hello to his fellow drivers.
There’s Jaehyun’s husband.
Yuta messes around with Jeno Lee like he's not about to give him a run for his money once they get on the track; shakes hands with the McLaren head engineer like he hasn’t destroyed two of their multi-million dollar cars bumping into both Taeil Moon and Donghyuck Lee; rubs elbows with the Japanese politicians in attendance that he’d rather not be rubbing elbows with, let alone be around.
He’s their best friend and their biggest enemy. Inspiration and crusher of dreams alike. He’s like a chameleon around his competitors, around the unfamiliar.
He’s the same Nakamoto Yuta that got injured in the 2019 Japanese Grand Prix, the same Yuta today at the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix, but now he has a shiny pink scar on his right wrist and a wedding band on his left ring finger.
Yuta looks up as if he can sense that Jaehyun’s staring at him. Maybe he can sense it, but the windows are tinted, and it’s unlikely he’d be able to see Jaehyun, but he waves up at him anyway, flashes a big grin that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle and the dimple on his cheek pop out. Yuta laughs, apparent by the way his shoulders shake, the way he beckons the middle aged men surrounding him to wave because, “The love of my life is up there!” “What’s her name?” “His name is Jaehyun!” “Oh.”
Same conversation that he’s had a million times before, and yet he still treats it with the same grace and politeness he affords to everyone. He bears their ring and a trophy with the same pride. Treats driving Jaehyun to volleyball practice and driving in the biggest Grand Prix of his life with the same reverence.
Same old Nakamoto Yuta. Same old guy that Jaehyun loves with all his heart.
“This room? Yuta will love it. Anyway, bye.”
“See, Jae!” Ten exclaims, hopping around in a happy little jig as he tidies and fixes a stray plushie on a table.
Ten turns around and almost runs into none other than Osaki Shotaro.
It’s like a hush comes over the room, even the random toys making sounds becoming silent as Shotaro steps in.
Jaehyun half expects Shotaro to bust a move in response to the silence, because that’s what he did last time this happened, which was weird but not entirely unexpected. Formula One drivers all have their eccentricities. Being a dancing machine is Shotaro’s.
“Hi, all!” he says, bowing deeply to the room and it’s like everyone unpauses, saying their hellos back and bowing and what have you.
You guys are weird, Jaehyun thinks, coming forward to greet him. He knows why they’re weird, and it makes him cringe in his mind, preferring not to know, but it’s really hard not to know.
“Nakamoto-san.” Shotaro bows and Jaehyun bows back, both polite as ever.
“Are you excited?” Jaehyun wraps an arm around his shoulder. “It’s your home race!” He has the sense to know that everyone’s turning back to their tasks and tidying the Hello Kitty Yuta’s that are already tidied, listening into this conversation.
“It’s your home race, too, hyung.” Smiling, Shotaro takes off his cap and looks out at the crowd. “Take it in.”
Nodding, Shotaro adds, “And I miss being back here. My family is here, have you said hi to them?”
“I have.” The Osakis are such a lively bunch, and Shotaro’s mom is probably the sweetest person in the world. He makes a mental note to introduce his mother-in-law to her.
“Did—” Shotaro’s eyebrow cocks, and it’s crazy how much he looks like Yuta when he does.
“Your brother’s birthday is today.”
“Right!” He laughs, grinning wide. “He’s turning 9, I can’t believe it.”
“He’s so big now, isn’t he?”
Shotaro’s little brother is tall now, reaching almost to Jaehyun’s shoulder. He was practically a toddler when they first met—crazy. The Osakis are his family, too, two seats at the dining table for him and Yuta. 16-year-old Shotaro showing them his childhood bedroom, posters and banners of Yuta right alongside Senna and Schumacher. Yuta almost started crying—it’s hard to look at Shotaro like competition, even though he always was.
He’s much older now than when Jaehyun first met him. Much more of a threat than when Jaehyun first met him.
Jaehyun remembers first meeting Shotaro, that fateful night in his own hometown of Austin, Texas. Shotaro was drunk, belligerently, and breakdancing in the middle of the club as Jaehyun and Yuta had their first conversation in a booth in the corner. Yuta called him his “little brother” enough that Jaehyun actually thought they were brothers six months into his and Yuta’s situationship, and had to be told by Johnny and Mark that they were not, in fact, brothers.
One look at Osaki Shotaro, and you would never believe that he’s such a threat. Nicknamed the “Biting Otter” (which Jaehyun thinks is a terrible nickname), he’s clean and aggressive in every way. One would expect that from an F1 driver—he is different. Started karting at 5, drove in teams and raced at the highest level possible for a child, won dozens of championships before he was even at a semi-professional level. He raced nationally, then he raced in international competition, and at the ripe old age of 15 years, 4 months, and 28 days, he debuted at the 2016 Australian Grand Prix, beating out Jisung Park’s old record for youngest ever driver to race full-time in Formula One.
Shotaro is a prodigy. And as much as intra-company rivalry takes over Yuta when he’s faced with Mark, nothing will ever beat the white-hot heat of competitiveness running through his veins with Shotaro.
It’s not one sided, Shotaro proclaiming to the press (all in good fun. Or is it?) that Yuta is his idol, but he wants to beat him. That Yuta being his idol almost makes him easier to beat in his mind, whether or not he’s considered Yuta’s protégé, whether or not they’re good friends outside of the track and hang out together often and the Nakamoto home’s doors are wide open for Shotaro to enter.
Yuta will never, ever, ever admit that he wants to beat Shotaro. It’s the one question he tries to avoid, and Jaehyun has never really understood why. He’ll talk about Mark all he wants, Kun, Jisung, whoever. Johnny, oh the rivalry with Johnny when Johnny was still driving, it was terrible. If Yuta could get fined for his snarky comments, the Nakamotos would be in debt by now.
By now, Jaehyun has learned that if Yuta’s not talking about it, then he must really be bothered. He figures that's the real reason why Yuta doesn’t, now that his biggest rival is Shotaro without Johnny around. That transition must not be very fun. From brothers, Shotaro residing under Yuta’s large and imposing wing; to rivals, two points apart in the standings and a million miles away from each other emotionally.
Shotaro resides in Yuta’s home, his heart, and his mind—Jaehyun loves Shotaro, but he’d rather him live in the first two. The brother Yuta never had, and the competitor he never wanted. How fun.
Thank god it’s not Jaehyun’s rivalry, or else he would have about died when Shotaro came into the room.
Shotaro looks around, absorbing…everything there is to absorb about this room. “This is…a very nice display,” he laughs, and Jaehyun does too. They both know.
“Yeah…Think Yuta will love it.”
“I agree.”
They tiptoe around the toys and come to the window again, watching—Jaehyun watches like a rabbit. Shotaro watches like a hawk. The same intensity that lives in him lives in Yuta. It feels ages older than both of them—it feels unnatural and natural all the same.
“It must be nice to come back here after so long.”
“It is. I think the fans are much more rowdy this time around, I don’t remember them being this way.”
“Can you handle it?”
“‘Course. It’s not so bad, y’know? All the eyes on you. I think Yuta and I enjoy it much more than we should.”
Being intimidated by someone five years younger than him is not a normal feeling for Jaehyun. But standing next to Shotaro, in his black and emerald green Mercedes race suit, standing high and straight, so confident. How do you hold this much confidence at that age? Five years ago, Jaehyun was a mouse in wolf’s clothing. Five years ago, Yuta was a force to be reckoned with. Five years doesn’t matter—Shotaro was always this way.
“Are you excited?”
“Of course.” Shotaro looks so innocent. “Just hope I can get the outcome I want. You know.”
Jaehyun gives a tight lipped smile. “I know.”
The elephant in the room is always, just that. You know. They know too well. Shotaro is much too polite to say it outright, but they both know.
Nodding, Jaehyun looks down at the ground. “Remember to pit, Taro.”
“I will. Won’t have another last time.” They both laugh at that, then he says, “I have a meeting. See you later?”
“Definitely.”
Another hug between them and Shotaro strides to the door, ready to leave.
“Good luck,” Jaehyun calls. Should he be wishing him luck? It’s too late now.
“I’ll need it!”
He leaves and it’s like the world goes back to normal. Mark comes back behind him. “Hyungie.”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you like the room?”
“That’s a good question, Mark.”
Part of Jaehyun hates it because. Because…because.
This room is an extension of all. Formula One and its eccentricities.
It pervades every single part of Yuta’s life, of Jaehyun’s life now, and it’s—Jaehyun doesn’t hate it. He wishes it was different, but he doesn’t hate it. He dislikes how it makes him feel, like a mouse in a mansion, and every person involved in the races is a partygoer trying desperately hard not to trample him. Does it make sense? This has become his life so much that he dreams about it and this isn’t even his own career.
Formula One is the Yuta standee taller than Jaehyun, wearing a wreath of laurels and a gold crown on his head.
Jaehyun is the one page letter he wrote Yuta because he doesn’t have the balls to say it to his face.
It’s too much and it’s too little, and it’s cute, and it’s adequate, Jaehyun’s gift, compared to this room. It’s no trophy, cup, medal, gigantic room of self-themed memorabilia, none of that. It’s Jaehyun pouring his heart out completely in Japanese, on stationary he picked up in Milan, with a pen gifted to him by Yuta’s mother, his handwriting thanks to Yuta’s father’s perfect penmanship and training. Trying to convince himself that this gift is what Yuta deserves even though Yuta deserves much better is an arduous task, he discovers.
Maybe part of Jaehyun hates it, too.
That his gift, small enough to fit in a crisp envelope tucked safely in his blazer pocket is of a minuscule scale compared to this. That a letter is positively embarrassing even though he knows deep down in his soul that he could place a crumb of dirt in a cup and Yuta would accept it gratefully. That writing this letter already took enough out of him even with its relatively short length. Makes him look even more puny than he feels. Whatever! Don’t call Nakamoto Jaehyun a downer, because he’s not one.
“It’s a bit much.”
“Bit much?!” Mark giggles. “Noooooo, obviously notttt. But Yuta likes it when it’s a bit much, no?”
Eh. It depends what area the “bit much” is in. Yuta likes a bit much in bed, maybe, and he likes it with food and shopping and expressing himself, but such a display before the biggest race of his life is more nerve wracking than anything.
“Sometimes, not all the time.”
“I get it, I get it.” Mark pauses, and it feels heavy. 20 years of friendship and saying see you later to him for a race still feels so serious, so final. “I hope you enjoy, hyung.”
—
Waiting outside the door, Jaehyun checks his phone, dusts off his blazer, does anything to get his mind off the race.
Jaehyun finally convinced Ten that Yuta’s last sight before the race shouldn’t be the weight of hundreds of Japanese plushies, chocolates, and hopes in the shapes of an anthropomorphic kitten with his name on it, and should rather be that or what it always is—a still and empty suite with nothing more than a couch and a view of the garages under it, the fans in front of it, and his phone and some headphones waiting for him.
Enough time passed from then to now—Jaehyun made his rounds with his in-laws, met enough cousins and second-cousins, bowed more than he’s bowed in the past year, spoke much more Japanese than he probably has ever spoken (and got praised for it, too! Yes!!), and played with the several Nakamoto babies and dogs and toddlers and kids attending for the remaining two hours until the race.
But now it’s time to see the man of the hour, after several hours of him being away. For some strange reason, it makes a pit form in Jaehyun’s stomach—it’s not like they don’t see each other constantly. It’s not like they don’t sleep in the same bed, or that they’re not married and have been for years now, but still—it’s less a pit than it is the same old butterflies that always occupy his lungs whenever he’s about to see Yuta. But the context of the day makes it feel like a pit (no pun intended) rather than a butterfly hatch.
There is less than an hour left until Yuta is set to take his place on the grid. Pole position looks great on him, and so do his race suit and Red Bull sunglasses, Tag Heuer watch, his hair dyed back to a natural chestnut brown as he ascends the steps to the suites. Jaehyun feels dumb. How easily his breath is taken away by such a man.
“Hi,” he breathes out, smiling at Yuta.
“Jaehyun-ssi, it’s nice to see you after so long. How’ve you been?”
Jaehyun shakes his head and holds his arms out for a hug. “I’ve been great, Yuta-ssi, how are you?” Yuta reciprocates the hug, holding his dumb plastic gigantic Red Bull waterbottle in between them.
Taking a sip from it, Yuta grins, “Shitting my pants. Kiss?”
“When we get in the room.” Jaehyun opens the door and herds Yuta in.
“Understood.” Shaking out his hair and taking off his sunglasses, Yuta settles down on the couch and bounces a few times, like he always does, and Jaehyun closes and locks the door behind him. “Did you miss me, jagi?”
“Mm, not too much,” Jaehyun says as he leaves a little kiss on his husband’s pursed lips and goes to find the remote that lowers the window shades. He finds it right next to Yuta’s pair of cherry blossom and butterfly adorned custom Boses, and goes to give them a bit more privacy, as if anyone could peer into the suite from the outside.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah?” Jaehyun sits down next to him. “Believe it. How do you feel?”
“Can't we talk about something more fun?” The Rakuten logo patch on his leg seems to be the object of Yuta’s attention now.
“What’s more fun than talking about your feelings?” They both snicker at that.
“Anything.”
“Anything. Sure. Why’s that?”
“You sound like our therapist,” Yuta scoffs. There’s no harshness in his voice, only the small, genuine wistfulness that takes the sentence over.
“I could never be Yoona-ssi.”
“Right.” For the first time in what feels like forever, Yuta laughs, and Jaehyun drinks it in. He’s not sure when the next time he’ll hear this is.
A silence comes over both of them. In the suite, Jaehyun can pretend that today’s like any other day. Well, any other race day—it’s not like you’re driving a 200 kilometer per hour death machine in front of thousands of people every day. Still, it feels almost normal. If Yuta put on his headphones and put on One Ok Rock or whatever music artist he’d like to listen to, it would be identical to a normal day.
