Chapter Text
“Seriously?” Mark asked the desk agent. “No flights at all?”
“I'm so sorry, sir.” The desk agent looked even closer to tears than Mark felt. “It's a once-in-a-generation weather event. There's absolutely nothing we can do.”
For a second, Mark was tempted to offer money. He had never forgotten what it was like to be a regular kid from a regular family, especially in the hyper-rich world of F1, and more than once, a driver or a team boss had helpfully pointed out that he was rich now and could use his wealth to fix some problems.
Storms weren't one of them.
And he'd known – deep down, when he saw the headlines this morning, he'd known he wasn't getting on a plane. But he packed the car anyway, and drove to the airport with his suitcases, the radio off so his hopes wouldn't be dashed, and he'd hoped and hoped and listened to terrible Christmas songs and hoped some more all the way there.
He had been so desperate to get to Australia.
Mark sighed.
“Thanks anyway, mate. And listen, have a happy Christmas. This must have been a shitty day for you.”
The agent smiled. “Thank you, sir. Only another few hours.”
Mark reached into his pocket. There was one thing money could do, and that was make people smile. “Have one on me.” He stuffed a note into the desk agent's hand and disappeared into the crowd before the agent could spot that it was a fifty and not a fiver.
And before anyone could see Mark's eyes dampen and turn red.
It was pointless, he knew, even as he sat down on the airport floor with his phone. If commercial flights couldn't get out of England with the storms, it wasn't likely any boats were sailing either. Maybe if he could get to the continent by sea or road, he could find a way to make his connection in Abu Dhabi and get to Australia for Christmas, like he promised he would this year. But even outside the airport building, he could hear the storm winds gathering. And of course he'd left his flight to the last minute, for no good reason, so even if he did manage to find a ridiculous, Top-Gear-esque road route to catch a flight to Australia from some other country, at this stage, he wouldn't arrive in time for Christmas.
But he was going to try.
First, he rang Flavio, who laughed a bit and offered to send a case of whiskey. Ann didn't pick up, but she was a long shot – the kind of people who used private planes weren't the kind of people she tended to like. Then he tried his contacts in Porsche, and in Red Bull. No joy. He tried to remember which drivers used private planes – not so fashionable these days, with climate activism, so no point asking Lewis or Seb. JB didn't move around so much now that he was settled in the US. His best bet was probably Fernando.
Mark didn't want his best racing friend to know he was alone for Christmas.
It sounded kind of pathetic.
And he preferred when Fernando thought he was interesting and cool.
Which also sounded kind of pathetic.
But Fernando might have a plane, or might know someone who did, and if anything was leaving England today, Mark wanted to be on it.
“Mark!” Fernando always sounded so happy to hear from him. His cheery voice on the phone went oddly with the photo Mark had assigned to Fernando in his contacts, which was very glowery.
“Fonz, how are you? Early happy Christmas to you mate, what are you up to?”
“I'm spending it in England! In Oxford.”
Mark's heart leapt and his stomach rolled to his feet, like it always did when he heard Fernando was close by.
Pathetic.
“You've seen the storm, then?”
“Sure have. Not going outside today.”
“Wish I had that option, mate. I'm at the airport and no flights can take off. I'm due home in Australia for Christmas Day. Which starts twelve hours earlier there than it does here, remember.” Mark looked at his watch. Already Christmas Eve morning at home.
“So tomorrow?”
“The very same. If I'm not on a plane tonight, I'm not gonna make it.”
“Mark, is all over the news. Britain is cut off. No flights in or out.”
“Shit. I was really hoping between us we'd know one ridiculous flash bastard taking his private jet out today.”
“Flavio?”
“First person I called. No joy.”
Fernando groaned. “Fuck.”
“I thought you might know someone...”
“I am so sorry, Mark, but no one I know is that stupid. They are saying worst storms in forty years.”
“I knew it was a long shot.” Mark looked around the airport. He saw an older couple who looked especially upset – maybe going to see the grandchildren, and maybe not sure how many more chances they'd get.
He looked away.
“Mark, you must come here. What airport are you at? I can come and get you if you don't have a car.”
“Fernando, don't be daft. The roads will be wild, you can't drive in this. I've got the car with me, I'm gonna head home and hunker down with the dogs and watch stupid movies and make the best of it.”
“You must come to us! We'd love to have you!”
“We? Who's the girlfriend of the week?”
“Mark.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Mark had agreed to stop referring to Fernando's girlfriends that way, in exchange for Fernando not getting offended if Mark got someone's name wrong during the first two weeks of dating. Mark had also promised not to send Fernando any more revolving door catalogues in the post with 'for your bedroom' written on them in biro, if Fernando would stop asking if Mark's virginity had grown back.
It was easier to joke about it than to admit it was eating him up to see Fernando compulsively work his way through the world's most beautiful women. And easier than telling his friend that the reason Mark didn't date was because no one could measure up to Fernando.
“She is Fabienne, and I know she would not leave someone alone at Christmas.”
“How long have you been dating?” Mark asked.
“Define 'dating.'”
“Do you know her last name?”
“Am not that bad!” Fernando dissolved into laughter. “Come over. I'll send you directions. I have more Spanish wine than I could drink and I know how you love reds.”
“Fernando, I am not gatecrashing your romantic Christmas with Fabienne. Have a fantastic time. Reckon we might manage a new year drink?”
“I'm in England til the fifth. Give me a call?”
“Will do, mate. Thanks. And happy Christmas to you both.”
Fernando hung up. Wouldn't have killed him to say it back, Mark thought.
He braced himself and phoned home.
That call was quick – Mark's parents had access to the same news reports as Fernando and weren't surprised.
“I'm more relieved you're not travelling in this, to be honest,” his mum said. “We'll do Christmas whenever you get here next. I'll send you an IOU for a turkey dinner.”
Mark smiled. “I'll sort out dates once we know what this storm is doing. They're saying it could be weeks of a cold front. I might try for the end of January, if that works for you guys?”
“See how it goes,” his dad said. “I'm so glad you're back at your house and safe.”
Mark looked guiltily around the airport. He didn't want his parents worrying about him on the roads.
“Yeah, just me and the dogs. My neighbour was going to take them so I've brought them back.”
“Oh, good. I didn't want to think of you all alone.” His mum's voice cracked.
“I won't be alone, Mum, I've got friends here. I'll be fine.”
His mum knew him well enough not to press the issue.
“We'll see you soon, Mark. And we'll Facetime you tomorrow!”
“Bye. Love you both. Happy Christmas.”
“And to you, sweetheart.”
Mark hung up. The roads weren't getting any better and he was nearly an hour from home – and he was going to collect his dogs on the way – so there was no sense hanging around.
He couldn't get to Australia.
He looked like a sad loser to Fernando.
He got to hear about Fabienne, who was probably having sex with Fernando in front of a roaring log fire literally right this second, as Mark fought tears in a miserable, crowded airport full of people who were desperately upset.
The older couple were headed for the exit too. Mark caught up with them.
“Were you on the Australia flight via Abu Dhabi?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Yes. Going to see our daughter. She had a baby in March – this is our first visit. Well, it was supposed to be.”
“Can I give you a lift anywhere?” Mark asked. “It's a rotten night out there and you must be gutted.”
The older woman smiled. “You're very kind, but we have the car.”
“Would you allow me to see you home? I'm a professional driver, and the idea of something happening in that storm, on your way home – I really would be happier, if you didn't mind.”
The couple looked at each other.
“If cost is an issue, I'll cover your airport parking. And a cab back.”
The man looked into Mark's face. “I know you from somewhere, don't I? You look very familiar. TV?”
Mark felt a blush rising. “Little bit, yeah. I do a few things.”
“And you're a driver – I know you now! You're that racing driver.”
“Caught rotten,” Mark admitted.
“I'm so sorry,” the man said. “I don't follow racing so I don't know your name.”
“I'm Mark.”
“I'm Charlie.” The men shook hands, and the woman reached out for Mark too.
“I'm Pauline. Thanks so much. I hate driving in bad weather. I would appreciate a lift home but I won't hear of you covering the parking.”
“How about we argue about it on the way?”