However, Yuta just sits there. The amount of sighs that fall from him are plenty. No reflex exercises, no music, no sound, no hype. He sits there and stares at the wall, a blank expression on his face. The buzz of the crowd outside can be heard from even here; the whirrs of the machinery downstairs, even the voices of engineers and officials can be heard dully through the walls; the pulse of music and the muffled voices of emcees and guests of the grid are the only things filling the silence between them.
Jaehyun’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a message from Ten.
Ten Lee: how’s the empty room babes
Ten Lee: i'm jk sorry for earlier i'm stressed
Jaehyun: It’s no problem hyung
Ten Lee: yes it is
Ten Lee: yell at me if/when i ever get that way with you
Ten Lee: anyway. if you guys are done, pls tell yuta that there's an (optional) meeting with fans
Ten Lee: i say (optional) because he can do it before or after the race. let me know
Yuta—Yuta is a kind man. Yuta loves the glitz and glam of Formula 1 as much as any other driver (much more, in fact). He loves these quiet moments. He loves being left alone, and loves being whisked away to meetings and commitments and everything else in between. He loves everything about the sport.
But this is Japan.
And he loves everything about Japan, but Jaehyun will always be the first person to witness how he is so deeply affected by that love that it kills him—it kills him to compete this intensely. There is nothing like watching your partner jump feet-first into a carbon fiber death machine and go at a sharp turn at 200 kilometers an hour. There is nothing like watching him devastate himself after Suzuka, quietly agonizing over what went wrong and how to fix it (if there’s even a way, which there never is).
And yet, a whiff of gasoline is akin to a breath of life in Yuta’s world. Carcinogen and fuel alike, burning rubber and burning fossils, and all Jaehyun can do is watch as the kindest man he's ever met kills himself for a track that will not love him back, for a sport that can only consume and devour and nothing else.
The fans here are so gracious—Yuta’s home always treats him kindly, coming back to a true hero’s welcome. There are fans lining up around the block for him at every race, let alone this one. It’s the same principle as not wanting the huge Hello Kitty room—more and more pressure compounding until it crushes and compacts him into a shell of what he normally is. So he elects to ignore Ten’s text.
“Did you see Shotaro?”
“He came by the suite earlier—”
“No, I mean, did you watch him? Yesterday, in qualifying,” Yuta sighs as he shakes his head. “Unreal.”
“I can't disagree with you,” Jaehyun says, partly because—Shotaro was unreal. But Yuta was better, almost fictional the way those qualifying laps went. 1:30.244, five tenths ahead of Shotaro, seven tenths ahead of Shotaro's teammate, Shohei.
“He was good, but he doesn’t have pole.”
“Still, he shouldn’t be that close to me.”
“But he is.”
“I know.”
Silence. Jaehyun thought this was what he wanted for them, for Yuta. The silence is more of a reason to think, and the thinking is what gets both of them.
“It’s his brother’s birthday today.”
“Yeah.”
“He wants him to win, then.”
“That’s a given, isn’t it?”
“Right,” Yuta says as he smiles down at his hands. “It’s like you wishing I would win.”
“Who says I want you to win?” Jaehyun moves his hand so it’s behind Yuta’s head; he massages his neck a bit with a gentle hand, and Yuta closes his eyes and melts into it.
“You don’t want me to win?” Yuta asks with his eyes closed, grinning. He looks so handsome. His head rolled back, his neck exposed, Jaehyun would be awed if he wasn’t focused on helping him. “Be serious, Jae, you’re my biggest fan.”
“Me?” Jaehyun scoffs. “Your biggest fan? No way.” There is a chain around his neck with Yuta’s name, Yuta’s name in Japanese tattooed under his wedding ring—honestly, he hates Yuta.
“Sure, sure. Head of the Nakamoto Yuta fanclub, Jeong Jaehyun.”
“Ah, wrong last name.”
“Oh, right, right.”
It’s so dumb and so fun and so them, joking around like this. Jaehyun wishes it could keep going, but there are more important things at hand. “Would you like to relax a little? Kick your feet up before the race?” Jaehyun clears his throat with what can only be described as a lump of uncomfortable inadequacy lodged in it. There’s only a certain amount of casual tranquility he can exude until it’s like blowing air at a raging fire. Pathetic!
As much as Jaehyun would like to pretend that Formula 1 is all stuffed toys and boxes of chocolate, it’s not.
“That’d be nice,” Yuta says softly. “I wish I could.”
“Just pretend we’re on vacation somewhere.” Jaehyun kicks his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. At the very least, this is more of an attempt at cheering him up. “Like during the offseason.”
Grinning, Yuta sighs still. “Wish we could do that right now. Just relax in Monaco, on a boat or some shit. No Grands Prix to worry about.”
“What do you mean? We are relaxing on a boat in Monaco or some shit.” A scoff leaves Jaehyun’s dry mouth.
Yuta smiles without his teeth, scrunching his nose at Jaehyun playing along. “I like your smile, can I see it more?” Jaehyun immediately lets his face drop at Yuta’s compliment, trying to keep it straight even though he’d probably be blushing and letting the dimples out in full force at such flattery. Yuta continues on, asking, “Are you here alone? Let me buy you a drink, c’mon.” He cocks his head towards the fridge, smirking. “You look like you’re a vodka Red Bull kinda guy.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” They’re both thinking of the last time he had those for the night—where he had to go to practice the next morning like he didn’t still have alcohol and the Bull running through his veins. “Never again, but a mimosa would be great, thanks.”
They laugh together at their ridiculousness, that they’re still finding scenarios to act out as if they haven’t acted out every single one together over the years, as if Yuta’s not about to get orders barked at him to “win this fucking race, that’s all that matters,” by people less important to the team but more rich than he is, which apparently matters a ton in this sport, in T-minus 40 minutes. Back to reality. No more scenarios, except for the various race scenarios that have been discussed the past few months.
Placing his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, Yuta lets out a deep breath and Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows at it, trying not to show how concerned he is for him. The nervousness radiating off of him is palpable. “Jaehyun-ah.” Jaehyun doesn't really know what to do… hold his hand? Wrap his arms around him? Perhaps get in the car and win the damn race in Yuta’s name? None are easy to do when they are equally inadequate trying to get Yuta’s spirits up. “I’m gonna puke.” Well. Cleaning up his puke could be one thing. Marriage is through sickness and in health.
“Just don't puke on my blazer.”
Yuta sits up, gazing at Jaehyun, and Jaehyun looks back softly. Screwing up his face and eyebrows, but smiling still, he drops his head back on his shoulder. “I bought that for you, I’ll do what I want with it,” he mumbles.
There's a lull before Jaehyun replies, “Will you pay for my dry cleaning at least,” in a small voice, and Yuta laughs a genuine, loud Yuta laugh at that, the sound of music to be honest, compared to his incessant worrying in both of their skulls. He’ll listen to anything Yuta talks about, but that doesn’t mean it’s fun listening to him be so negative about a race he loves so dearly.
Settling into the crook of Jaehyun’s arm behind him on the couch, Yuta says in an equally small voice. “Yes I will.” He lets out a large sigh, curling into the other man’s side. “I miss when I felt good about myself. I’m so—I’m scared.”
The change in mood hits Jaehyun like whiplash. “Scared about what, Yu?” It’s not difficult to guess what the answer will be.
“The race. The car. Everything.”
A few moments pass. Jaehyun can’t find the words to respond. At his best, with a topic he can actually understand, he can articulate his feelings to, like, maybe 50% of what he truly means. No one understands until they get into that car themselves, Jaehyun will be the first to admit that.
Logically, it makes sense. Being scared.
You get fucked at the same race five times, you think it’ll be a sixth. You have a wiley, unreliable car this year (no different from any other year), which you could barely drive in the beginning of the season, and maybe your inability has come creeping back to bite you in the ass at the worst moment. Engine failure, engine failure, human failure.
What will it be? Engine failure or human failure? What can you blame on? What do you take responsibility for? All of it. All of it. Which one is easier to accept? Neither. Simple truths that Jaehyun learned throughout his partnership with Yuta.
If he loses this race—season is over. Shotaro will win, he’ll take the driver’s and constructor’s championship which already has been long and arduous. He’ll take Suzuka, fairly and decisively. If Yuta loses this race, it’s yet another opportunity to finally do what he’s been wanting to, what he’s been meaning to, since he was a kid slipping away. Mathematically, this is the race that could make or break him.
The logistics are easy enough to get. It’s what to say, what to do, what to feel, that’s the hard part. What to say is most difficult.
“The car has progressed so much through the season. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Taeyong will guide you through it, just trust that you’ll have a good drive.”
“You’re such a capable driver, Yu. Believe in your ability—you’ve earned that right.”
“Look at me, Yu,” Jaehyun says under his breath, lowering his eyes to the other’s lap as Yuta looks up at him. “Nothing changes if you win or don’t win. You’ll always be Yuta.” And I will always, always love you. Jaehyun doesn’t say the last part out loud, at least not now. Six years together and Yuta still makes him blush down to his stomach.
“Nothing changes how proud I am of you. Seeing you out there living your dream—I want you to have that forever. Don’t let yourself forget the joy that comes from this race just because of the bad things that happened in the past.”
Jaehyun’s heart is beating so hard it could crumple the letter in his breast pocket. “And you know—I believe in you. I don’t—I don’t know how much that helps—“ Jaehyun shakes his head and continues avoiding Yuta’s gaze. “But I need you to know that, for my own peace of mind.”
The moments that pass are filled with silence, yet again.
“I. I have a g—“
Yuta kisses him. Like it’s a movie, like they’re at the altar again, and Jaehyun melts into it as his surprise melts away; he cups Yuta’s cheek, day old stubble threatening to poke out. Smells the Neroli Portofino wafting from behind his ears, and the insides of his wrists as he wraps his hand around Jaehyun’s arm where his elbow and forearm connect.
That’s Yuta. That’s his Yuta.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Jaehyun-ah.” Another peck on the lips that Jaehyun smiles at. “I mean it. I’d be lost if you weren’t here with me,” He mumbles, moving down to say it against Jaehyun’s neck. “I’d probably fall apart from nerves.”
“You’d do the same thing you would’ve done if I weren’t here. Win.”
He’s always so focused on his goals that when he has time to come back to himself—back to Yuta, the real one, not the racecar driver, not the Nike spokesperson, not the face of Red Bull Racing Honda—Jaehyun is jarred.
It’s his Yuta again. The guy who lies his head on Jaehyun's lap and begs for him to play with his hair and give him kisses every Sunday morning, the one who sulks when Jaehyun can’t give him attention, the one who exclaims “Jaehyun-ah! Look!” at every little thing he thinks Jaehyun will like or find funny.
Sometimes there's a mix between racer Yuta and Nakamoto Yuta—the one who reads race plans outside in the warm Seoul sun while Jaehyun’s sitting next to him, holding his hand; the one who listens to Jaehyun’s playlist before every race because it “motivates him more than anything else will”; the one who declares at every win or loss that he drove for himself, his country, and the love of his life, and no matter the outcome, that makes the whole effort worth it.
Nakamoto Yuta, one of the most sensitive and softhearted people in the world.
Number 26, driver Nakamoto Yuta, who cannot afford to be sensitive or softhearted right now.
But that’s okay, considering Yuta’s tongue dragging against Jaehyun’s neck is anything but sensitive and softhearted, more so dangerous and so fucking hot.
“Yeah? What else would I be doing here?” Sucking right on Jaehyun’s pulse point, Yuta places a firm hand on his bulge, palming him over his pants. Too aware of Yuta’s family on this side of the wall and his camp (their friends who will never let them hear the end of it), he restrains a gasp from leaving his mouth at the contact.
Oh, how easily his body betrays him. Another case of whiplash for Nakamoto Jaehyun.
“You’d follow the rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” he says simply, climbing on top of Jaehyun’s lap.
Rule #1: no sex on race days. Or really, the entire race weekend, and that includes Sunday after the race, but it works out because those days end well after 12 midnight for both of them.
No sex. Jaehyun doesn’t plan on their first time being right before a race. No. As much as he wants it.
Rule #2: Rule #1 cannot and should not be broken.
“Don’t you think a change in routine would do us well, Jaehyunie? We’d win this way.”
“Don't say that,” Struggling, Jaehyun tries to unbutton his jeans with one hand. Eventually, he succeeds. “This can’t become routine.” Untucks his shirt. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“Why not?” Unzipping his race suit proves to be a difficult task for Yuta, what with his fidgety fingers and his hastiness in getting undressed, so Jaehyun does the rest for him, lowering it to his belly. “Seems like you like it enough, jagi.” Yuta lowers down for a kiss—Jaehyun receives it eagerly. “The root of a good tradition is one that you like—what do you love more than this?”
“Did you come up with that yourself?”
“Maybe I did. You always say you’re not superstitious. Prove it.”
As if he doesn’t like it, Jaehyun rolls his eyes at Yuta’s provocation. Well—he can’t act like he doesn’t like it, the way Yuta grinds his hips down hard against Jaehyun’s cock only covered by the thin layer of his underwear, the feel of their shafts together through the fabric.
“Can't believe I’m doing this wearing long johns right now. How embarrassing.” Shaking his head, Yuta stops grinding; it doesn’t help, Jaehyun keeps getting harder.
“It’s not embarrassing if I’m the one seeing it. They suit you, they always do.”
“Shh. Do you think I have enough time to take them off?” He sounds rushed, like he’s finally realized that it’s race day and time is of the essence.
“When’s your meeting again?”
Checking the Tag Heuer on his wrist, Yuta replies, “Mmm. 15 minutes, give or take.”
“Fuck no, dude.” The suit, the fireproofs, the underwear—too time consuming. Yuta likes to be free as a butterfly when they do this, but they can’t afford to waste anymore precious seconds.
“C’mon. These are boner killing.”