Mark dropped Charlie and Pauline at their house, which wasn't too far out of his way. He didn't know why he had latched onto them, but the idea of a crash on the motorway, their daughter all that distance away in Australia, getting bad news at Christmas... it lodged into his head and wouldn't budge, so he couldn't relax until he saw them inside their front door. They were a nice pair, full of chat about their daughter's life in Australia, and by the time Mark left them off, he felt like he'd made friends. He was grateful that they didn't ask him to stay for Christmas – he had been afraid a feelgood Hallmark movie might break out – and he switched his satnav destination to Home, a little happier than he had been before his good deed.
As he prepared to pull away from the kerb, he saw a message pop up.
FERNANDO
Are you home from the airport yet? Text me when you're in safely!
MARK
Got delayed doing a Good Samaritan bit, cracking old couple with a daughter back home, dropped them off. Home in about an hour. Don't wait up. Partying with the 60-plus set is no joke.
FERNANDO
I think I am good at English and then you start talking.
Mark laughed in spite of his hellish evening and turned for home.
By the time Mark got in, it was after midnight. Technically, and depressingly, Christmas Eve. He got the dogs settled, made himself a hot whiskey, just because, and drank it in his cold, empty house, feeling about as cheerful as the wind outside sounded. Tomorrow he would be brave and make the best of it. Tonight, he would wallow and feel sorry for himself. He texted Fernando and didn't hear back. Fernando's texting fingers were probably inside his girlfriend by now.
Mark climbed into bed, breaking his personal rule and letting the dogs in with him. Partly for warmth – he'd expected to be away for a few weeks, so he'd turned the heating off, and the house hadn't warmed up yet – but partly because he felt like a lonely sad bastard and just wanted them close. He'd pay for it later. Raven knew he was getting a rare treat, but Patch always reckoned he was entitled to go where he wanted and Mark knew it'd take him a while to persuade the younger dog to go back to his own bed.
Mark knew he was being a brat. He had an amazing family; they were just far away. He had wonderful friends; he just didn't want to impose. If JB was in England, Mark knew he'd be welcome. Or with Ann, but he didn't like to intrude.
Which brought him to the real source of his Christmas heartsickness.
Thinking of Fernando in his house in Oxford – less than an hour away – with a new beautiful woman.
Inviting Mark over out of pity.
(And kindness and friendship, and OK, they always had fun together. But Mark only felt the pity).
The worst part was how badly Mark ached to phone Fernando – even now, at 2am – and accept the invitation. Even watching Fernando erotically feed Brussels sprouts to an underwear model was preferable to no Fernando at all.
Mark wanted to spend Christmas with the man he loved.
Unfortunately, that man was his friend. His racing buddy. And likely the straightest person on the planet. If there was a straight pride parade, Fernando would probably be the Grand Marshal. He'd probably have sex with a model right there on the float.
Mark rolled over dramatically in bed, dislodging Patch, who squawked.
“Yeah, alright buddy,” he whispered. “Fair enough. I'll stop.”
Chapter Text
By morning, Mark felt slightly better. He had managed to sleep, and he woke to messages from his family, who were going to bed on Christmas Eve just as Mark was getting up. It was one thing being far from his family; it was another to be so out of sync with them, almost twelve hours behind, awake when they were asleep. That felt lonely.
The storm was still blowing, so it was impossible to walk the dogs. Mark let them out for a well-supervised toilet break into the garden, and played with them indoors so they wouldn't get bored. It was hard to be too miserable when you were playing tug-of-war with a dog. Mark's back-up Christmas plan (ordering tons of indulgent food and wine, lying on the sofa, watching bad telly and looking at photos of Fernando) was scuppered, since shops had been closed due to the weather. Mark was glad no one had to travel to work in this just so people could buy pigs-in-blankets and vol-au-vents, but it was a bit sad to have to face a week of freezer meals until the storms passed. No one was supposed to leave their homes, so no chance of legging it over to Fernando's even if he did feel he could swallow his pride.
Mark gave up once the dogs were tired out, and tried to look on the bright side. He could still catch up on some telly, maybe even read. He always said he wanted to read more. He had whiskey, and lemons, and somewhere in his cupboard there were cloves, and he always had coffee, so he promised himself he could supplement his boring meals with hot whiskeys and Irish coffees. He wasn't much of a drinker, but it was something, to make the experience of a solo Christmas feel like a treat instead of an ordeal.
And he couldn't even count down til the damned holiday was over, since no one could predict when the cold front would pass. Some forecasters thought there might be snow, but not til Boxing Day. Missing out on a white Christmas was perfectly in keeping with this profoundly shitty festive season.
Mark spent the morning ordering new Christmas presents for his family. Too late to get them there for the day itself, but they'd be a nice surprise on the 26th or 27th. It made him feel close to them, choosing new things. The suitcases full of presents were still in his car – they'd keep til he finally could go over. Everyone liked bonus presents.
It was just after (boring, defrosted) lunch when the doorbell rang.
Mark grabbed for change from the kitchen counter in case it was carol singers or a charity collection, but he couldn't imagine either would venture out during a red weather warning. It was probably some kind of village outreach service, checking no one was without necessities during the crisis. Mark wondered if he could convince them that a bottle of red wine was a necessary emergency purchase.
He opened the door to see the last thing he ever expected.
_
With one thing and another, a Formula One career meant seeing a lot of weird shit. Mark had seen men walk away from fireballs and smash world records. He'd seen movie stars and kings and queens. He'd seen countries a boy from Queanbeyan never imagined he could afford to fly to. He'd taken tuk-tuk rides though cities where he couldn't read the signposts, never mind speak the language, he'd jumped out of planes, he'd cycled through some of the most stunning routes on the planet. He'd even seen Eddie Jordan playing drums.
Nothing had prepared him for Fernando Alonso on his doorstep, wearing a Santa hat.
“Fernando?” Mark managed.
“Happy Christmas!” Fernando threw his arms out.
“And to you! Erm...what are you doing here?”
“Couldn't leave you alone. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Mark stood aside. Fernando hefted a large backpack on to his shoulders, picked up a heavy-duty shopping bag that sat by his feet, and lumbered into the hallway. Mark shut the door as Fernando took off the Santa hat and wrung it out – in the few metres from his Ferrari to the door, it had gotten completely drenched.
Mark's heart was thumping in his ears. Fernando looked gorgeous – the ends of his hair curling where the rain had caught them, his dark eyes shining with joy, his cheeks pink from the cold air. He wore a huge woolen scarf wrapped around him multiple times, a red weatherproof jacket and blue jeans. He looked like he should be in the kind of Hallmark Christmas movie Mark had avoided – both on TV and in real life – selling Christmas trees to a single mom from the big city who no longer believed in love.
“Do you mind if I go through to the kitchen?” Fernando asked.
“Mate, my house is your house, knock yourself out. Can I take your jacket?”
“Sure. Can I take my boots off?”
“Do you need me to say it in Spanish? Mi casa es tu casa? Did I get that right?”
Fernando laughed as he handed Mark his jacket and scarf. “Close enough.”
Beneath them he wore a thick cream cable-knit jumper that sat high around his neck. Mark almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn't being visited by the ghost of Christmas sex fantasies past. (Or present).
Mark hung up Fernando's stuff as his friend unlaced his boots.
“I don't understand all of this, mate. Not that I'm not glad to see you, but what brings you here?”
“Could not leave my friend alone for the holiday! You deserve a happy Christmas.”
“Where's Fabienne?”
Fernando shrugged and placed his boots neatly by the door. “We are not so serious. I suggest she go to her family. She was happy once she knew I would not be alone.”
“Right. Wow. And what the hell were you thinking driving in that storm?”
“Mark. What do I do for a living? Think hard.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “You don't drive in that for a living.”
“Yesterday you went on some wild goose chase with an old couple to buy some crackers!”
Mark laughed. “That's not even close to what happened!”
“Is how you made it sound!” Fernando protested.
“Come through and I'll tell you about it.”
Fernando brought the bags in and greeted Patch and Raven. As Mark told him about Charlie and Pauline, Fernando unpacked directly on to Mark's countertops.
“So their daughter lives in Melbourne, she works for a bank and she had a little girl called Ashley in March, she was in the NICU for a bit but she's a little ripper by all accounts and thriving now apparently... Nano. What is that?”
“Christmas dinner.” Fernando finished extracting a round cast-iron pot from the shopping bag and placed it in Mark's fridge. “Is all cooked, we just have to heat it tomorrow.”
“You made me Christmas dinner?” For the second time in twenty-four hours, Mark's eyes were wet.
“I thought you would have nothing in if you were planning to be away. And everything is closed with the storm.”
“Fernando. This is too much.”
“You have not tasted yet.” Fernando went back to the bag and pulled out more boxes. Mark watched as he piled them up.
“What are they?”
“In Spain we eat a lot at Christmas.” Fernando shrugged.
“You made all this?”
Fernando shook his head. “No, I am lazy. We always do cheeses and meats and things. Some of these, I just have to put on a plate.” The boxes went into the fridge. “Some things are pre-prepared, I get them from a Spanish shop. I ordered all my favourites weeks back. Christmas is for the couch, not the stove.”
“Fernando.” Mark stepped over to his friend, who had a box of turron in each hand, and held each of his wrists. “This is the loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you so much. But you should be sharing this with Fabienne.”
“Do you...” Fernando's eyes clouded. “Do you not want me here? I can go, but let me leave you enough to eat.” His tone was flat.
“Mate, it's the opposite.”
Fernando frowned.
Mark almost said, I want it too much. I want it more than you could ever want it. That's the problem.
But he didn't.
“I was...being a completely miserable sad bastard. I was going to spend the next week eating freezer food because the shops are closed. I can't walk the dogs. I don't even have any wine in the house.”
“That reminds me.” Fernando pointed at the backpack. Mark let out a sound that was almost a laugh.
“Are you real?” Mark dropped Fernando's wrists and instead reached for his face. He was a tactile guy, always had been, so Fernando didn't seem surprised as Mark slid his palms against Fernando's skin, under the high neck of his sweater. He stroked his thumbs across Fernando's cheeks. “You're definitely the real Fernando? I'm genuinely afraid you're a hallucination brought on by too much bad food and loneliness.”
“I am real.” Fernando's voice was almost a whisper, and his own hand drifted up to cover one of Mark's. “I am real, and you are my good friend, and I wanted to spend Christmas with you. It did not feel right – to be with a girl I hardly know. She should be with the people she loves. And I should be here.”
_
Fernando hung his Santa hat on a radiator to dry, and continued to astound Mark by unloading more things from his bags. And his car, although he came back soaked when he retrieved the last few items, even parked so close to the door. Mark offered him a hot shower, and a whiskey to match, and Fernando said an enthusiastic yes to both. He showered while Mark prepared a spare room for him, spending far more time selecting bed linen for Fernando than he ever had for himself.
Mark still thought he might be dreaming.
He made Fernando's bed up with soft sheets that he knew were the warmest he owned. He added some heavy throws, because Fernando was Spanish and used to warmer weather. If Mark had had mints in the house, he'd have put one on the pillow. Fernando had brought dinner, dessert, wines, snacks, a frankly terrifying amount of cured meats and cheeses, a very stuffed overnight bag that suggested a longer stay, his laptop, hot water bottles and candles (“in case of power problems”), DVDs (no Christmas movies except Die Hard, Mark was glad to note), and some groceries. The last, even though it wasn't festive, really blew Mark away. A Christmas surprise was magical, but someone had to really care to bring you milk and bread and teabags. He'd even remembered Mark had a fireplace, and had brought firewood, firelighters and coal from the car.
If Mark had a spare kidney, he'd have put it on Fernando's pillow, never mind a stupid mint.
Mark was arranging throws when Fernando came in from the shower, wearing just a towel around his waist. Mark tried not to look, without making it seem like he was obviously not looking. Just be a normal guy, he told himself. Normal guy around other normal guy who has just shown up at your house with Christmas dinner and said he needed to be with you. And is now naked except for a towel. And who you've been crazy about for at least a decade.
“This looks cosy.” Fernando smiled.
“Glad you approve.” Mark pointed to Fernando's bag. “I brought this up for you. Hope you don't mind.”
“Thanks.” Fernando unzipped his bag and dug through it. “I'm gonna get in pyjamas – it's not like we can leave the house.”
“You own pyjamas?!” Mark almost dropped the throw he was holding.
Fernando looked affronted, which was an achievement for anyone wearing just a towel. “Don't you?”
“I own some sweatpants and tshirts. Like a normal person.”
“I like pyjamas.” Fernando sniffed. “And I have big plans for tonight.”
“Oh?” Heat rose in Mark, all over.
“A good bottle of red wine. Die Hard. Snacks.”
In spite of the hotter thoughts that had leapt to mind, Mark was impressed. “You're very good at Christmas.”
Fernando beamed – another achievement for someone wearing just a towel.
“You light a fire and choose a wine? While I get ready?”
“Sure. I... I don't think I can ever thank you enough for this, Nano. You've taken one of the shittiest days of my life and turned it into one of the best.”
Fernando's smile was bashful. “Was nothing, really. Just brought what I had in the house for myself for Christmas.”
“But you were supposed to spend it with a gorgeous woman and instead you've got a lanky bloke who doesn't shave enough.”
“Mark. I have told you. The storm, it made me think. So many people can't get home. Fabi is sweet but it has just been a few weeks. She is with her sister and their kids now, where she should be. I am with my old friend. I know when I heard your voice on the phone, this is where I belong.” Fernando took a deep breath. “Cannot leave a friend alone at Christmas – we never know what could happen. This could be anyone's last chance to have a Christmas. And you bringing that couple home, you understand this. You knew their daughter needed them safe.”
“Anyone would have done it. I wish I could have done it for more people. I should have – I should have gone back to the airport and driven more people home. I feel bad about that.”
“Mark! You would have kept risking your life driving in the storms?” Fernando looked genuinely angry.
“Like you did coming here, you mean?”
“Was important to get to you!”
“And it was important to get people home from the airport! I should have done more!”
Fernando signed. “If you feel so bad, we could go now. We haven't had a drink. We could see if anyone else is stranded.”
“It's probably alright now. They've been telling people not to travel to the airport – yesterday not everyone had got the memo.” Mark laid out the last throw and smoothed it down. “I hate to admit this, but I thought I might be able to buy my way on to a plane. That was stupid. If I'd made it to Australia after doing that, Dad would have kicked my arse.” Mark paused. “But maybe we should check. I'll call the desk agent once you've got trousers on.”
The desk agent remembered Mark (“that tip was very kind of you, Mr. Webber, I'm sorry I didn't realise the value at the time...”).
“Is there anyone still stuck there that needs a lift home? I can arrange it.” Mark leaned against the wall of his living room, watching as Fernando arranged wood in the fireplace.
“No, thanks for calling, but we're OK. The airport is closed now, I'm just here to wrap up and take the last few calls.”
“Can the staff get home safe?”
“The Army are bringing essential staff home in armoured vehicles. Is it terrible that I'm excited about that?”
Mark laughed. “Not at all mate, I admire your attitude. Thanks again for grace under pressure yesterday, you're a good 'un.”
“I really appreciate that. Happy Christmas, Mr. Webber. I hope the change to your plans wasn't too upsetting.”
“Wasn't delighted at the time, mate, but I think things are looking up.” Mark caught Fernando's eye and smiled as Fernando struck a match.
Chapter Text
In deference to Fernando's Christmas spirit, Mark changed into what passed for his pyjamas – a very old Porsche t-shirt that had been washed so often it was soft as fleece, a pair of thick and cosy sweatpants, and slippers that made Fernando question Mark's views on pyjamas and caused them to argue for twenty minutes about whether pyjamas or slippers were more “old man.”
“Why no decorations?” Fernando asked, during the promised hot whiskey. Patch had figured out Fernando was a softie, and had his head resting on Fernando's lap. Mark had never been jealous of a pointer before.
“Didn't see the point when I wasn't going to be here.” Mark shrugged.
“You were here til yesterday either way!” Fernando's indignant tone made Patch look up.
“Well, Christmas decorations for one person felt a bit sad!” Mark didn't mean to be defensive. But there wasn't exactly much going on his life right now, and he didn't like being reminded of that.