“That’s not important.” Nothing about you could be boner killing. “Get on with it.”
“Bossy today, are we?” Yuta drops the subject as he lifts up the bottom hem of his fireproofs, biting on it with his teeth to hold it in place as he frees his cock from its confines. He does it so casually—feather on display on the right hip, butterfly on the left, Jaehyun’s name in tiny script right above it. “No apologies,” in Jaehyun’s scribbly writing.
When Yuta lowers his underwear, it’s clear to see how aroused he is, leaking clear fluid and rock hard within only a few minutes of this going on. With a gentle touch, Jaehyun reaches forward and pulls back the skin of his cock until he can run a thumb over the weeping tip, until he can guide his own cock to it and line them up together, until he can wrap his hand around both of them, precum and the spit Yuta dripped onto their heads with burning eye contact, smothering it all over the two of them.
It’s dirty. It’s filthy. Jaehyun can only take in Yuta’s scent, the musk of his cologne, the tinges of his sweat breaking through the fragrance.
Yuta rocks his hips, thrusting into the tight grip of Jaehyun’s hand around them shallowly, sliding against the other’s cock with no mercy, no care except for his own pleasure and fuck—Jaehyun loves it. It’s enough to tip his head back and open his mouth in a silent moan, looking at the ceiling so he won’t bust at the sight of a ravenous Yuta bucking his hips to get their cocks rubbing together.
The sight of a ravenous Yuta and his tattoos, and his shoulder length brown hair, the strong focus in his eyes, the race suit draped around his hips, the fireproof between his teeth stifling any of the deep moans sure to come out of his mouth. Just the thought of him is enough to get Jaehyun going.
Yuta’s doing the work—he never minds, but Jaehyun still would like to participate, so he begins stroking both of their cocks. Downstroke as Yuta thrusts up, up as Yuta sits down, and the pace is set perfect.
“I’m—I'm close, can you—“ Without finishing the sentence, Yuta grabs Jaehyun’s other hand and places it on his chest, over his pierced nipple; the jewelry today is a heart shaped stud, and Jaehyun smiles at that as he pinches it, rolling the bud between his thumb as Yuta bucks and rolls his hips, faster and faster. He leans forward to kiss his husband; it’s sloppy, spit and tongues coming together, but it’s them; Jaehyun squeezes his hand the way he knows he likes; Yuta comes with a choked out moan.
His hair falls over his eyes as he lets out a breath—Jaehyun is not one to back down. He continues stroking, overstimulating Yuta and chasing his own release, but Yuta takes it like a champion, sinks his teeth into his fireproof, spurts out the remnants of his cum as Jaehyun cums white ropes over the both of them. They both have to grit their teeth as he rides out his high, but goddamn.
Maybe rules are meant to be broken.
—
Clean-up entails a few tissues, some shy giggles, and several zippers being zipped.
“Think we should do that again sometime,” Yuta snickers as he fixes his hair in the mirror. “What do you think, Jaehyun-ah?”
Jaehyun is recovering on the couch.
“Let’s take a week off and regroup.”
Laughing, Yuta turns back and plops on the couch next to him. “You’re funny.”
Now is the perfect time to give the letter, right?
Everything’s out of the way. They still have a good five minutes, just enough time for Jaehyun to be able to make the excuse that Yuta needs to scurry off to the track and read the letter later, far away from him.
Hesitation seizes up his hand as he tries to reach into his jacket pocket, but he powers through. “I have something for you,” he mumbles, avoiding Yuta’s eyes.
“For me?”
He nods, taking the envelope out. Cream colored, thick, matte; “Yuta” written on the front in fountain pen black ink. “For you.”
Their eyes avoid each other as Yuta takes the envelope in his hand, turning it over, reading the front. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I won’t read it, not yet,” he says quietly. “I want to fully appreciate it.”
Swallowing, Jaehyun nods. “I think that’s a good idea.”
The silence is loud but it’s not awkward, and that’s all Jaehyun could hope for. It’s broken when the door clicks open, and in walks Xiao Dejun, director of Red Bull Racing media, complete with a camera and a smile on his face. “What are you two lovebirds up to?”
Tucking the letter into his pocket, Yuta smiles back at him. “Just having some innocent fun.”
Dejun cocks an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound so innocent to me.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“Then it was innocent.” Smirking, Yuta holds out his hand and asks, “Camera, please.”
Ew. Ew. Jaehyun dislikes doing media work, especially when it’s on Youtube. Yuta is made for it, the way he can talk so easily without any pauses, his charisma burning a hole through the screen.
“Today, I am here in Suzuka,” he checks his watch again, for dramatics as he continues in English, “It’s around five minutes until I am due to get in the car, and I'm spending the last few moments with Jaehyun.” He turns the camera towards Jaehyun and he gives an awkward wave. “He is my good luck charm today, like every day.” He could burn a hole through the screen with how bright his grin shines. Tapping his lips with a finger, Yuta looks Jaehyun in the eye and teases like he’s not teasing, “Give me a good luck kiss for the camera, jagi.”
He sees them in the viewfinder for a split second—their faces are all dimples, all smiles, the white silicone band Yuta uses as his wedding ring when he’s racing a stark contrast to his tan skin and Jaehyun’s own cheek as he cups it, and pulls his husband in for a tender kiss. It’s much more subdued than Yuta ever is—Jaehyun thanks god for that—but it still makes a blush rise across the length of his body when it happens. His burning pink ears are ever present in the screen he sees himself in. So embarrassing! “Um. Hi guys.”
“He’s so charismatic, isn’t he? I have to go. See you all later.” Pleased with his poking fun, Yuta hands the camera back to Dejun. “Can we have some private time alone, Dejun?”
“Got it. Good luck with the race.”
“Thank you, I’ll need it!” he calls as Dejun exits the room swiftly.
When he turns around, Jaehyun assures, “You don't need luck. You have yourself. Believe in yourself.”
“But you’re the reason I do it, you know? All of it. Just knowing you’re watching is enough for me to keep going.” Yuta lifts Jaehyun's hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles and the rings on his fingers. “For you. All for you.”
There’s a strange prickle behind his eyes at Yuta… being Yuta.
Jaehyun clears his throat “For you. Win this for you, Yuta.”
“I’ll get my share. Just want you to know you’re the reason why it happens. I drive for you. You know that.”
His eyes are unreadable; these words come from the depths of Yuta’s genuine soul, and Jaehyun feels it through his voice, the air surrounding them. It’s electric, being let in.
“I do. So go. Get your win and make me proud.”
“I will.”
Jaehyun rubs Yuta’s arm, the spandex of his turtleneck and the rough printed on patches of the 12 million sponsorships and the Red Bull logo on his sleeve transports him back to reality.
“I got you a medal. You bring me a cup.”
A smile graces Yuta’s face. “Mmm, pulling the Olympian card. Okay. I see. You give me no choice but to win, hm? So demanding.”
“I only expect the best, it’s why I married you.” Jaehyun brushes off a nonexistent piece of dust off Yuta’s tight black shirt, then looks back up at his eyes.
“You married me ‘cause I broke my arm, Jae.” He’s not wrong. Jaehyun proposed pretty much immediately after the doctor’s visit where they took out the stitches from his surgery—if Yuta was going to risk his life, might as well risk it married and together, and happy. And it had already been a long time coming, Jaehyun had the ring in his pocket every race for a year before then.
“Yeah, only that, definitely. Not because I love you or anything or that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Definitely not that.” Jaehyun shakes his head but smiles anyway. “I love you. See you later.”
“I love you too. See you later.” Yuta stops at the door to turn back around. “I’ll bring you a trophy, jagi. Promise.”
“No matter what happens—you’re the biggest trophy of all.” Winking, Jaehyun’s treated to the sound of Yuta’s laughter again. Ridiculous.
“Tell that to my competition. Don't miss me too much.”
“I won't.”
Yuta winks and smiles. “Yeah, right. I see right through you, Nakamoto.”
“Sure you do.”
Yuta presses his fingertips to his lips, bids adieu, and sets off.
—
The race is going well.
The race is going well!
The race is going well…
Five words Jaehyun should be grateful for. Five words that have led him to bite his nails down to the bed, tap his toe so many times against the ground that it’s probably left a crater, furrowed his brow so much that there’ll definitely be wrinkles after this race.
It’s well. It’s fine. No safety cars (Jaehyun hates those), no penalties (at least not for Yuta), no… no nothing. Yuta’s “held position” as the professionals say. First. Pole. Whichever way you spin it, Yuta is on top.
Laps 1-30 went fine. Jaehyun spent time with Yuta’s family, watching the TV and the track anxiously while burping Yuta’s sister’s baby and talking with his mother-in-law. There was a whole platter of food he loves. He couldn’t stomach a single bite.
Yuta’s father sat by his side the whole time. There’s no wonder where Yuta got his calmness from—meanwhile, Kazue (Yuta’s younger sister, future race engineer extraordinaire) paced in the space in front of the windows, and everyone let her because she gets so nervous about these races. Airi (older sister, doesn’t really know anything about racing but loves Yuta so her and Jaehyun are similar) was more interested asking Jaehyun about him and Yuta’s vacation in Italy the previous weeks for his birthday. Mrs. Nakamoto watched the race quietly, biting her nails like Yuta does when he’s not driving.
Lap 31. Time for Jaehyun to come downstairs and watch the race where the real action is at: in the garage at the engineering station.
It’s calm down here, like the eye of a hurricane. The engineering station is where much of the magic happens: race strategies, team orders, breaking of headphones in rage at unexpected DNF, oh my!
This is where the race engineers sit, the strategists, the advisors, the managers. Every single one of them, the Nakamotos have hosted dinner for, mourned every loss and celebrated every win alongside them, have invited and been invited to every birthday and christening and wedding and event possible. Fantasy Island, as the engineering station is aptly nicknamed, brings to life exactly how many people it takes for any of this to even be possible. So many people rely on Yuta’s performance to make their work worthwhile. It’s not a fantasy anymore. It’s real life.
Jaehyun would be scared too if he were in Yuta’s position. He can console Yuta all he wants, but they’re more platitudes than anything—he’s scared enough of letting his five coaches down, let alone 1,137 people working on a single kind of car and supporting two drivers.
With how this race is going, it’s clear to see that Yuta takes that pressure in stride. Chews it up and spits it out like it’s easy. None of that apprehension in the suite, only ferocity as he strengthens his lead. A headset is handed to Jaehyun almost immediately once he gets downstairs—crazy! This is crazy being part of this world! How do the ring around his ring finger and his last name give him this authority! Who knows!
Anyway, he sits at the empty seat for him right next to Gongmyung (whoever had to give that up for him the past 5 seasons, he thanks profusely in his head). Taeyong is directly across from them, darting eyes scanning endless statistics and following Yuta’s position on the track like a hawk. Doyoung is out on the pit wall, barking (calmly stating) orders to the rest of the team. Everyone else is doing much the same, but much more silently.
Through the headset, the roar of the cars driving past, the cheers of the crowd, the clanking and clicking of the tools and buttons of the garage are still painfully apparent. Jaehyun is following the digital track himself, the little red dot and “NAK” hovering above it—if you told him this is where he’d be five years ago, as focused on an F1 race as he is watching his own game footage, he’d call you crazy.
“Slippery conditions, Yuta, doing well on the turns, still?” Taeyong’s voice crackles in through the headset.
Jaehyun can hear every transmission from engineer to driver—whatever strings Gongmyung pulled for him, they are pulled taut with how many privileges he’s been given. A fan would probably kill to be in his position right now, but instead, it’s just Nakamoto Jaehyun, half trembling on a stool at the use of the word “slippery.”
There was no rain in the forecast yesterday, or the day before that, but it’s decided to make an appearance today—drizzle has fallen intermittently beginning around the 20th lap. Apparently, not so much as would cause concern for any driving. It still makes Jaehyun bite his nails as he watches a puddle splash up by a tire on the TV screens next to the Island.
“It’s good. I’m good.”
Hearing Yuta’s voice is a breath of fresh air, evidenced by Jaehyun letting out a huge gust through his nose as he listens.
There's a tap on his shoulder as he slides off one cup of his headphones to hear. “You okay?” Gongmyung asks, eyes apologetic.
How do you even respond to that. “Y-yeah. Just.”
“I definitely know. Hang in there. Only 20 laps left!”
“Yeah,” Jaehyun smiles weakly. “Only 20.”
How these people do this for their day job will forever remain a mystery to him. Strangely, it’s calm down here. They’re all calm. Just a tinge of energy to get by, it’s part of the job.
Jaehyun’s entire being is electric. Whether or not it’s good or bad, he has no clue, but it’s still—it’s so close. 20 laps. That’s all. That’s all, then Yuta has it, the win he’s been chasing his whole career, the one everyone’s been waiting for.
A win is one thing that Jaehyun cannot give his husband. That realization is harder than anything else.
All he can do is sit tight and wait.
“Osaki, three seconds gap, then Mark, 3.8.”
Yuta clicks his tongue. “Want it bigger.”
“Drive faster, then.”
“Copy,” Yuta says sarcastically. “Is Jaehyun listening?”
Taeyong rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I won’t answer that. Stay focused.”
Yuta giggles, “Hi, Jae.” Jaehyun smiles down at his shoes. He’s lucky there’s no cameraman in the garage (even worse if it was a television cameraman) to capture how red he gets at a simple hello. Everyone on the island can hear this exchange.
“Keep your eyes on the road.”
“Where else do I have to look?”
Taeyong and Yuta trail off into F1 jargon that Jaehyun doesn’t understand—“Strat 4, please,” “Tire pressure good, tire three now, Yuta,” whatever that means.
Jaehyun elects to watch the race on the TVs. The numbers next to each last name and team are minuscule, just as minuscule as the milliseconds and seconds separating each competitor. “ZHO,” “MAT,” “QIA,” “NA,” “PAR,” everyone else. In their later places, positions switch around regularly. The top three remain the same: “NAK,” “OSA,” “LEE.”