“Is nothing wrong with doing something just for yourself!” Fernando sipped his whiskey.
“You sound like one of my sister's magazines.”
“Your sister sounds smarter than you.”
Mark laughed. “She is, but that's not why.”
“Do you have decorations?” Fernando asked.
“In the attic.”
Fernando set down his glass. “Lead the way.”
_
“You're short, you go up.” Mark pointed up the ladder.
“You can reach more, you go!”
“Oh no, this is your idea!” Mark laughed. “You're not dragging me up there.”
“Ugh, fine. Some nerve calling yourself Aussie Grit when you won't even go in your own attic.” Fernando rolled up the sleeves of his pyjama top – which was slightly too big for him, in Mark's opinion, and absolutely adorable – and made his way up the steps. As his head disappeared into the attic, Mark heard a sneeze.
“You are a millionaire! Would it kill you to hire someone to dust up here?” Fernando called down, as the rest of his body was swallowed by the dark entryway.
“Your idea, let me remind you.” Mark retorted.
“Honestly.” Fernando's head reappeared. “This is just like when you went to the gala in Monaco in jeans and a t-shirt with holes in it.”
“It's nothing like that. And it was a sweater. And it had no holes.”
Fernando disappeared again. Mark waited. Fernando was in his attic, wearing pyjamas. This was definitely one of the weirdest moments of his life.
“Mark! I found photographs!”
“We're not hanging those on the tree, mate!”
“May I see them?”
Mark sighed. “Yes. You can look at photos of me as a geeky nipper with goofy ears. But could you find the Christmas stuff first and bring the pics down with you?”
“OH MY GOD YOU'RE TINY!” Fernando was actually giggling. Fernando was giggling , in Mark's attic, wearing pyjamas. This was getting weirder.
“FONZ!” Mark started up the ladder. “Get back down here with the decorations and we'll see who the shortarse is!”
In the attic, Mark found Fernando sitting cross-legged on the floor, an old album in his lap. Mark could tell by the faded 1970s colours that they were baby pictures.
“I shouldn't have given you whiskey.”
Fernando pointed to one of the pictures. “You are so sweet!”
“Do you want me to call your mum and ask her to send some of you?”
“Don't care. Go nuts.” Fernando threw Mark his phone. “Your hair was so blonde!”
“Yeah, we don't know what happened there. No one saw this coming.” Mark pointed to his black hair. “Pity I'm not a goth.”
“OK, would pay money to see Goth Mark.”
“Not enough money in the world, mate.”
“No pictures here of a teen goth phase?”
“Nope.”
Fernando closed the album. “What were you like as a kid?”
“Now you're just stalling for time. The tree's over there.”
Fernando set the album aside carefully. “Should keep these downstairs. They could get damp up here. This is an old house.”
“It's not damp, I'll have you know. Finest damp-proofing known to man in this place.”
“Still. Can't replace memories.”
“Fine, if we're stuck here on Boxing Day I'll move them downstairs. We'll need something to do.”
“Agreed.” Fernando stood and hefted the tree over his shoulder. “You go down, I'll pass everything.”
“I cannot believe I've let you talk me into this.” Mark went back down the stairs and reached up to take the tree.
“You will thank me when we're done.”
Mark set the tree on the landing. “Mate, jokes aside. I will never stop thanking you for this. If you weren't here, right now I'd be on the couch with tea and the dogs and practicing how to look cheerful when I Facetime Mum and Dad.”
“If I weren't here, I'd be at home with Fabi and regretting everything.” Fernando passed down a box of decorations and fairy lights, and lowered himself down the ladder.
“I'm sure you'd have had a perfectly nice Christmas.”
“Nice? Maybe. But already today I have more fun with you.”
“If you're having more fun with me than with your girlfriend, do I need to find you some instructional videos on the internet?”
Fernando frowned. “What?”
“You know what sex is? You could be having that. More fun than hanging out with me. And if it's not, then you're doing it wrong.”
Fernando smirked. “I am not doing it wrong.”
Mark suppressed a shiver. He was willing to bet Fernando did it exactly right. It was all too easy to imagine just how right it would feel.
_
Together, in their pyjamas, they put up the tree and hung fairy lights around the living room as the fire in the grate began to take hold. By the time they were done, it was dark outside, the fire was crackling and the dogs were slumbering on the rug.
Mark tried not to let his imagination or his heart run away with him, but it was close to impossible not to picture a future where this was every Christmas. Maybe with his parents upstairs, wrapping presents, or Fernando's in the kitchen making Christmas Eve supper. Maybe with some friends coming by for drinks and snacks by the fire.
But thinking that way would only make him hurt worse when the storms passed and Fernando went back to his girlfriend, his work, his normal life. They had these few magical days. Mark wouldn't ruin them by wanting more. One Christmas with Fernando was already more than he ever dreamed he would have.
Fernando set about preparing an easy dinner – a metric ton of cured meats and cheeses, with some bread.
“Not even a token vegetable?” Mark said, taking his plate from the countertop.
“Is not a vegetable kind of day.”
“It's a magical kind of day.”
“Vegetables and magic don't mix.” Fernando handed Mark a glass of wine and they moved to eat from their laps on the couch, where Fernando had queued up Die Hard .
“By the way, I'm gonna Facetime the folks in a little while,” Mark said. “Do you mind if we pause the movie for a bit when I do?”
“We can wait and start after, no worries.” Fernando forked up a twist of cured ham.
“Thanks. They'll be up soon, so I thought I'd call them now for their Christmas morning, and then again tomorrow for my Christmas morning. They'll be getting ready to go to bed then.” Mark tasted some of the manchega. “Oh my God, this is amazing. How have I survived this long without sheep's milk cheese in my life?”
“It has just been surviving, is not living without sheep cheese.”
“A-fucking-men. This is so good.”
Fernando grinned. “And you haven't tasted my best yet.”
“How do I do that?” Mark raised his glass.
“Either wait til tomorrow or kneel down.”
Mark wanted to drop his plate and whimper, but he would not let Fernando win this one. “Can't do that and still eat, so I guess I'm judging you on tomorrow's dinner.”
“You're no fun.”
“And you're a tease.”
“Not a tease. Just a flirt.”
“No, a tease. Showing up with all this great Spanish food and not showing me how to get more of it? Absolute fucking tease, mate.”
Fernando reached over and plucked a piece of Iberico from Mark's plate. “OK, I am a food tease. That I accept.”
“Actually, can I ask you something?” Mark began.
“Sure.”
“Would you mind if I let the folks know that you're here? They were so worried about me being alone this year, especially with the storms.”
“Is not a secret, let them know, of course. In fact, I would like to see them again, if you don't mind? I could join the call?”
“Not at all! I'll text them and set up a time to call. Sounds great.”
Mark kept eating with one hand as he texted.
MARK
Facetime in half an hour? Got a mate with me.
DAD
Perfect. Glad you're not by yourself.
MARK
I need a favour.
DAD
Anytime.
MARK
DO NOT INVITE HIM TO AUSTRALIA.
DAD
...OK.
MARK
You won't believe what he's done today and I haven't got a Christmas present for him so I'm getting him flights to come and visit. I need it to look like it was my idea.
DAD
Is he someone special?
MARK
It's Fernando!
DAD
Nice lad. Chat soon.
_
“So I'm not alone at Christmas after all! Can you believe this bloke?” Mark swung an arm over Fernando's shoulder. On the screen, his friend's face looked a little pink.
“Is nothing, really,” Fernando said. “Just moved my Christmas an hour up the road.”
“Showed up on my doorstep in a Santa hat,” Mark said.
“You'll have to pop round his in a bunny costume for Easter then,” Mark's dad said, from the screen.
“Papers would love that.”
“I wouldn't mind.” Fernando smiled. “Especially if you bring chocolate.”
Mark could tell his friend was resisting the urge to make Playboy bunny jokes. He appreciated the effort.
“Well, it's great to see you again, Fernando” Mark's dad said. “Hope it won't be so long til next time. We're planning to be in Europe this summer to see that waster beside you so we might get time for a drink or a bite to eat, if you're around?”
“Could come to Silverstone!” Fernando's face brightened. “You'll be working there, Mark? We could all meet!”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Mark knew his dad well enough to know he was resisting his impulse to invite Fernando to Australia. He could practically see Aussie Grit Senior biting the inside of his cheek. It was fun to watch.
“I'm glad there's someone there to feed him up,” his dad said. “I swear, the years when that boy didn't eat so he could fit into the cars. There's footage of you I still find hard to look at, Mark.”
“I know, Dad.” Mark rolled his eyes. “You want to see the amount of cheese this one brought. I'll be properly fed.”
“Stuff him full of turkey, Fernando!”
Fernando's face fell like someone had died.
“What?” Mark asked.
“The dinner tomorrow! Is not turkey!” Fernando put his face in his hands, then lowered them. “I made what my family always have. Is las fabes – seafood. I am so sorry, of course you were expecting turkey!”
“I don't even like turkey that much!” Mark protested. “Seafood sounds amazing. And I'd love to try what your family have. I've never had a Spanish Christmas before.”
“You are sure? Not much I can do, I suppose, everything is closed with the storm. So it is seafood or...more cheese.”
“I'm delighted with seafood, mate, delighted. It'll be great.”
“Fernando, would you tell me how to make a traditional Spanish Christmas dinner?” Mark's mum asked. “We both hate doing turkey for Christmas when it's so warm. I'd much prefer to try fish next year!”
“I'd prefer it too,” Mark's dad said. “I'd prefer not to be up at 6am to defrost that bloody thing every year.”
“If I give Mark the recipe, he can send it on,” Fernando said.
“Thanks so much.” Mark's mum was smiling, but his dad's expression was closer to a smirk. He must really hate defrosting the turkey.
They said their goodbyes and Mark promised to call on his Christmas morning. Then Fernando poured the wine.
“You are sure seafood is OK?” he asked.
“I'm not that into turkey to be honest,” Mark said. “Sounds much nicer.”
“Well, I prefer it.” Fernando smiled. “But is what I grew up with.”
“I grew up with Christmas in the summer,” Mark said. “Yacht races and barbecues.”
“Would love to try an Australian Christmas.”
“I can promise you the weather won't do this.” Mark indicated the howling winds outside. “You won't just be able to go outdoors, it'll be compulsory.”
“Surfing on Christmas Day?”
“If you want. Yacht race was on Boxing Day, and the cricket. We used to watch it if it was on TV.” Mark reached for his glass and raised it to Fernando. “What'll we drink to?”
Fernando pulled a wide-eyed, thinking sort of face which struck Mark as unbearably cute. “New year? New starts?”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves, mate. We might need to save that for New Year's Eve if we're still stuck indoors.”
“Could be stranded with worse people.” Fernando met Mark's eyes. His smile was soft.
“How about we drink to that? To being where we should be.”
“Salud.”
“Cheers.” Their glasses touched and sparkled in the firelight.
Chapter Text
Die Hard was such a classic. Mark knew most of the film by heart but never got sick of it. Fernando didn't know it as well, but he said it was the only Christmas film he owned.
“Not one for the holiday rom coms?” Mark teased, as Fernando slid the disk into the player.
“I like when something is happening.” Fernando crawled back to the couch and tucked himself under a throw – Mark was secretly relieved so many layers of fabric were piled on Fernando's bed, since his friend seemed to be feeling the cold. “Fabi made me watch one last week. I kept waiting for the story to start and then they kissed and it was over!”
“And no one had got shot or been in a car chase?” Mark feigned shock as he took a throw for himself and spread it over his lap.
“Not one. No explosions. Hardly a film at all.” Fernando pressed play and the opening credits began.
“Can we watch Top Gun after this?” Mark asked.
“Sure. Why?”
“It's my favourite film of all time.”
“Is a good movie,” Fernando agreed. “But Tom Cruise should have ended up with that blond guy in the white uniform.”
“What?” Mark almost spilled his wine. He reached for the remote and paused Die Hard. “What did you just say?”
“Was not in love with the woman on the motorbike. He was in love with his competitor. The Kimi guy.”
“Iceman, Fernando,” Mark said. “Not 'the Kimi guy.'”
“Him. He was the real love story.” Fernando reached for the wine and topped up his glass, like nothing important was happening.
Mark stared. “I thought seeing you on my doorstep in a Santa hat was the biggest surprise you could pull. And now you tell me you ship Maverick and Iceman.”
“What is 'ship'?” Fernando asked.
“Sorry. It's when you want two characters to date.”
“Huh. Is a word for everything now.”
Mark shook his head. “You think you know someone.”
“After this, we watch, and I will prove it.”
“I don't disagree, mate, I'm just surprised you can see it.”
“Why?” Fernando was indignant.
“Because you're very, very straight.”
Fernando turned his gaze slowly towards Mark, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Am I?”
Oh God. Mark's heart was hammering, his mouth was dry, his palms were wet. He wanted to throw his blanket off and gulp his wine and fling the door open to let fresh air (and the biggest storm of this hurricane season) into the warm living room.
“You know...” Mark managed. “You know I'm not, right? Not straight, I mean.”
The words were out. The ones he'd been swallowing for years, tiptoeing around, hinting at. There was no going back.
Fernando's smile softened – suddenly less flirtatious, more gentle. His warm brown eyes met Mark's. “I suspect, I didn't know for sure.”
“Well. I guess I should tell you before you spend any more time under a blanket with me. I'm, yeah, I'm... gay.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Fernando reached across and fumbled for Mark's hand, which was under his blanket. This did nothing to help Mark's general state of composure. Mark lifted his hand over the cover to let Fernando take it.
“I wasn't keeping it from you, I just...from the early days, Flavio said to say nothing to anyone. Career reasons.”
“Of course.” Fernando grimaced. “Flavio would say that.”
“All credit to him, I wouldn't have got to F1 without his advice. Wouldn't have had the career I had. Wouldn't have a home here and in Monaco and back home, parents with no debts...”
“Don't have to tell me, Mark, he did the same for me. There was a price. We pay it.”
“You don't have the same secret I have, surely?” Mark didn't know how he was getting the words out, how his hand was steady in Fernando's. “Not with all the women in your life.”
“Not exactly.” Fernando pulled a face. “There was a woman I liked, she wasn't suitable, Flavio said to end it. I did. I am not proud. But I was young. Probably wouldn't have worked out anyway.”
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I. Especially I am sorry you couldn't be yourself. In the paddock, I mean. And even now, as a reporter.”
“Reporter is an overstatement, mate, I'm not exactly in the war zones with John Simpson.”
“You know. In media. I wish you could say on TV, I meet my boyfriend tonight. If you have one.”
“No one on the scene, mate, no.”
“Good.” Fernando gave Mark's fingers a final, decisive stroke before dropping his hand. “If he had left you alone for Christmas in the storm, he would answer to me in the new year.”
“You're gonna be vetting my potential blokes now, are you? You're gonna be the scary Spanish friend they have to impress?”
“They will be scared of me,” Fernando said, serenely. “And jealous. They will see you have an angry friend as handsome as me, and that will keep them in line. They will treat you like you deserve.”
Mark giggled in spite of himself. Something inside him had cracked when Fernando hadn't immediately declared undying love when Mark came out, but equally he was warm all over at the idea of Fernando protecting him. And at how Fernando's only concern was for Mark's happiness.
“Thanks, mate. Thanks for being alright with it.”
“I just wish you had felt you could have told me sooner.” Fernando's heavy brow creased. “I am sorry if I ever made you feel like I would not support.”
“Not at all, mate. It was just so drilled into me not to say anything, that I didn't. And to be honest, it's not like there's anyone in my life. If I'd started seeing anyone, I would have told you.”
“Well, good.” Fernando said. “I am your friend no matter what.”
“Right back at you.”
Fernando gestured with the remote. “Back to Nakatomi Plaza?”
“Let's do it.”
Mark settled in to watch the film. The fire was warm and cosy; his wine was delicious; Fernando was two feet away on the couch, in his pyjamas, under a fleecy blanket that made him look ridiculously cute; the dogs were napping in front of the fire, which cast flickering shadows on their sleek fur. The newly decorated tree and the fire provided the only lights in the room. Mark thought back to his miserable lunch on this very couch, with the same howling wind outside, only hours earlier, and how different it had felt. This was perfect, a Christmas Eve straight from a dream...