Jaemin’s car speeds past on the screen—bright orange and blue against the grey clouds rolling in from a distance. The audience already has their clear ponchos on, expecting the rain to get heavier and heavier.
What a shame the background is so dreary for a race that is such a dream for the Nakamoto camp currently. Rain or shine, Yuta is still first.
“Still 2.6 ahead of Osaki.”
“Didn't really need to know, thank you though.”
“Felt like you should know.”
“Well, I don’t really,” and that sparks a mini argument as Taeyong reasons why it’s important for Yuta to be aware of the gap, and Yuta—it doesn’t matter.
This is the easiest race Jaehyun’s ever seen for Yuta. Yuta’s so confident defending his position, dare he say it, it’s a given that he’s in front with how easily and smoothly he’s driving. So easy that he’s arguing with his engineer in the middle of it.
Jaehyun can almost let his guard down. He watches it like a show and not Suzuka. He can finally (surprise) eat food watching it; he can take his eyes off the screen; he can go upstairs for a bit and talk to the in-laws. It feels—it feels nice. He can only imagine what it is for Yuta.
“Do you think—do you think it will happen?” Mrs. Nakamoto asked when he was up there. He said, “Of course,” but anything could happen. When he gets downstairs again, he listens to the feeds again. Taeyong and Yuta and Minji (race strategist, smarter than anyone on the grid or garages) switch between strategies, tire settings, gears.
The feed crackles into silence as Jaehyun focuses on the race, watching Yuta round a corner. it cuts abruptly—a view of the garage, a view of some dude’s greyish brown hair, then he realizes that blazer looks really familiar, and—oh, fuck, it’s him!
He turns around and ducks his head a little as if that’ll help—the camera is shoved in his face almost immediately, and he gives a sheepish smile before burying himself in the screen in front of him, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone in the world.
He lets out a groan in his head—that probably means the guys on the broadcast are talking about him like they normally do for Suzuka and every race he attends (which at this point, is every race. Like, is it that important to know their story?). “Nakamoto met his husband, Jaehyun, here in Japan, introduced by his now teammate, Mark Lee, when both were racing in the Japanese Super Formula Champi—“ oh my god. It’s so embarrassing.
“They’re talking about youuu,” Gongmyung sings in a humored voice.
“Yeah,” Jaehyun buries his head in his hands dramatically. “I know.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Gongmyung jostles him around a bit by the shoulder and Jaehyun smiles to himself. Crazy, crazy world.
In contrast to the craziness of… everything… Taeyong’s smooth voice fills Jaehyun’s ears as he requests, “Strat five, Yu.” No response. Jaehyun looks up from his lap to see what’s wrong. “Strat five. Check, che—“
“The car feels funny,” Yuta says finally, simply. Like it means nothing. Jaehyun wants to believe that it means nothing, that the car being funny is just a symptom of the ever-present ailment that is being a Red Bull engineered car.
Jaehyun’s too smart to believe that.
“Funny?” Taeyong’s face screws up into one of confusion as his eyes dart around the table to the rest of the engineers. “What do you mean b-“
“I think I have a puncture, please check. I feel less control on right front.”
Gaping, Jaehyun scans the room. He watches as engineers click and scroll rapidly through data, as Gongmyung pinches his nose bridge between two indignant fingers, as the race falls apart in front of his eyes. A millisecond of a millisecond and Yuta could lose a place or two or three.
On the TV screen, Yuta drives slower and slower like there’s speed bumps in front of him, every few feet. The interval between him and Shotaro decreases every abysmal moment that passes.
“Stay out of the pit please, but understood. Checking now.”
There’s nothing to check—it’s plain to see. Tire pressure dwindling down like an avalanche, power being drained like it’s getting suctioned out by a vacuum.
Hushed murmuring fills the island. Jaehyun can’t comprehend any of it—the numbers rushing past him, the graphics changing temperamentally, the statistics being exchanged back and forth. Through the commotion, Jaehyun catches that they say not to pit, but it’s unlikely that will be the plan for any longer with how Yuta’s driving—steering his wheel erratically in an attempt at controlling what cannot be controlled any more.
Jaehyun can only imagine what those eyes are like behind the helmet. Burning holes into the visor, brows so furrowed they’re halfway to the tip of his nose. He holds his head in his hands. The world is burning. Oh my god. What the fuck.
“Box, box, now, it’s a puncture, I'm losing power.”
Immediately, Taeyong responds, “Copy, box and pit, confirm, Yuta,” as he turns on a dozen settings, shifts 10 gears, tries to manually control as many things as he can.
Thankfully, Yuta is only around a second or so away from the pits—but surely, a stop means that he’ll give up his lead and then some.
“Confirm.”
The pit crew jump out of their seats and get ready. At least 20 engineers and mechanics devoted to one second in time. They’re moving in slow motion around Jaehyun, almost like blurs, almost like the cars on the track. He can do nothing but sit and watch as Yuta gets to the pit lane and slows down the car in preparation to drive into it.
Switching to the television feed, Jaehyun cuts into the commentators’ excited drivel—“—we see here that Nakamoto has gone into the pits for a tire change late in the race—apparently a puncture in the right front tire, a shame as Osaki moves into first, the hometown underdog, and Lee—Lee is close to overtaking his teammate’s spot, but Qian is giving him a run for his money.”
Jaehyun rolls his eyes (a rare show of displeasure) and turns back to the team radio feed. —” —set, we’re ready, Yuta.” He turns his head around like an owl, and there he is, that’s his husband. The worst position of his life. In what seems like less than a second, Yuta’s car is lifted with two jacks; the tires are off in a flash; the new tires are lugged forward like they weigh nothing; the tire guns—“Ready?” Yuta’s voice interrupts engrossed observation of the process. It’s been 1.5 seconds.
“Um—” Taeyong starts.
“What do you mean—” There is a second of unbroken silence. It’s already a second much too long in the garage and everyone knows it.
Jaehyun gapes at the sight of Renjun fumbling with his wheel gun, trying in vain to screw the new wheel on. Taeyong stutters, “The—the wheel gun, it’s broken.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me, are you serious?”
And there it is, the curse of Suzuka, Yuta and his unrequited love. Surely enough, the tire gunner on the right front, Renjun, is scrambling for a new tool, handed to him by one of the mechanics rushing forward from the garage. Yuta is muttering angrily, cursing in Japanese, cursing in English, it’s no use.
“The fuck is going on?” Yuta’s arms wave in anger, popping out of his halo as he gestures towards the front of his car.
“Just a few more—” Renjun gives a thumbs up, all of the tire gunners do, and Taeyong says, “Go,” and Yuta does, almost accelerating past the allotted speed for the pit lane, but then he remembers himself. No penalty will soothe the anger, but a whole lot of swearing might.
Jaehyun turns back to his screen, mouth dry, heart pumping. Losing is not the worst thing in the world, but learning how to cope with it is painful, it’s agonizing. No physical injury could compare. It’s not as if Yuta has lost already, excuse him for being a pessimist, but the almost 5 second gap speaks for itself. It’s lap 50. There could be a comeback, it’s unlikely.
“Six second stop.”
“Fuck this,” Yuta grumbles and his feed crackles out. He says a bunch of unsavory words in Japanese that he’ll be reprimanded for later, but Jaehyun agrees with all of them.
Taeyong rolls his eyes. “He gets so bitchy when something goes wrong.”
“I mean, I don’t blame him, that was bullshit. Utter bullshit,” Gongmyung sighs, putting on his reading glasses to look over some numbers closer. Maybe he’s trying to formulate a strategy to win the race, or maybe he’s making a mental script of how to explain this “utter bullshit” at the press conference that’ll be exposing and awkward as anything.
“I don’t blame him either but we need some PMA in here. Jaehyun.” Taeyong’s big eyes stare into Jaehyun’s.
“What?”
“I need you to say something.”
“Hyung—”
“It’s not a choice. I just. I need you to say something.”
They’re both watching the screen intently. Yuta rounds about the fourth turn. Lap 51. Shotaro is far ahead, but Yuta on brand new slicks has nabbed back a second from the gap. Jaehyun says what he wants to say, blushing to no one in particular, and Taeyong relays his message, “Jaehyun says keep going and you're doing well.”
There’s a few seconds of silence where Jaehyun wonders—was it wrong to say that? Was it too cringe? There’s no doubt that’ll replay somewhere. It’s definitely already being transcribed right now. God. Whatever.
Yuta comes back. “If you’re listening, I love you too, jagi.” There's a whole plethora of clicking sounds as Yuta changes gear rapidly, pushing the limits of his car as he always does. Then his feed cuts out, and Jaehyun can only watch on the screen as his husband drives farther and farther away.
Taeyong turns to his work, distracted, and Jaehyun nods. “Thanks,” is all the engineer says.
A minute passes, then two. It’s obvious that Shotaro’s tires are wearing themselves out with how he’s pushing the car—but even that is not enough for Yuta to overtake him, with how masterful and deliberate he steers, the sheer control he has over such a well-made Mercedes. Lap 52. Yuta is only 2 seconds behind, Mark is 4 seconds behind courtesy of Qian Kun, but still a podium. Jaehyun has hope now (admitting that in itself is almost terrifying).
Turn 11 is so sharp; it makes Jaehyun’s heart drop everytime Yuta rounds it, but he rounds it successfully, 2 seconds after Shotaro, and they make it onto Turn 12. Less of a heart attack, it’s shaped like a wide horse-shoe and also allows for Yuta to catch up even more as he can control the car easier. Turn 13 is so tight as well; but Yuta can handle it.
“Strat 7, Strat 7, Yuta. Overtake maneuver here, he’s on mediums since Lap 34.”
“And Mark?”
“Still third.”
“Okay, you’ll do well. Strat 7, gear 5.”
“Confirm.”
Yuta drives around 13, breathing down Shotaro’s neck but not ahead quite yet. The loud roar of the engines and the crowd cheering overpower even the erratically pulsating beat of Jaehyun’s heart. This is not a DRS zone; this is not an easy overtake; but this is something Yuta is so capable of doing. Born to do this.
Sparks fly as carbon fiber ekes past carbon fiber, a thousand dollars worth of paint scratching off the body of the car, and ten years being shaved off Jaehyun’s life as he watches the two of them almost collide. Just a kiss of the wheels, a kiss of a front wing to the back, it’s okay, Jaehyun reassures himself, standing up from his stool to watch closer to the wall of televisions, like most other people in the garage. He excuses himself past people, they let him through. They are all here for the same thing.
Jaehyun crosses his arms, pushes his glasses on top of his styled hair as he unbuttons his blazer. He needs more room to breathe. When the camera feed switches to the driver view of the track, it only makes him lose his breath even more, seeing how close they are in proximity and in time.
This is Yuta’s element. This is his world. Nowhere else does Jaehyun understand as well as he does here, witnessing Yuta switch switches, press buttons, the grey expanse of the track like a lazy river the way it carries him, how easily he can glide across it. Witnessing Yuta in action is beautiful and terrifying.
By the time their exchange is finished, Yuta is riding on Shotaro’s coattails around Turn 14. His front wing is practically scraping Shotaro’s right back tire as they come around the bend, Yuta on the outside as their cars press closer and closer, until finally, Yuta accelerates enough to eke out and ahead onto the straight leading to 15.
Cheers erupt as the gap grows bigger and bigger between them, but this time, Yuta is on the winning side.
Jaehyun’s anxious heart compels him to think, and thinking is the worst thing he could do for himself right now. Superstitions don’t exist in Jaehyun’s world (they do). He believes in them as much as he believes in spirits and miracles (he believes in them both). If he thinks it’ll turn out well, then it’ll turn out bad. If he thinks it’ll turn out bad, it’ll turn out bad, he can’t win.
His head thinks something terrible will happen, maybe Yuta oversteers and crashes, but he doesn’t, thank god. It’s a terrible thing to think about and it makes Jaehyun literally want to slap the silly out of himself, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to, because Yuta’s made it safely past this turn, and then the next one, and then the straight, and then back around another turn, and it dawns on him that it is lap 52, and sooner or later this race will end, and Yuta will make it across the finish line. Where will he end up? Jaehyun tries to be humble about it, tries not to jinx it so that Yuta will make it successfully—but it is plain to see that through the disappointment, the losses, the crashes, and all the bullshit that comes with Formula One, Yuta Nakamoto will prevail, once and for all.
Gongmyung grins at him, eyes bright, and shouts over the cacophony of the Red Bull Racing garage, “Switch over to the TV feed! The announcer is much more interesting!” and Jaehyun shakes his head, gentle and demure. “I want to hear Yuta when he makes it over.”
—
Yuta crosses the chequered flag and everything after that is unexpected.
Every other win is so—it’s an explosion. It’s a firework going off inside this enclosed space. But when Yuta makes it over the finish line, Shotaro over 4 seconds behind him, it’s silent. Silent enough that Taeyong has to ask, “Yuta, are you okay?” and the dead air that follows makes Jaehyun’s stomach turn for a bit, until it relaxes into, “This is fine.”
When the race is over, the drivers don’t stop driving. A cooldown lap is necessary to make sure the car is okay, and everything is fine. Jaehyun could run back to Korea, go to Monaco, sprint back, it wouldn’t be enough to cool down the feeling in his chest. He’s not even the one who won. Yuta is, and Yuta is silent on his cooldown lap, the entire way.
If Jaehyun didn’t know better, he would question it. But he knows better. “Shh. He’s okay,” he assures everyone who might listen, because they're as much a part of Yuta as he is. He lets it, the victory, everything—lets it come over him and through him as he abandons Fantasy Island and comes back to real life, the real life where Nakamoto Yuta is the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix race winner. He jogs over with the rest of the station, since Yuta doesn’t need any more direction after his first cooldown lap—he knows what to do.