The next thing Mark knew, he was trying to force open heavy eyes. He wasn't supposed to be asleep, he knew... he was somewhere good, somewhere he wanted to be... he needed to wake up...
“You awake, sleepyhead?” Fernando murmured, gentle and close.
Mark brushed his cheek against something soft, relishing it so much that he rubbed his face across it again. So snuggly... And something above was lovely and scratchy against his forehead...
Fernando.
Mark's eyes shot open.
Oh, shit.
That softness on his cheek was Fernando's pyjama top. That gorgeous, satisfying scratch was his stubble.
I fell asleep on Fernando.
Mark jerked away. “Oh, mate, I'm so sorry, must have dozed off! Probably the wine and the fire, and it is dark in here, not that that's a bad thing but it's probably made me dopey and-”
Fernando's laugh was as warm as the room.
“Is OK, I dozed off too. We are like old men, asleep at the TV!”
Mark had no idea how he'd migrated from his side of the couch to Fernando's shoulder. Especially since he'd just come out to Fernando right before he fell asleep...oh, no. Was Fernando going to think this was some kind of clumsy come-on? Like the old yawn-and-stretch trick guys used to pull at the cinema?
“I'm really sorry. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable-”
Fernando reached for Mark's hand again and patted it. “Stop worrying,” he said. “Is fine. Is what Christmas is all about, falling asleep at the TV. After good food.”
“I just mean I was... right in your space, after what we talked about before-”
“Is OK-”
“I don't want you to think I'm some creep-”
“You're not!” Fernando exclaimed. “Are my friend, my best friend, and is OK you fall asleep. Really. Don't make a big deal of it.”
Mark sighed. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Fernando looked at the screen, now showing the end of the film. “Maybe we watch again tomorrow, since I think we miss most of it.”
“ Top Gun might have to wait.”
Fernando smiled. “Isn't it weird? When we were kids, we want to stay up all night to see Santa Claus arrive.”
Mark smiled back. “I don't need to stay up,” he said. “Santa arrived at two o'clock this afternoon. Never knew he was Spanish.”
“If I am Santa Claus,” Fernando said, “do you want to sit on my knee and tell me what you wish for?”
Mark went hot all over. Even though he had scooted back to his own side of the couch, his legs were still touching Fernando's. Not for the first time, he cursed his stupid, gangly height.
“I'm already practically on your knee,” Mark joked, to diffuse the tension. “And what could I possibly wish for? I have to be the luckiest bloke on the planet. I have everything I could want.”
“Everything?”
“Great family. Great friends.” He met Fernando's eye and smiled. “The best dogs. I'm on my second career and I've loved both of them. More money than I can spend. And a fridge full of at least fifty per cent of the cheese available in the south of England.”
Fernando laughed. “I did leave some cheese for the rest of the population. Just one packet. They can share.”
“What's your Christmas wish? More cheese?”
Fernando looked away. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I would like to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I mean someone like a partner.”
“Oh.” All of the air left Mark's lungs. “But you have Fabi.”
“I mean someone forever. Someone I can see a future with.” Fernando stared into the dying fire. “Maybe someone in sport, like me. Ambitious. High-achieving. Same values. Strong family, ethics, honour.”
“And do you think Fabi could be that person?” Mark asked, his heart splintering into shards in his chest. His dreams had already died tonight, when Fernando hadn't reacted to Mark's coming out in the way Mark had secretly dreamed. He could set that aside and relish these days. He wasn't sure, though, how much else he could set aside.
There was a long pause. Mark waited.
“Mark, Fabi and I broke up today.” Fernando's eyes flicked back to Mark from the fire, looking almost black in the low light.
“Mate, I am so sorry. I had no idea. Was it because –” Mark's heart clenched, “-was it because you came here?”
“No.”
“Really? Because if it was, you better damned well get on the phone and get her back, I'm not worth that!”
“Mark, stop. Please.” Fernando whispered.
Mark breathed quietly. Fernando single? Fernando looking for a future, for commitment? Mark could live with the parade of casual girlfriends. He didn't know if he would survive Fernando falling in love.
Fernando looked back and Mark and smiled. “It was amicable. You know that word? I use it when I leave teams.”
Mark laughed a little in spite of himself. “ Sometimes you do.”
“Well. I had been having doubts. Not about Fabi, really – she is sweet. Very lovely girl. But I know there is no future. She was lots of fun, very kind. A good person. But not for me, not for long. And she was sad she wasn't with her family for Christmas. Especially with the storm. And I was keeping her from them, so I could have fun, even though I knew we wouldn't last. So I tell her, I will go to my friend if you will go to your family, I will drive you safe to their door. We will say a happy goodbye instead of a sad one. And we will both be where we should be.”
“Wow. Mate, I can't believe you showed up here with a smile on your face to give me a great Christmas an hour after a breakup. You're a fucking superhero.”
“I didn't have to fake it.” Fernando shrugged. “Was relieved, if I am honest. We agreed we will say nothing public til after New Year. She doesn't want people to pity her, say she was dumped by the racing driver on Christmas Eve. She is not so famous yet, is worried how she would look.”
“Of course.”
“And she sent me pictures of her day!” Fernando pulled his phone out. “Here she is with the kids. So cute.”
The photo on Fernando's phone showed a beautiful young woman sitting on the messy floor of what looked like a small house. Three children in matching outfits, wearing Christmas cracker hats, were playing around her – she was gazing intently at the children, unaware there was a camera. Her hair fell in a perfect waterfall around her face, and she looked like a painting of contentment. Fernando scrolled along, and in the next photo the same young woman looked both more and less beautiful. Her face was scrunched up from laughing, her mascara had run, and another woman – a little older, with the same rich fall of hair – was pulling a face at her.
“Her dad took these.” Fernando put the phone away. “That woman is her sister. The kids are her nieces and nephew.”
“Lovely family.” Mark's throat was tight. His own sister was thousands of miles away – about as far away as could be, before you started getting closer again. Literally the other side of the planet. His dad would be taking photos of just one of his kids today. His own nieces and nephew would be celebrating without him.
“Mark.” Fernando's voice was quiet. “I am sorry. I didn't think.” He wrapped an arm around Mark's shoulders and drew him close.
“Nando,” Mark managed, through his feelings. “I already monopolised your actual break-up. Please don't make me monopolise your break-up reveal. I should be consoling you – promising you wild nights out on the pull as soon as the storm passes!”
Mark's urge to cry had receded. Fernando released him.
“We have had some wild nights,” Fernando allowed.
“Tokyo.”
“The whiskey bar.” Fernando smiled.
“And Monaco. I'll never know how you found that little pub.” Mark remembered a proper sawdust-on-the-floor boozer, something he didn't think existed in the wealthy principality and that he had never managed to locate again. Sometimes he wondered if Fernando had conjured it, and he said so.
“The money you won playing pool was real,” Fernando pointed out.
“Didn't I tell you, mate? I reached into my pocket the next day and it had all turned into glass.”
“Glass is probably worth more than currency in Monaco. Is rarer.”
“Remember that night in Canada? When JB did the pole dance?”
Fernando laughed. “Still have the pictures! When we were teammates, I sent him the pics and said they go to his mother if he not give me first choice of pit stop.”
“You fucking didn't.” Mark was incredulous.
“Fucking did.”
“I love you, you absolute monster.”
The words were out before Mark realised, but they were coated in enough laughter that he thought he would get away with them. He didn't dare meet Fernando's eyes til the moment had passed in a pulse of silence.
“I like being the villain,” Fernando said. “Is more fun. And bad boys get the girls.”
“Well, you've always done that, mate.”
“What was it Seb said? Bad boys get the prom queen, but he couldn't find her?”
“Yeah, that was after the BBC gave him an award for being cheeky. You should have heard Hanna in the motorhome after that prom queen jab.”
“He was in trouble?”
“No, she couldn't stop laughing. She made him wear a Burger King crown.”
Fernando laughed. “I need someone like that. Someone who makes me laugh.”
“Someone who can cook Spanish Christmas dinner,” Mark suggested.
“Don't mind about that. I can do that part.” Fernando looked nervous. “At least, I hope I can. Tomorrow you can try what I make, give me marks out of ten.”
“...are you trying to win cooking, somehow?” Mark asked. “I know drivers are competitive, but there's no one to compete with here. You're by default the best cook in this house.”
“So I do win.”
“Yes.” Mark threw a cushion at Fernando. “You win, here's your prize.”
Fernando held the cushion on his lap.
“If we can't stay awake for the film, maybe we should go to sleep. For real.” Fernando glanced over at the sleeping dogs. “Maybe they are right.”
Mark looked at his watch. Discounting the hours they'd already spent dozing, it wasn't an embarrassing time to go to bed. And he did want to be up early to call his folks before the end of their Christmas Day.
And he had one thing to print off and giftwrap in the morning, which would take a while, because his printer was used so rarely he needed to sacrifice a yak to make it work.
“Sure thing, let's turn in. Probably good that we saved a film or two – you genuinely could be trapped here for a couple of days, mate.”
“I knew when I arrived. Would rather have company.”
“Very much same here. Believe me.”
Chapter Text
Mark slept better than he could remember, knowing Fernando was one room away. His bed felt cosier than ever with the storm raging outside. When he woke up, he thought it must be the middle of the night, but no – it was morning, the sky was just such a leaden, deep grey that the sun might as well not have risen. Mark checked his phone. The media were calling it 'Christmasgeddon' and 'the Cruelest Yule,' which made Mark roll his eyes. Of course it had to be sensationalised. Of course there were headlines about the cancellation of Boxing Day sales, and a few business owners saying their intrepid staff would brave the roads for minimum wage if only the namby-pamby government would lift the no-travel directive. Mark checked the local community group chat he was in, to make sure no one was stranded anywhere, or had a problem he could step in and fix. Thankfully everyone was safe and snug indoors.
Then he saw an email that made him rush from his room with tears in his eyes to find Fernando.
“You awake, mate?” Mark tapped on Fernando's bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Fernando was sitting on the floor, playing with Patch.
“How did he get in here?” Mark asked sternly.
“Was crying in the night,” Fernando said. “I think he was cold.”
“Right. So cold that you had to rescue him from the fireside ?”
“Si.”
“But not so cold that you rescued Raven?”
Fernando shrugged. “The other one was not crying.”
“That dog has you for the biggest fool in England.” Mark sighed. “You're spoiling him.”
“He likes me!”
Patch was, admittedly, rolling on his back so Fernando could scratch his belly, and shooting Mark an indignant look for interrupting his quality Fernando time.
“Anyway, I just got this message though the contact form on my website. You've gotta see it.”
Fernando reached for Mark's phone and read the same text that had made Mark jump out of bed.
Dear Mark,
Thank you very much again for the lift home from the airport. Our daughter Libby asked me to thank you specially from her. I texted her from your car and she says you spared her so much worry because she knew you would get us home safe. She was terrified of us on the roads, especially as she was afraid we would then never get to meet little Ashley. She is a worrier of the highest order is our Libby.
Also it turns out her husband's family are all massive team Webber fans since your Minardi days (I hope I have got that right). So when they all turned up for Christmas Day, she told them that an Australian racing driver called Mark had taken her parents home and well her in-laws have not stopped on about it since. They are very decent folk and would never go to the press or anything. They said they loved having a story about you no one else would have. So Libby says a big thank you both for getting us home safe, and for giving her in-laws the best present ever. She said they talked about it so much all day that she felt like we were right there in Melbourne with them. Her husband's brothers go to the race every year and said they will keep an eye out for you there, so don't be surprised if a bunch of Australian lads with red hair come running up to you saying they are friends of Charlie and Pauline. Of course you'll have forgotten all about us by then but don't worry, they are good lads and will just want to shake your hand for helping Libby's mam and dad.
We are hoping we can get our flights rebooked in the new year but we now expect the whole clan will meet us at the airport wanting to know about our adventure. I don't know if I have the heart to tell them I didn't know who you were. They might throw me out of the family for that.
This will probably go to your PA or social media manager or something, but I hope whoever reads this will pass it on to you so you know how grateful we are.
Many thanks again. I hope you are managing to have a good Christmas in spite of your plans changing, and that you have every success with your TV work. It was very nice to meet you.
Charlie (and Pauline)
“Mark!” Fernando gave Mark a one-armed hug. “This is so kind.”
“Yeah, I'm really touched.” Mark rubbed his eyes. “It was actually kind of a relief they didn't really know who I was.”
“Pity about the Aussie relatives, blowing your cover.” Fernando smiled.
“Gotta keep an eye out for them in the stands in Albert Park.”
“I think they will find you. Maybe I can practice my protection skills so I am ready for your boyfriends.”
“Giant red-haired Aussies aren't really my type, mate.” Mark looked back at the screen. “Sorry for barging in, I just... I was so blown away by what you did for me. I guess I wanted you to know I'd done something good for someone this Christmas too.”
Fernando stood, much to the annoyance of his new best friend on the floor. “I did not need you to tell me you are a good man. Is why we were friends, always.”
“Being this far from my parents, I guess I feel good that I did something for someone else's parents. You know?”
“You are a good son. Speaking of which, should we call them?”
Mark's heart swelled three sizes at the word we. “Probably, don't want to keep them up too late. Mind making the coffees, and I'll follow you down?”
“Sure.”
Mark watched Patch follow Fernando down the stairs and went to his study.
“Do not fuck with me this morning,” he said to the printer. “I am full of Christmas cheer and I will not have you ruining it.”
Maybe the printer heard him, because a mere eight minutes and two kicks later, he had a folded sheet of paper which he tried to wrap like a very flat present. It wasn't elegant, but it was done. He slapped a gold bow on it (stolen from a present intended for his sister), brushed his teeth, spent an embarrassingly long time deciding what to wear, and made his way downstairs.
Fernando brought in two coffees steaming on a tray, along with pastries. Mark didn't even remember him unpacking pastries the day before.
“Where did these come from?” Mark asked, snagging the croissant closest to him.
“Patch baked them.” Mark bit into the croissant and looked at Fernando. There was a beat before Fernando said “I brought them. You think I did not know Christmas Day has three meals?”
Mark swallowed. “You think of everything.” He sipped his coffee. Like everything else Fernando put his mind to, it was excellent.
“Anyway, before we ring the folks, I have something for you.” Mark reached behind the couch, where he'd stashed two badly-wrapped packages while Fernando had been in the kitchen.
“Mark! I have nothing for you!” Fernando looked panicked.
“After how you arrived yesterday? With literally bags of stuff? Not listening to that.” Mark handed over the presents. “Open the little one first.”
Fernando took the paper off carefully, as though he knew the contents might tear easily. He extracted the sheet of paper and unfolded it.
“Mark,” he said softly. “Is too much.”
“Don't be silly. You can use it anytime.”
“But first-class? To Australia?”
“Best hiking and biking in the world, mate. You can see it all, whenever you have time. You might want to open the second one.”
The second present was a book of the toughest trails in Australia. Mark had given Fernando his own copy, since deliveries were paused til after the storm. He could replace it later. “Apologies for the state of it, I've used it a lot.”
“Mark. I just emptied my fridge and got in the car. Did not have to spend thousands on me. This is...”
“Mate. I have the zeros in the bank account and you gave me something priceless. You gave me Christmas. The least I can give you in return is home.”
“I can't wait.” Fernando looked down at the airline voucher and back at Mark. “You will come too? We do it together?”
Mark looked away so Fernando wouldn't see the naked love in his eyes. “If you want. Just don't complain too much that I'm faster on the trails.”
“Will not be faster on a bike!”
“We'll see about that. I know the trails best.”
“I will pick ones you don't know. Just to be faster.” Fernando smiled. “I cannot believe this. Is amazing. Thank you so much.”
“You're welcome.”
“Anyway, let's call your family.”
Mark's parents were delighted to hear Fernando would be visiting.
“We'll have to go for food at Archie's,” his mum said.
“Oh, and we'll bring you to some of the old karting tracks,” Mark's dad put in.
“Would like that,” Fernando said. “I am always looking for ideas for my school.”