Jaehyun could remember everything. The confetti, the way it tickled his nose on its way down, how he stuffed a handful in his blazer pocket; the whoops and yells from Taeyong, Gongmyung, Minji, everyone in the garage; the way the fence wire dug into his hands and made the blood rise to his skin like it was magnetic, the way the metal rubbed against his calluses and his wedding ring.
Most of all, Jaehyun can remember the water droplets, fat and heavy, descending from the sky. How they smattered on his cheeks, how they landed on his eyelashes and down his hair. The rainbow fluid pooling on the track as the motor oil and the rainwater meld together, how they slide on and off the metal of Yuta’s car as he crosses the finish line for the last time, cleansing and free and beautiful.
When everyone leaves for parc ferme, it’s like he's being carried atop a sea of clouds, but really, he’s shuffling alongside the rest of them, just another face in the crowd celebrating this victor, his victor, their victor. The water drenches his hair, and he wants to care, but it’s much too hard to care about anyone except for Yuta.
Where he walks, people make way. He thinks it’s not worth the trouble—all he is is Yuta’s. He’s not Yuta. He’s not that important. But he still takes his spot where he's always stayed, on the second segment of fence closest to the entrance into parc ferme so when Yuta gets out of his car, and when Yuta comes running, he will be there for him, and everything will be right. Because he won. Because Suzuka loves him back now.
There is no showboating. No donuts that will deduct €50,0000 from their bank account by tomorrow. Nothing.
Yuta unclips his various belts and clasps, gets out of the car, kneels on the ground, bows down to it, his worship of this car, this sport, so devout and ardent.
Jaehyun knows then that he won’t have to worry anymore. It’s so freeing, not having to worry anymore. Jaehyun hopes Yuta feels this way. That would be the best thing to come out of this.
“Jaehyun!” His shoulders shake with someone’s big hands. It’s Johnny, celebrating like him and Yuta were never rivals at one point. Jaehyun doesn’t have the wherewithal to look back, eyes glued to the winner on the ground, bowing like it is the last thing he will ever do on this track, shoulders shaking with what seems to be cries; Jaehyun wants to run to him, but Yuta—Yuta will find his way home. Right now, he gets to be reverent and adoring of the vehicle that carried him and his team across the finish line. Right now, he gets to be alone with his accomplishment.
Jaehyun doesn’t even realize that Yuta’s driven his way back in front of the first place board right near where Jaehyun stands, where he belongs. The other two cars take their places, yet Yuta is the only one who comes here, comes to the fence immediately, throwing off his helmet and his HANS, his gloves just prints on the wet ground—Jaehyun knows exactly where he is going. He turns to the side Yuta’s coming from and tries to rub the pink from his eyes so it’s not so easy to see that he’s been crying. Yuta throws himself onto him. The first thing that comes to Jaehyun’s mind is how it must hurt to jump this fence—Yuta’s stomach will be sore, so he puts his hand in between his stomach and the fence, and now it’s digging into his hand but who cares? Who cares. Yuta says something.
Jaehyun looks up from his hand between them trying to stifle the uncomfortable metal. “What?”
“I did it.”
His eyes are shell-shocked and Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s ever seen this on him—disbelief. Wonder? Then it sinks in what he said and he—“It’s yours, Yu,” Jaehyun exclaims, cupping his cheek and then letting it fall because god, there are so many cameras and eyes that he’s unequipped to handle for the both of them. “It’s yours.”
“Mine,” he whispers, and his face breaks out into the biggest grin Jaehyun’s ever seen on him, and Jaehyun smiles back, tears fighting so hard to make it out. Jaehyun takes hold of his face gently, then pulls him in for an embrace that Yuta jumps into again, on his tiptoes, his boots too flat to give him any support, but Jaehyun just carries him and holds on like it’s nothing, hoping it doesn’t hurt too much, even though Yuta doesn’t care right now.
It’s not just them—it’s Taeyong patting his head, it’s Doyoung shaking his arm, it’s Gongmyung yelling and cheering, it’s Yuta who’s the center of all of the people who want to touch the gold that is him. After a few seconds, Yuta lets go and pumps his fists in the air, once, cheers erupting at his acknowledgement of the crowd.
Jaehyun’s hit by yet another hug that catches him off guard, but this time it’s—“I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much, you’re why, you know, you're why—” Jaehyun can’t catch the rest, it’s hurried Japanese and it’s so—it’s so rushed and he wants to hang on, but already Yuta is being told to go back to the place cards, to say congratulations to Shotaro and Mark but Yuta keeps hanging on, arms tight around his neck. “You’re why, Jae.”
The next thought out of Jaehyun’s head is surprisingly even dumber than thinking that the metal might hurt Yuta’s tummy, but everything is so obscenely crazy and insane and messy—he thinks, “I don’t understand?” but Yuta will show him later.
Yuta is pulled away by the arm and Jaehyun blurts, “Don’t go.”
“I have to, baby, I have to—”
Jaehyun shakes his head and kisses Yuta on the cheek hurriedly before pushing him off gently. “I know, I just—I’ll see you later.”
Kiss. A kiss on his lips, quick and easy, and oh-so-on-camera, like, there had to have been 20 cameras trained on them right there, and everything’s broadcasting live, the way Yuta positively screams, “I love you, Jae!” before scurrying off to go see Mark like they're in primary school again. Then he turns back and drives the nail in the coffin: a cute little flying kiss and wink back to Jaehyun that Jaehyun shakes his head at, grinning.
Again, Jaehyun becomes a face in the crowd celebrating the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix race winner, Nakamoto Yuta.
—
“You know, I’ll never complain about any win you get. But did you really have to dump the whole bottle of champagne on me?”
Jaehyun towels off with a Hello Kitty branded cloth, wringing the sticky champagne and rainwater out of his already sweaty hair.
Yuta did his whole—it’d be weird to call it an act, but it’s elaborate and planned, as much as an act is—routine after a win: get up on the podium, accept the trophy and first place gracefully with a grin and a handshake, grab gigantic bottle of Ferrari Trento, explode it on the crowd as much as possible before downing the rest. He handed the empty bottle to a handler, was given another one from one of the Red Bull employees, ran downstairs, and the next thing Jaehyun knows—he’s soaked and smelling like alcohol from the spray. The bottle was passed around for a sip from everybody, then Yuta took it back and drank some more; his body seemed to absorb what champagne he got down the hatch, and now he sits, cradling the trophy in his arms, tranquil like he was before the madness.
“Do you wanna hold her?” he asks, looking up.
“You’re acting like it’s a baby.”
“It’s our baby now.”
“Just for now.” Jaehyun smiles as he takes the cup from Yuta. Silver chrome, gold cherry blossoms carefully placed in its plate. Large, black number 1 on the nameplate. Yuta’s. Empty spot in the trophy case back home. Filled spot in the trophy case, now, with this piece of art filling the vacancy. “It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?” Yuta takes it back with a gentle grip and says, “And to answer your question—it wasn’t that much champagne.”
The door opens behind Jaehyun and it’s Johnny, clarifying, “Not champagne—sparkling wine.”
Yuta rolls his eyes and holds out the trophy. “Like it matters.”
“It matters to me, Yuyu.”
“‘Course it does.”
Johnny holds the cup much the same as Yuta does—Jaehyun guesses that’s just the grip of a victor. It seems as if they're all practiced in it, like it’s truly in their blood to do this. “One of my favorite trophies, congrats man.” He gives it back and starts for the door, to which Yuta questions, “Why are you leaving?” and Johnny answers shortly, “I have to, uh, say congrats to Mark, you know?” and he leaves the room so swift it’s like he wasn't there in the first place.
Standing in front of the mirror in the center of the room, Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow while still trying to get the liquid in his hair out, but it’s really not working. And Johnny’s only added to the confusion with his departure, but how much he cares is quickly fading with how crunchy and gross his hair is. Yuta stands up behind him and asks, “You think they’re ever gonna make up?”
“I don’t know—who knows.” They’re weird. Growing up in Chicago with them both as rivals and best friends was already evidence enough of just how complex their dynamic is. “I just know my hair’s all messed up.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Yuta pouts in the mirror. “You’re struggling?”
Jaehyun shakes his head. “Maybe. Courtesy of you, though.”
“My pleasure.” Yuta puts his hands on Jaehyun’s shoulders and turns him around—he’s much shorter, shrunk down to normal Yuta size after such a huge and imposing showing out there, joining the giants. But now he’s just Yuta. Yuta with a white pair of socks on and 3 inches shorter than Jaehyun, Yuta with their silver wedding band on his finger, Yuta with yet another win under his belt. Yuta in a race suit draped around his waist, his white fireproof riding up to expose his happy trail, his butterfly, his feather.
Jaehyun gives him a once over, his eyes lingering too long for comfort—when he looks back up, Yuta is radiating playfulness, and he tries to avert his gaze. “Let me help you, then maybe we can do something, yeah?” Yuta grins, and he grins back.
“Yeah, sure.” He hands him the cloth and stands there, head bowed as Yuta
“I think that's about the best I can do, Jae,” he says, finally. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” Smoothing a hand over Jaehyun’s hair, pushing it so it combs back and over, Yuta does the same to his own. “Now we match. Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Jaehyun smiles.
“You don't like it?” Turning around to check himself out in the mirror, Yuta combs his hand through his hair yet again. He’s so handsome, the pink glow in his cheeks from his previous tipsiness, the winning smile.
Jaehyun turns around to match him. “No, I think I love it,” Jaehyun mumbles into the side of Yuta’s neck, linking his arms around his waist. “I love it a lot.”
“You do?” Yuta smirks. “I'm glad.”
“Yeah?” Jaehyun nips a little bit with his teeth, the soft column of his winner’s neck, Yuta’s hair cascading down to tickle Jaehyun’s nose, and remarks, “I know something that’ll make you even happier.”
“Show me then, Jae,” but Jaehyun is not able to show him, not with how the door swings open so fast neither of them can react (not even Yuta can react! That’s just crazy!), and just from the way the door opens—Jaehyun’s hands fall limp at his sides, ready for a berating from Ten Lee himself.
Ten scolds, “Keep it in your pants. You have three press conferences in 10 minutes, Yu.”
Yuta turns to hug Jaehyun the right way around. “So fucking lame,” he says into his chest.
“Yeah, yeah. You can do whatever you want to each other at the afterparty.” Ten rolls his eyes despite his smile.
“Hi,” Dejun interjects meekly. “Ten wants you to film something for the fans.”
Yuta leaves Jaehyun’s embrace, smiling at the younger man. “Of course, Junnie. Should I sit down? Have the trophy in my hands, maybe?”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Alright. We’ll sit down together.”
The two of them get into position, Dejun and Ten sitting on ottomans set up in front of the loveseat. Jaehyun props himself up against the wall and watches.
“Good? Everything good?” Yuta asks in English, brushing his hair from his eyes, readjusting his race suit and the trophy. Dejun nods and whispers, “Go.”
What can he even say? Jaehyun can’t put it into words, how does Yuta do it? But it comes so naturally to him. He introduces himself, like everyone watching the video doesn’t already know him; “property of Red Bull Racing” joke that he always says; talks about the events of the race; how difficult it was at times; his favorite parts of it all, both on and off the track. He speaks so intent and sincere, so focused and unflinching, unsmiling. Serious.
Jaehyun listens to the beginning, but the real speech begins when Yuta does that thing—when he clears his throat, lets the silence simmer like the black asphalt of a track on a hot day. His silence is always so reverent.
“A lot of—a lot of heartbreak the past few years, but this made it all better. Don’t tell that to the Kims, okay? Okay. I trust you guys. But anyway…” he lets out a deep breath like he’s trying to breathe out his nervousness. “I have always said that this track is my Monaco—now I’ve won Monaco and Suzuka. I couldn’t be happier. This has—this has been a long time coming for me, and my team, my supporters, my family. I am very grateful. Thankful to Mark for being a gracious teammate and congratulating me anyway, and of course, I can’t do this without acknowledging Shotaro-kun’s drive, that was masterful and he truly gave me a competition today.
“All of this… I am very grateful. My husband, Jaehyun, he’s always been by my side, and I cannot—I cannot thank him enough. He is the reason I continue racing. I don’t think I would have gone on without his encouragement and grace as my life partner and the reason I continue driving,” His lips form a thin smile as he bows his head once more, picks a petal off his bouquet of flowers, looks in the camera in earnest. Jaehyun pretends like he doesn’t want to cry, and tries to move on when Yuta does. Clearing his throat, “To my race engineer, Taeyong—thank you for yelling at me when I needed it. And Doyoung and Ten, thank you for always advocating for me, Gongmyung for being the best CEO, Minji-san for being the smartest person ever to exist—
“It’s like I won a championship, no?” He laughs a soft little laugh, continuing, “But we aren’t there yet, obviously. Next we have Abu Dhabi and that will always be a fight, especially with the King of Abu Dhabi, Jaemin Na, but we are so close. It’s like,” Yuta looks towards Ten for what he needs, and gets his answer, “24 points. 24 points, guys. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, at least I won Japan, right? I’m just kidding. We will always go towards the big one, alright? Fighting! Thank you again.” He thanks the viewers in German, Korean, Japanese, English again; blows a kiss or two through the air and at his viewers; yet another cute smile.
“See you later.”
—
It’s later.
Like, six hours later.
For six whole hours, Jaehyun wished: “I would like to see my husband. Alone.” Just for a few moments. Just until he gets back into the 200 kilometer per hour media circus clown car and doesn’t disembark until he’s given more than a few polarizing quotes and platitudes about other opponents’ performances and letdowns. Not even a moment together before hopping straight into the clown car and not getting out.
Three press conferences, not even counting the private ones, the ones within Red Bull, the others within the whole of F1 with Yuta beaming proudly with his trophy on his lap while everyone else was exhausted. So cute. His Pirelli #1 cap was off-kilter on his head the whole time, his wavy brown hair curling up under its edges. Jaehyun sat at the very back but he could see it from there. He wanted to smooth it down with his hand, but he couldn’t.
Then, there was a semi-private moment, semi-private meaning surrounded by people but not live streamed or filmed (at least not officially). Yuta came back to the suites, Jaehyun followed his little posse, and finally, finally, Ten’s Hello Kitty Yuta room got its time in the sun. They filmed a portion there too. Yuta sat on the ground in the middle of it all, wearing a headband with two little Hello Kitty Yutas glued on them, a gigantic cat plushie in his lap, a bouquet of pink flowers in his hands, talking about how grateful he is for all of it, smiling so cutely it hurt Jaehyun’s heart.
Remind Jaehyun to screenshot this Youtube video later. And remind him to ask for all of the stuff in the room to be taken to their house in Tokyo.
After that room, Yuta herded them all to the other suite, where his family was waiting patiently—he burst into tears immediately upon walking in, and Jaehyun rubbed his back in silence as he said hello to everybody, as they passed around the trophy and admired that it was in his name, in their name. Jaehyun had never seen Yuta’s father cry—today was the first time. Everyone was in tears. Hairdresser cousin, future-engineer younger sister, fashion designer older sister, Mrs. Nakamoto, absolutely sobbing. When Yuta got to his mom, all five feet flat of her, he only started crying more as they embraced, his trophy in hand behind her.
Jaehyun started crying. Of course he did. It was like a whole cacophony of sobs in that room, as Yuta bowed to his parents, to his sisters, to everyone for how supportive they’ve been of him throughout his entire career, his entire life. He says his speech in Japanese, Jaehyun understands all of it.
After swimming through a stream of Nakamoto tears, Jaehyun finally decides to leave Yuta to his devices. As much as he doesn’t want to leave him, there’s a race brief meeting that will last a minimum of two hours that Jaehyun would rather not attend. After spending his own time in the Nakamoto suite (lots of hugs, lots of gushing about Yuta; everything Jaehyun could ever want, to be honest), Jaehyun goes down in the paddock to visit Yuta’s driver’s room, but to his surprise, it’s Johnny, Ten, Taeyong, and Mark looking drained of all energy.
It’s completely silent, Ten and Taeyong sleeping on each other on the loveseat, Mark napping on the shitty twin XL cot that gets transported around every racetrack. Johnny is sitting down with his Mercedes cap over his face, and Jaehyun settles down next to him.
“Jaehyun-ah,” he says, muffled by the hat.
“Johnny hyung.”
“Tonight is going to go fucking crazy.” He lifts his head and takes off the cap. “Are you ready to party?”
Jaehyun’s tired bones scream at him. “No, not really.”
“Me neither. But it’s gonna go crazy, bro.” He rolls his neck back and it cracks like a glowstick. “Get ready for a banger. Or not, considering how you and Yu are.”
Jaehyun raises his eyebrows. “How we are?”
Laughing, Johnny leans forward and drinks from a bottle of water. Or maybe it’s not water. Who knows. “Please. We all see you sneaking off at the club after like, half a drink or something.”
HIs cheeks grow so warm. “Not true…” but it’s very true, Jaehyun knows for a fact. Apparently, they are more transparent than he thought.
“So true…watch out tonight, be safe. After I won a race like that, I think?” he drinks from his water bottle again, “I think it was the last American GP I won. Felt like I was going crazy, man, Mark couldn’t even walk the day after.”
Oh my god! That sounds beautiful, actually, and Jaehyun is secretly excited for his own turn. Not so secret, though, he learns, when Johnny teases him for his red cheeks and ears. Mortifying, so mortifying, but he can’t hide it. He was already aware there’d be celebrations in line for Yuta and him together, but this confirmation brings desire up to his skin. Yuta and Jaehyun agreed that after the meetings and obligations, they’d meet up at the club down the street after getting ready.
Imagine Jaehyun’s surprise when Yuta rolls up to the party in baggy cargos and nothing covering his torso except for an open and oversized vintage Red Bull Racing jacket. 5mm silver cuban link chain, 20 inches, resting on his perfect collarbone; belly ring with a red gemmed bull hanging from it. He changed his fucking bellybutton jewelry?????? ARE YOU SERIOUS?
Jaehyun has to pretend like he’s not going crazy—he’d never even seen that jewelry on him before, Yuta must’ve planned this, of course he did. God. Toned stomach all bare. Happy trail and navel piercing and hip tattoos and what have you, every little detail that makes Yuta so sexy, shown off on a silver platter and served to Nakamoto Jaehyun and Nakamoto Jaehyun only.
“Did you miss me, jagi?” Yuta questions with a smirk and a sickly sweet tone to his voice.
“I missed you so much,” Jaehyun replies as he snakes his arms around Yuta’s bare waist, hugging him close as Yuta kisses the side of his mouth. “I love your outfit,” he shouts over the loud music—Johnny is at the DJ booth. This is fucking crazy. He’s playing a song that goes “two baddies and one Porsche,” which is ironic considering the Porsche deal with Red Bull fell through, but good song nonetheless. Yuta is bobbing his little head to it, brown hair slicked back with gel and it makes him look so handsome.
“I know you do!” Yuta shouts back as he grabs Jaehyun’s hand.
As they walk through, they’re showered in an abundance of congratulations, great race, FINALLYs!!! The attention isn’t so bad here, because Yuta takes it with a smile, takes it for both of them. Jaehyun is wearing a Red Bull jacket, too, but he doesn’t look as cool as Yuta in it. Definitely not as cool as he clumsily navigates through all of the people, Yuta holding his hand and leading the way, so confident.
This club was a place to drown sorrows the last five years. Now it’s where Yuta shines, making his rounds as Jaehyun takes a booth for them. He settles down, ordering a single vodka Red Bull for each of them in celebration and absolute debauchery. So charismatic, the way Yuta slinks around and pretends like he knows everyone in this room—only half of them are even associated with Red Bull; the rest, fans or foes, who cares. What matters is their booth, their little world in the corner.
Yuta does his rounds, Yuta comes back, Yuta is all over him in half a second, and god. One hand down Jaehyun’s pants and mouth attached to his pulse. There is no doubt that everyone who passes by knows what’s going on underneath this table; Jaehyun cannot look anyone in the eye, because then it’s real. There’s a pull at the nerve in his stomach that he wants to let his husband tug at, just let it go, let him cum in his pants like a teenager again, like everyone and their mother isn’t passing by with wide eyes and whispers at the undoing of Nakamoto’s husband. Nakamoto will get a pass. Jaehyun will not.
If he was less composed, if he had less of a reputation to uphold, he would do it. He would do it. Let Yuta jerk him off underneath this table, hope no one looks under—it wouldn’t be difficult, his hand is already around his shaft, just there, squeezing every once in a while, stroking down every once in a while. And he’s already so hard. But he can’t do it. When Jaehyun comes back, he will absolutely be summoned to his coach’s office for crimes against the KVA and KOVO and KVF and whoever the hell else. Who fucking cares!
Eventually, Yuta comes up, grabbing his chin and turning him roughly to face him, lips hovering above the others, eyelids so heavy and deep set that those are not Yuta’s eyes anymore. He asks, “Do you want to do this here?” and Jaehyun shakes his head no and he asks another question like a command, “Back to the hotel?” Jaehyun nods, but not before Yuta captures his lips again, desperate and wet and so filthy for comfort but who cares.
In a mash of cherry chapstick, champagne sticky, vodka Red Bull and victory, Yuta and Jaehyun’s lips meet in an all-too-frenzied kiss against their hotel room door.
Fucking hell, Jaehyun’s never been so turned on before in his life. He smooths his hands over Yuta’s stomach, fingers dragging against his navel piercing, tracing along the lines of his hard muscles, the soft lines of his tattoos on his hips; digs his fingers in like he wants to pluck the ink off his body and bring them to life.
Yuta is so unabashed about it. Palming each other in the back of the taxi, cornering him against the wall of the elevator and kissing him like no tomorrow, all of it is left unfinished. He won’t stop until he takes what he wants, and Jaehyun is so ready to give it to him.
Jaehyun nudges Yuta’s jacket open, and there, in the light of the entrance of the room, Yuta’s bruises are so apparent that it makes Jaehyun gasp.
“What? What is it?” Yuta asks, stripping off the other arm of his jacket.
The bruises should never be a surprise. Both of them bruise easily; after a good practice, Jaehyun’s arms and legs are practically covered in them. After a particularly intense drive, Yuta is battered and sore from the seatbelts and strappings protecting him from the G forces, but still—Jaehyun is surprised. Bruises stripe across his diaphragm, chest, shoulders. “Does it hurt?” Jaehyun runs a hand across Yuta’s skin and goosebumps pop up at the contact. He fights the urge to smile at it, how sensitive Yuta is considering how deeply red these marks are on him, how painful they appear. “Why are they so much worse today?”
“They don’t hurt enough for me to care. I thought it was fine if we had them, we’ve talked about this before.”
“It’s fine if I have them. Not if you have them.”
“Is that so?” The tone of his voice lowers. “You okay with some more bruises on your knees, baby?”
Jaehyun makes a noise of approval and lowers down, kneeling before Yuta now towering above him and cupping a flushed cheek.
At his worst, Yuta is still humble. Never immodest, never competitive to the point of conceit, but this track. This track gives him an excuse. Winning—that’s what looks the best on him, the air of confidence and slight arrogance radiating off his skin, the ecstasy of being able to conquer Suzuka once and for all.
Yuta’s made this track his bitch, and Jaehyun’s glad to get in line.
Still, it doesn’t matter how much arrogance is radiating off of him—a fresh red stripe of a bruise on a purplish yellow patch that already seemed to be healing lays right before Jaehyun’s eyes, on top of Yuta’s butterfly, and Jaehyun whispers, “Seriously, It’s concerning, jagi.” His eyebrows furrow into a line, clicking his tongue at the physical trauma it takes to secure a win, but Yuta brushes it off so flippantly.
“You can be all concerned about it, later, Jae,” he assures, patronizing. “Now give your victor his prize.” Yuta thumbs at Jaehyun’s plush pink lips, so light of a grip on his chin, such a hover of a touch over his kiss-bitten lips. “Open.“
“That’s the cheesiest shit you've ever said.” But Jaehyun drops his jaw. Duh.
It is so easy to say that motorsport is the perfect mix of man and machine; but Yuta is all man, standing tall above him.
“You liked it, though, didn't you?”
Jaehyun tucks a finger in the Calvin Klein waistband of Yuta’s underwear and pulls down. “Loved it.” He pops the tip of Yuta’s cock in his mouth, salty precum already coating his deft tongue, and he swallows it down along with everything else Yuta’s giving him—his quiet sighs, how his black manicured fingers pull at Jaehyun’s sweaty hair, how it feels when he’s already thrusting shallowly into his mouth.
The head of his cock hits the roof of Jaehyun’s mouth as he angles up; his eyes go wild when Jaehyun gags on it, and he exits his mouth again. At this point, spit pools in the mouth of the man on the ground, and he wipes it away before it dribbles even more.
“You're so good to me, Jae,” Yuta purrs, standing there with his hand on the back of Jaehyun’s head, cock placed right on top of his lips. “Can you let me fuck your mouth? Can I do that, since I won for you?” He guides his cock to slide over Jaehyun’s soft lips and the man tries chasing it; mouth opening slightly, closing when he doesn’t get what he wants, fuck, this is embarrassing. Wanting it so bad. But it’s Yuta. It’s no wonder he wants it bad.
“You can take it right? ‘Cause I did that for you just so you could do this for me, jagi. All of this, just to have your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.” Yuta cups his jaw now, squishing slightly so his mouth hands open; the spit dribbles freely now, so disgusting on Jaehyun’s chin. “Better than any trophy, baby, did you know that? I’d have you over any of this any day. Tight fuckin’ throat, pretty face, you’re all I want,” Yuta grips tight onto a fistful of Jaehyun’s hair, tipping his head back. “All I want.” Yuta leans down and kisses his open mouth, gets back up and slowly enters his cock in it.
Automatically, Jaehyun closes his mouth around its tip and sucks, and Yuta lets his hair go so he can control this part. Jaehyun can facefuck himself with Yuta’s cock, thank you very much.
He lowers down, eyes trained on Yuta’s toned abdomen as he takes it inch by inch, letting himself adjust to all he’s swallowed every once in a while. Tears line his eyes despite how slow he's going—this is annoying, he hates when this makes him almost cry, but whatever. Yuta sucks in a breath through his mouth. Even with Jaehyun’s displeasure, at least he knows he's doing something right.
“You're okay?” Yuta asks.
Jaehyun nods and breathes in deeply through his nose, finally sliding forth so he’s buried in the thatch of hair at the base of Yuta’s cock; it’s nestled deep within his throat, and he swallows so it tightens, so Yuta can finally let out what he's been meaning to. If Jaehyun could moan right now, he would.
Both Yuta’s hands find their way to the back of Jaehyun’s head again, pulling him forward gently, and Jaehyun opens his mouth the most he can go so he can go as deep as possible, his teeth hitting his husband’s pelvis. The pain and pleasure are so good it makes him close his eyes—here, he can lose himself without worrying anyone’s watching. When he opens, he finds Yuta staring down at him, unflinching and intimidating, but he doesn’t look away—why would he?
He tries to pull back but Yuta wants him to stay down, and he does, clenching his fist and breathing the way he always does when they’re doing this. Yuta fucks into his mouth a few times, then he stuffs his cock down Jaehyun’s throat like it’s a tight sleeve, and this happens more than a few times until Jaehyun is gasping for air on the ground, spit on his chin, on his hands, on his nice Prada jacket that Yuta bought him.
When he comes back—which is a feat in itself—Jaehyun lazily licks and sucks at Yuta’s dripping cock, a semblance of giving both of them a break, but it doesn’t take long for Yuta to fuck him up again, one last deep seat of his entire cock in Jaehyun’s mouth, and Yuta finally lets him go, fingers still tangled in his hair—sputtering out, Jaehyun coughs, and Yuta says, “Jaehyun, take your clothes off and get on your hands and knees.” Unforgiving for good reason, the reason being—he’s a fucking winner.
This is more authoritative of Yuta than he ever is. Jaehyun would be amused if he wasn’t so dick achingly hard right now.
It’s a scramble to the finish line (hardy har) as Jaehyun strips naked and gets on the bed. It’s so cold. Christ. Yuta’s still in his get-up, like a true racer from the 90s, like he’s about to Tokyo drift or whatever that song is on his playlist of terrible race hype music that Jaehyun can’t stand to listen to. Anyway. There’s a lull where nothing is really happening, and Jaehyun is just propped up and displayed, and he wonders what Yuta is doing—but hands squeeze his ass and there he is. Jaehyun scoots his little butt back, and he knows the laugh that comes from his husband is because of his unbridled enthusiasm, and he laughs along with him.
Yuta lays his cheek against Jaehyun’s bare ass and presses a kiss to it. He’s got a penchant for misbehavior when he wins, and currently, he’s showing off just how vulgar he can be. Jaehyun looks back, Yuta is smirking, Jaehyun is somewhat daunted about what ferocity is about to be born of his champion.
He peppers kisses against his cheek, then a kiss to his hole, and Jaehyun full-body shivers at it. “Do you like that? I know you do, ‘course you do.” Yuta holds his hand around the head of Jaehyun’s cock and watches as it twitches with the friction he’s giving. “Look at that, hm, Jaehyunie? Funny how that works.” His voice is so soft. It’s so puzzling how he can be so mean and so gentle.
“Are you just doing this to tease me?” 10 years of being a professional athlete, and Jaehyun is already panting like he ran a marathon.
“I'm doing it ‘cause you like it.” He gives a few loose strokes to Jaehyun’s heavy and hanging cock. “And also just to tease you.”
All that goes through Jaehyun’s mind is WHAT THE FUCKKKK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK and then he calms down again, because he has to, and then he looks back and Yuta is petting little kitten licks with his tongue on Jaehyun’s hole while maintaining eye contact and he’s right back to the WHAT THE FUCKKKK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK that his brain is blaring. All the volleyball nets in his head are tangled. All the volleyballs in his head have deflated. All the smoke and mirrors of Formula One in his head are up in smoke and shattered to pieces. That doesn’t even make sense. Nothing makes sense when Yuta’s tongue is in his ass, and it’s so filthy but fuck, is it?
It’s ridiculous right? So easily undone by a tongue and a few fingers. Big strong Korean athlete, spokesperson of Nike and Prada and whoever. He does this all the time, on his hands and knees and takes it, but it feels so different today. Like it means something else. Yuta keeps going, tongue poking into Jaehyun’s rim, opening him up slowly as he rubs at his hole with a thumb. It’s ridiculous, ridiculous how good this feels. Getting your ass eaten by a Suzuka GP winner is much better than getting it eaten by a Suzuka GP loser, apparently.
The rain still falls outside the window, the sky dark and thundery, but that light shade of grey that comes with being in a city—the pollution clouds the stars, but the hotel building is high enough to overpass that, halfway to the stars itself, alongside several other tall buildings that match its height. In the spaces between Yuta’s onslaught on his ass, he realizes—people. Jaehyun knows you can see in, he knows, he knows, and it would make him panic, but now he doesn’t care; fuck, he doesn’t care. Why should he? A thousand feet up in Nagoya, on cloud nine—who cares when you’re on top of the world? When the world is on top of him, tongue fucking into his hole, a frenzy of fingers and spit and skillful maneuvering.
Eventually, Yuta slows his pace down (thank heavens), already having eased a finger in and trying for one more; he licks at Jaehyun’s rim tight around his fingers as he fucks him open. He adds the other finger, but Jaehyun is so ready for it it feels like nothing. “Yuta,” Jaehyun whines, dick grinding into the bed as he tries to squirm away but also closer.
“Sorry,” Yuta winces. “I know I get carried away.” He rubs at Jaehyun’s ass, cutely, affectionately, and there’s Jaehyun’s normal husband, loser Yuta. Yuta gets cocky, loves pushing his own and Jaehyun’s limits. Loser Yuta is not so punishing on his prostate. But now, Jaehyun wants his high—fuck it. He doesn’t know what he wants, other than just Yuta.
“No, I just—I want more.”
“Oh, you want more?” He’s pretending. “I didn’t know that.”
Jaehyun ignores Yuta’s feigned ignorance and changes the topic, considering he’s not going to get what he wants yet. “Don’t you think,” oh, he’s so out of breath, “We should close the curtains.”
Not that he cares. but now he kind of does. What if someone’s watching him get absolutely destroyed and split in half etc etc. volleyball twink gets smashed by F1 winner. etc etc. the headlines, oh the headlines, but it’s the anxiety talking, or is it, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care at the moment, or maybe he does care. Who knows. Yuta’s fingers piston in and out of him and he decides that he does know—he really doesn’t care.
After overcomplicating things right on schedule, Jaehyun gets back to the situation at hand, which is the easing in of a third finger in his ass, and Yuta saying, “Jerk yourself off.” Jaehyun follows orders like he’s a robot when he’s in this state. Wrapping a hand around his cock, he starts stroking, the way Yuta likes, like he has a vendetta against himself—he has to stuff his face into the pillow to not just scream, which would be so out of character for him. He manages to stop himself, but the urge continues to grow as he continues, tight grip and steady pace as he fucks into his hand.
“You want me to close the curtains?” Yuta hasn’t let up on the topic apparently, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who cares what they see, Jae, I won, I can do anything to you, right?
Face still in the pillows, hand still unrelenting on his cock, Jaehyun nods. “Anything.” The fingers. Yuta’s fingers are moving like he’s asking one million people to come hither, individually. Right on Jaehyun’s spot, again and again like driving on a track 53 times in a row. Christ.
“You’re close, huh?” He asks, and Jaehyun nods, biting his lip, feverishly trying to chase his release. There’s no hiding how needy he is. “Stop doing that.”
“But—”
“Ah, no buts. You said anything. You're gonna cum when I want you to.” He stops his fingers in their tracks, and Jaehyun turns to look back at him. The smile on his face is so mischievous. What else to expect from Nakamoto Yuta?
“Hyung—” Jaehyun whines, then he shakes his head and laughs. “Fuck, sorry.”
Yuta gasps. “Am I your hyunggg, Jaehyun? Hm? Is thatttt who I am?” The teasing makes Jaehyun laugh even more—husband of two years still calling him “hyung.” He stopped calling Yuta that after they moved to Japan together, and, you know, got engaged, but he still slips up sometimes. “I haven’t been hyung to you in years.” His voice drops, and there’s no laughing anymore. “And I definitely won’t be hyung to you tonight.” With that, he takes his fingers out of Jaehyun’s hole completely, and the absence of them makes the little Jaehyun in his head pout. Being at Yuta’s service is so much more of a job when he’s being mean.
But it’s okay, because he runs his fingers past Jaehyun’s hole again, whispering, “Is that enough?”
“More than enough.”
“I’ll go slow, still, don’t worry.” Like Jaehyun’s ever had to worry. “On your back, jagi, please.”
“Do you want me to open my legs?” Jaehyun asks as he lies down.
“If you could,” Yuta squeezes gently at the muscle of Jaehyun’s thigh. He loves Jaehyun’s thighs, thick from years of volleyball. There was a time before Yuta that Jaehyun hated them, how they couldn’t fit in any of the pants he liked, how they looked compared to the rest of his body, but that’s not a problem anymore. “I would love that.”
“Then I will.” Yuta looks like he wants to swallow him whole when Jaehyun spreads his legs, thighs on either side of Yuta’s sides. “For you, oppa.”
The most dramatic gasp comes from his mouth. “Not that name.”
“What should I call you by then?” Stroking Yuta’s ego is such a pastime. Jaehyun knows the answer before Yuta even starts speaking.
He looks up at the ceiling (which, Jaehyun never noticed but is covered in mirrors, because this room and this day and this night has to become even more ridiculous), acting confused, and replies, “Japanese GP race winner Nakamoto Yuta, pride of Japan, Osaka prince, apple of Nakamoto Jaehyun’s eye would be nice.”
Jaehyun whistles. “Long title.”
Yuta lowers down to hold himself up, arms by Jaehyun’s head, cock teasing his hole, and says, “Just Yuta. Just jagi or whatever you want to call me—‘cause I love you.” He kisses Jaehyun sweetly, plush lips meeting plush lips, and they both smile.
“You do?” Yuta pushes in the fat head of his cock, and Jaehyun sighs out a moan. Still, he tries to sound legit when he strains out, ”I wasn’t aware,” as Yuta pushes in even more of his shaft.
He bottoms out, full inside Jaehyun’s hole now. “You didn’t know? I’ll let you know right now, baby.” He starts sliding out, unhurried, relaxed like he's not inches deep in his husband. So calm, it’s a wonder how he does it, especially when he’s talking Jaehyun through it, voice steady and clear. “When I fuck you good like this you’ll see how much I love you, right? How much I adore you?” brushing Jaehyun’s hair behind his ear, Yuta places a gentle hand on his stomach.
“I already see it,” Jaehyun smiles, looking down at—this.
“Well, I want you to feel it too, right?” He sounds too sweet to be innocent. He pushes down on Jaehyun’s toned stomach with a firm hand and says, “Right here. You feel that, jagi? My love for you?” He’s grinning. Jaehyun is not grinning. He is blushing so hard the blood’s being redirected from his cock to his cheeks. He can feel it, alright, so he nods and squirms a bit in the cage of Yuta’s arms around him. “Good.”
Yuta starts thrusting, the drag delicious, Jaehyun’s hole stretched around his cock as it goes in and out of him. 62 kilograms of muscle on top of him; Yuta feels like a cloak of humid air atop of him, almost enough to choke him with how thick and heady the arousal is. Yuta fucks into him, the snap of his hips so sharp and firm.
Yuta, Yuta babbles when he gets like this, when he’s drunk which is rare—but the alcohol has worn off, and now he’s drunk with victory and riches, drunk with what he’s won with his own two hands. Drunk with how it feels to be inside of Jaehyun, swallowed by him in the most intimate way. Or so that’s what Jaehyun guesses—it’s how it feels when he’s inside Yuta.
It’s a multitude of, “god, I love you,” “you feel amazing,” and there’s a large collection of noises and moans and expletives in four languages he lets out alongside it, letting them spill from his mouth. He fucks right into Jaehyun’s prostate, again, thrusting, and for Jaehyun, it’s really funny this feeling, like he’s about to cum, the fluttery achy feeling in his stomach right when he’s about to climax, because it’s only been a few minutes? Not even that, and he hasn’t even touched his own cock yet.
A blanket of heat gets laid over him as Yuta keeps fucking him, and the feeling builds and grows, deep mewls falling out of his mouth, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure; when he opens them, he looks up at the mirrors on the ceiling, sees himself bare and open for Yuta, his hand on Yuta’s shoulder, Yuta holding him open—seeing himself like this is the rawest he will ever see himself. He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror, practically, but that might be what makes it better—it’s Yuta he sees, his broad back, his languid hips.
Pure pleasure ripples through his body, through all his nerves and back again as he cums stripes onto his own chest. This is the fastest he’s cum in years, what? And it feels just as good as the first time they ever had sex, like he’s being born again. “Ah, ah, oh my god, Yu,” he moans out, every thrust fucking the sounds out of him. It’s a puzzling but not uncommon feeling, being given a mindblowing orgasm by his husband. It’s an even more puzzling feeling cumming and having him keep going like he didn’t.
Jaehyun is so so sensitive that it almost hurts, but it doesn’t; combined with the wet slap of Yuta’s hips against his, the weight of Yuta on top of him, his smell, the taste of him as he kisses Jaehyun so hard their teeth hit each other’s. Every touch of their skin together, every continued slide of Yuta out of his hole, my god, it feels like heaven. Yuta pulls away, pulls out completely, and asks, looking so concerned it confuses Jaehyun, “You're crying, what, are you okay? Are you okay, jagi?”
“Why wouldn’t I be,” Jaehyun sobs. “I’m fine,” he says as he wipes away the tears forming at his eyes, brows furrowed. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“No,” Yuta laughs, kissing him on his swollen lips, “You aren’t. You’re crying. See?” Yuta thumbs at Jaehyun’s cheek, across his eyelid, so gentle, it brings a pang to Jaehyun’s heart, more so than what he’s already crying about—which he doesn’t really know what exactly it is, but it’s happening, the salt coming out of his eyes.
“Does it feel that good?” That tone in his voice is back again. “I can stop, Jae, if you want. If it’s too much.”
“No, don't stop,” Jaehyun sniffles, “I can handle it.” To his ears, it sounds like begging, but he doesn’t want to admit it; doesn’t want to admit how desperate he sounds and looks for Yuta’s cock, how much he wants to be fucked until he can’t take it anymore.
“You can handle it?” Yuta questions, lining his cock up with Jaehyun’s hole once more. “Be quiet then, baby, unless you want them to hear,” he soothes as he cups Jaehyun’s cheek.
“But,” Jaehyun says as he places his hand over Yuta’s on his face. “I want them to hear,” he confesses.
“You want them to hear?” Mark is on this side of the room. Johnny is on the other side of them. If they’re even in their rooms right now, they’ll hear. “You do?”
Wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands, Jaehyun nods; Yuta goes slower, gentler, and that makes it worse, the rock of Yuta’s cock against his spot, the angle so perfect that it drags so slowly against the already stimulated bundle of nerves that Jaehyun is just sobbing with pleasure and pain and everything in between. The sobs rack his chest, he can’t stop, so overwhelmed with pleasure that he can’t control his body.
So overstimulated that the drag of friction as Yuta’s cock relentlessly and sloppily pounds his ass all the way back to Seoul is almost painful. Almost. If it weren’t for the absolute pleasure Jaehyun derives out of feeling such a sensation; if it weren’t for Yuta on top of him, sweaty, smiling, blabbering and out of breath that Jaehyun is “so good” to him, the “most amazing” man; if it weren’t for the warmth he feels for him in his stomach, in his chest, that winning smile on his face so pretty, so genuine, and for him, and him only.
He’s so in love. So absolutely exuberant at Yuta’s win. So fucked out that his prostate feels crazy used, but it doesn’t really matter to him because it’s bliss all the same.
They’re so close, chests rubbing against each other, their hearts placed atop the other’s, like they're beating as one; it’d be poetic to Jaehyun if it weren’t for how feral and raw the thoughts running through his head are, only focused on chasing his second high of the night despite how exhausting the first one was, absorbing the slap of their skin together.
Jaehyun rolls his head back, exposing his neck to a feisty Yuta that immediately comes up to latch his lips onto it, sucking at the sweet skin on his pulse, biting at his collarbone, it’s like Yuta wants to eat him whole and Jaehyun would let him, he would let him do anything, he already is.
“Just another minute, baby, can you do that for me?” Yuta asks, mouthing at Jaehyun’s chest, pretty pink little buds bitten red at his doing. “Can I keep going?” Jaehyun strangles out a yes, he’s really pushing his own limits now, but fuck, it’s so good. “I can fuck you good like this, ‘cause you want it, right?” Yuta babbles alongside the wet slap of his own hips against Jaehyun's. “You wanna let the world know your winner can fuck you ‘til you can't speak anymore, right, Jaehyun, make everyone who sees in here see how good I make you feel? because I do that, baby, I know I do.”
“You do,” Jaehyun whines out. He might pass out in pleasure, every muscle in his body tense and lax at the same time.
“Yeah, you don't have to tell me anymore—I know it. I know it.”
Jaehyun doesn't realize he cums for the second time until he looks down at his spent soft cock pathetically twitching out clear fluid, barely a small puddle made in the divots of his abs as he finishes, hole fluttering tight around Yuta’s cock. At that, at the unconscious tightening of his body around Yuta’s, Yuta cums inside him, moaning into his mouth, saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—fuck—thank you, I love you,” as he bites at Jaehyun’s lips, his neck, kisses and runs his tongue over them too—what a loss of composure for the great winner.
With the last dredges of his climax, Yuta thrusts into Jaehyun a few times, hard, like he wants to plug him with his cum. Jaehyun is more than full of it, and winces with the overstimulation. It’s okay. Yuta apologizes profusely as he pulls out as slowly as possible so they won’t get too overwhelmed, but it doesn’t really work, both of them groaning out together and laughing after the fact.
Yuta flops beside him, his breaths deep and irregular. Jaehyun would turn to look at him, but his muscles…Yuta’s intensity tonight was unreal, and Jaehyun is paying the price for it.
“Clean me up?” he asks softly, squeezing Yuta’s hand.
“Yeah,” Yuta says as he gets up. How does he do that so easily??? He bounds away like he’s full of energy. “Sorry, jagi. Loved it. Love you.”
“Don't say sorry.” Jaehyun closes his heavy eyelids, inches away from passing out. “I loved it. And you, too.”
—
“Oh my god, you really messed me up, Yuta.”
Winter is upon Suzuka, and Jaehyun is the perfect example of it.
Sunglasses on, turtleneck on, big oversized Prada fur and leather coat on like he’s a widow, the biggest pair of pants he owns on because if he wore jeans he thinks he would die from trying to fit his tender ass into them. The marks scattered across his neck and chest are covered, god bless, because he would never hear the end of it from any of their friends.
To the outside, he just looks like he’s trying to be warm in this beautiful and cloudy November Japan weather. To him and Yuta, they know the real reason behind his bundling up.
“Sorry.” Yuta smiles, sheepish, hiding his face in his shoulder as he crosses and uncrosses his legs. At least he can do that. Jaehyun’s manspreading as much as he can without hurting so bad. “I didn’t think you’d pull something like that.”
“What do you mean something like that,” Jaehyun switches back to Korean, so it’s less of a chance for someone to overhear, “I can’t exactly control cumming twice.”
“I know,” Yuta switches too. “But you must’ve known how I would react right?”
“I knew, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Jaehyun pouts. “I can’t even walk.”
“What if that was my plan in the first place?” Yuta says, mischievous smirk on his face. “I’ll have to take care of you like you take care of me.”
Jaehyun considers it for a moment. “Mm. Wouldn’t be that bad, to be honest.”
Yuta asked him this morning, “Do you just want to get room service? Or?” and Jaehyun waved him off, saying that the food downstairs is better anyways (because it is) so they can just head down. Wrong choice. His body hurts like hell , aching in all the wrong places, and he tries to massage the knot in his neck as he sits down across from Yuta at a table near the window, looking out at the balcony and outdoor seating.
They both take their turns with the menu, deciding on fish, rice, and miso soup—for Yuta, he orders natto and requests, “And can we get two mimosas, please? Thank you,” handing off the pamphlets and turning back to Jaehyun and his tilted head.
“Mimosas?”
“Mimosas.” Yuta beams. “We can have our mimosas in Suzuka now, Jae. Since I won.”
“Ohhhh. Right,” Jaehyun laughs down at his lap. “Celebration begins now, then?”
“Yeah, and so does going right back to work.”
Jaehyun sighs, frowning just the slightest bit. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
“That’s a good question.”
At that moment, Jaehyun catches the eye of Mark walking past, and they both wave at each other weakly. Yuta turns around, and Mark clears his throat and says, “Hyungs,” and then he nods at them both with wide eyes, which Jaehyun cringes at internally.
“Hi Markie,” Yuta replies, giggling as Mark walks by. “His face, Jae. He heard.” He laughs, to which Jaehyun is so embarrassed.
“God.” He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t know I was that loud.”
“You were causing quite the commotion last night, don’t be surprised,” Yuta scoffs, looking out the window. “And no, I don't think I ever get tired of it.”
“Hm?” The waiter sets down their mimosas and waters, Jaehyun taking a sip from both glasses.
“I don’t think I ever get tired of all of this, you know? It’s amazing.”
Jaehyun nods. “You can say that again.”
“It’s amazing!” Yuta grins wide at his own joke, holding Jaehyun’s hand, squeezing it hard, letting it go again. “But really—I don’t think I ever will get tired of it. Even after a triple header.”
“That’s good,” Jaehyun smiles, sipping more at his mimosa. Not enough champagne, but still lovely. “I don’t think I can say the same. You gave me a heart attack yesterday.”
“You get heart attacks every race.”
“Need to do more cardio, then.”
“Mm, I think I know a way to fit that into our schedule.”
Shaking his head, Jaehyun smiles looking out the window. There’s a checklist he always thinks about that his mother gave him when he and Yuta got married—he seldom ever uses the whole thing, but it’s a checklist nonetheless.
How are you, did you eat, what can I do to make things easier for you, how do you feel about what you did today? Are you happy with what you did today? Because there will always be times where even the most euphoric activity is not enough, and there have been more than enough times in their relationship where Yuta—it’s like attaching an anchor to a butterfly. Impossible for him not to be weighed down by that inadequacy.
Even if he’s been chasing Japan his entire career, even after grabbing it by its fleeting wings— “Are you happy, Yuta?”
The waiter comes over with their food. Yuta got salmon, Jaehyun got tuna, and they signal for their own dishes. It’s a beautiful display despite its simplicity, garnished with real flowers that Yuta will probably dare Jaehyun to try later.
“That is a very loaded question for you to ask at 9 A.M. on a Monday.” Yuta picks up his pair of steel chopsticks and digs in.
Jaehyun takes his bowl of rice and starts rolling them into little spheres. “You owe it to me after what you did to my neck last night.” Jaehyun brings an arm up to his chest for effect, hovering above it because it’s much too tender to apply any pressure to it. “And my—you know.”
“Hmm,” He finishes chewing, and Jaehyun plucks away a grain of rice stuck on the side of his mouth. “I don't know. I didn’t need a win to be happy. I guess I was chasing after the wrong things. ‘Nothing changes if you win or lose,’” Yuta quotes as he pops a grape garnish in his mouth. “You said that. I believed it.”
“I thought—like you said in your letter—it would be a huge thing. Like an explosion,” he makes his hands into an explosion, “blows” it up, continues. “But I was just sitting there on my cooldown lap and I wished you were there. I just wanted to go back to the garage and touch you. I didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s crazy.” Winning the biggest race of his career and thinking of Jaehyun. His thought process is something Jaehyun wants to dissect in a lab.
“That is a really genuine and heartfelt thing to say after that, Jae, thanks.”
Frowning, Jaehyun starts, “No, I—”
“I know.” Yuta waves off with a hand. “I know what you mean. I don't know why either.” Jaehyun has learned by now that it’s better to understand him for what he is, than try and figure out why. Yuta will tell him on his own time. “I mean, other than the obvious—I love you.” Again, Yuta extends his hand across the table to hold Jaehyun’s, setting down his rice bowl with a clatter as he almost drops it with his solo hand. Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy. “At the end of the day, I’m happy.” Yuta smiles with his eyes, that big one that makes his nose scrunch, and Jaehyun can't help but smile back. “With you, with myself. I don’t think it can get better than this.”
He lets go of Jaehyun’s hand and turns back to his food, his drink. Stirring his natto vigorously with a chopstick, he lets the strings from the fermentation hang from it when he lifts it up, offering, “Want?”
Jaehyun scrunches up his face. “No, thank you.”
“More for me then.”
The tuna today is fresh and cooked so good Jaehyun could cry, but he gets back to the matter at hand. “You really think it can’t get better than this? What about if…if it happens?” Jaehyun won't dare say it.
“Oh, so you’re aiming for a championship, Jaehyunie? So ambitious of you.”
“No, I’m not,” Jaehyun says, half serious. “I wanna brace myself for this weekend.”
“You're already thinking of this weekend?”
“How could I not?” Jaehyun takes a little piece of Yuta’s salmon and tries it—yuzu, soy sauce, garlic, AKA beautiful.
“Whatever happens this weekend—it’s for you.”
Everything Yuta says is meaningful, but whenever he says that—”For you” —it comes from a place of earnest, one that is so plain for even Jaehyun to see. But he doesn't understand. He never has, but he’s never questioned it until now. Yuta says it all the time; before he gets in the car, after every win and loss, in a stolen moment between meetings, in the time they set aside together before races. He means it every time. “Why do you always say that? I never understand when you do.”
Yuta thinks for a little, swallows his food. “The points, the places…eh. They’re never going to be mine. At least not forever. But you? If everything is for you, I’ll always have it. ‘Cause you'll always be there.” Yuta shrugs, finishing up the last few bites of his food. “That’s how I’ve always looked at it.”
“Oh.” Jaehyun nods and smiles at Yuta. “I like your way of thinking.”
“I like it, too. It’s a win-win situation. Your Yuta up on that podium, huh?” Yuta widens his eyes, raising his eyebrows and smiling. “Sounds great to me.”
They both finish up their meals, declining anymore courses and drinks (despite absolutely wanting to, but their diets—so restrictive!), Jaehyun asks, “Do you wanna step outside?” and Yuta says, “Yes, of course,” and so they step outside, standing right in front of the glass guard railing looking down upon the city of Nagoya.
“It’s so nice out today,” Yuta says, eyes closed and basking in the light shining through the clouds. Jaehyun does the same thing, holding a hand out so it can catch the wind whipping past them, then he shuffles closer so their sides are touching. Behind them, hundreds of people are dining—he knows for a fact that Jaemin and Jeno are sitting outside, so are Donghyuck and Taeil, and (gasp) Johnny and Mark, but this? This is for Jaehyun and Yuta, only.
Jaehyun takes Yuta’s hand in his, clasps their fingers together. He’s never felt better, Yuta’s ring against his skin. “Hyung—oh my god,” and they both start laughing at his slip-up. “Yuta.”
Laying his head against Yuta’s shoulder, holding his hand, elbows linked, “Kiss,” he whispers. “I want one.”
“Out here? In front of all these people, Jaehyunie?” He's teasing.
“Yes,” Jaehyun says quietly. “Anywhere. For you.”
“For me?”
Jaehyun nods and stands up straight. He’s taller than Yuta, leaning down to kiss him—he is so bundled up that Yuta practically has to put his chin in the thick fur collar of his jacket in order to kiss him. But it’s a kiss, slow and sweet and comfortable, Yuta smiling into it like always; when he pulls away, he noses at Jaehyun’s cheek, and Jaehyun smiles at him, so close, breathing each other’s air. They pull away from each other; they start laughing; they don’t know why they’re laughing, but they are, Yuta stretching his arms up high, Jaehyun poking his belly so he laughs more. This is normal.
A “Nakamoto-sama!” sounds out, and they both turn around—Jaehyun knows it’s for Yuta, but when he sees a little girl, not older than 5 or 6, wearing an oversized Yuta racing jersey and a Hello Kitty Yuta cap, he knows for sure that it’s for him. He smiles at the little girl and waves, and she waves back.
Yuta kneels down to her height, saying, “You can just call me Yuta, what’s your name?” The grin on his face is huge as he looks up at Jaehyun, and then at the girl, looking shy and scared. She speaks too quietly for Jaehyun to hear from up here, but Yuta hears it perfectly. “Ah, your name is Hina? My niece, too, that's a beautiful name…”
Five years of a travelling circus, of being whisked away by none other than Yuta—more important than volleyball, more important than anything.
Abu Dhabi starts in 3 days. Final race of the tripleheader, final tripleheader of the season.
Now onto what (might be) Yuta’s very first championship win.
Certainly, there’s no rest for the wicked. As long as it’s Yuta, Jaehyun is happy to stay up.