“Guys,” Mark interjected. “We're going over to hike and cycle, Fernando won't want to be paraded around Queanbeyan like he's a prize trout.”
“I would love to see where you grew up!” Fernando insisted. “And when your family are next in Europe you could come to Asturias. I could bring you both to Oviedo!”
“That's in Spain,” Mark added.
“I had guessed that, son, thanks.” His dad rolled his eyes. “I've only been to Madrid and Valencia, it'd be nice to see the north.”
“I think is the best part of Spain, but I may be biased.” Fernando's smile on the screen was so wide. Mark loved how proud Fernando was of home. It was one of the things they'd always shared – a deep connection to their roots. When Fernando was first in England, Mark understood his homesickness. There had been a lot of weekend walks and computer games to help him through, long before Mark caught feelings. Back when they really were just friends.
“We'll have to visit and then let you know if we agree,” Mark's mum said. “It's the only way to be sure.”
“Do you know when you'll be coming out, Fernando?” his dad asked.
Mark narrowed his eyes as Fernando's widened. His father on the screen was a picture of innocence.
“Oh, to Australia!” Fernando recovered. “We hadn't decided. When is the best time?”
“I like early in the year,” Mark said. “Since I missed Christmas, I was hoping to go in late January but that might be a bit soon for you-”
“No, have no plans. I go home to my family on the fifth – the epiphany is a feast day at home,” Fernando explained. “But after I see them, I have no commitments except testing til March.”
“We'll figure something out,” Mark said.
“We'd best get on and get some sleep, the rest of the family descends tomorrow.” Mark's mum was hiding a yawn. “Thanks for the call, hope you boys have a good day today.”
Mark turned the laptop so his mum could see the storm through the window. “I'm about to go into the garden with the dogs, so if I blow away, I'll get Fernando to tell you where he finds me.”
“Mark! Don't joke about that. Stay safe!”
“I will, Mum, I promise.”
“Happy Christmas!” His dad waved.
“Happy Christmas!”
Notes:
The letter Mark receives from Charlie and Pauline is written EXACTLY the way my favourite uncle talks. He is 100% Charlie. It's not perfect English but it's my favourite kind.
Chapter Text
After the call, Mark changed into his oldest clothes and brought the dogs into the garden. “They'll be fine for a couple of days without a proper walk,” he said, “but they still need some exercise.”
“Do you want some help?” Fernando asked.
“No, you stay where it's dry.” The prospect of being outdoors in the driving rain and high winds wasn't fun, but the dogs' welfare came first, so Mark gritted his teeth and ventured into the elements. It was too windy to throw a ball around, but he gave the dogs a good stint of exercise and a few puzzles, and brought them back inside.
Fernando stood by the back door with a towel.
“Tea in the kitchen,” he said, as Mark reached for the towel. He could feel its inviting warmth, but Fernando held it out of reach. “No! This is for him.”
Fernando crouched and wrapped the warm towel around Patch's shoulders.
In spite of his outrage, Mark laughed. “Nice to know where the man of the house stands in the pecking order.”
“You can dry yourself. He can't.” Fernando busied himself rubbing the towel all over Patch's back.
“Nor can Raven,” Mark pointed out.
“This one is sensitive.” Fernando took a corner of the towel and gently brushed some droplets from Patch's floppy ears. “Aren't you? You are a sensitive boy. Yes you are!” Fernando pulled a face and made kissing noises at Patch. Something inside Mark melted.
Mark found another towel and began to dry Raven so he wouldn't feel left out.
“You are the best,” Fernando went on. “Yes you are, yes you are.” Kiss-kiss.
“Any idea how many women around the world would pay to swap places with that dog?” he teased.
“Not just women.” Fernando winked. Mark was glad his friend was too absorbed in Patch to notice him blush.
“Yes, that's nice, isn't it? Let me get your little paws dry. Yes, so much nicer,” Fernando cooed. “Most special boy. We dry you off and then have some treats by the fire. Maybe your papa will let you stay in my room tonight.”
“No!” Mark said. “That one is a con artist. I won't even tell you how long it took me to get him out of my bed in the first place. If he's let into your room, he'll decide mine is fair game too.”
“Your papa is very cruel,” Fernando stage-whispered to Patch. “He does not understand we are best friends now.”
“First he stole my bed, now he's stealing my friend.” Mark sighed. “And my towel. At least he can't steal my tea.”
“I hope is OK,” Fernando said. “I don't drink tea much so am bad at making it. The Englishmen at work always complain. Rob was the worst.”
“Ferrari made you make tea? And I thought I had it bad with Christian and Helmut.” Mark left Raven alone to go and pour some tea. “Want a cup?”
“Sure.” Fernando's attention didn't stay on Mark for long. “You come to the fire with Uncle Fernando?”
Mark followed a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. He placed the weaker one with the most milk beside Fernando.
“If you keep calling yourself Uncle Fernando in front of the dogs,” Mark said, as he set his own mug down, “I can't promise not to film it and put the footage online. I reckon I could have got a few grand at least for you drying His Highness over there.”
Patch was on his back on the rug, all four paws in the air. Fernando looked at the pale, spotted belly indulgently.
“Send to Jenson in case I ever use the pole dance pictures.” Fernando reached for his alleged tea and took a sip.
“No other embarrassing photos of you knocking around?” Mark asked.
“Well, no pole dances. At least not yet.” Fernando smiled. “It's still early.”
Mark felt the burst of warmth that was becoming familiar. He was sure Fernando was flirting with him – it was harder and harder to ignore. Fernando was always playful with people he knew well, but this felt different. Mark wondered if Fernando thought of him as fair game for flirting now that he'd come out. He was torn between finding it fun – possibly very fun to think about later, when he was alone – and feeling a bit teased. Almost used, but not quite.
Because he couldn't shake off the possibility that Fernando might not be teasing.
“You have any presents to open?” Fernando asked.
“Nope. All with the folks. I opened Flavio and Ann's a few days ago so I could thank them before I left. Best laid plans and all that.”
“Fabi got me cologne. What do you think?”
Fernando wriggled across the couch towards Mark and tipped his head back.
“I think you'd be the first to die in a vampire flick,” Mark said, to hide his embarrassment. He leaned into the hollow of Fernando's throat. The urge to move just slightly closer and press his lips to Fernando's neck was almost irresistable. For a split-second, he considered a jokey kiss, or a vampiric nip, but stopped himself in time. If he ever got to taste Fernando's throat, it would be for real.
Didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. He inhaled deeply and breathed out.
“Mmm.” Mark let his breath ghost over Fernando's skin. “Fabi has excellent taste.”
A slash of gooseflesh rose on the patch of Fernando's chest visible at the V of his shirt, and his breathing hitched, unsteady. Mark drew back just in time to catch Fernando lick his lips. He couldn't tell if his friend was still playing. If he was, Mark didn't know what the game was.
Mark lifted his mug, for something to do with his hands and lips that wouldn't get him in trouble. His hands weren't shaking, he was glad to see.
“Good that you approve. We could be stuck here together for a while,” Fernando said. “And you might put me out into the storm if I used that scent Flavio used to like.”
“Oh, that massively expensive one he made us buy in the duty free?” Mark asked.
“That's the one.”
“God, we used to know if he'd come into the garage without looking around.”
“It probably wasn't so bad in normal amounts.”
“When has Flavio ever done a normal amount of anything?”
“That is fair.” Fernando cradled his mug as Patch rolled on to his front again. “He is so sweet. How long have you had him?”
“Flavio?” Mark joked. “About sixteen years.”
“You know I mean my new best friend.”
“Three years, and I can't believe I got replaced so easily. Gutted, mate. Properly devastated over here.”
“You know you are my favourite.” Fernando looked at his mug. Mark felt his heart skitter.
“Then I'm a lucky boy.”
“Think we are both lucky.”
“I'll drink to that, mate. Even if it is just tea.” Mark took a sip. “He was a rescue. Don't know his background at all – he was found on the streets. Someone brought him to a shelter and my dogsitter fostered him. I went to pick up Raven and fell in love.”
“Not with the dogsitter?”
“She's not my type, and nor is her wife.”
Was Mark imagining that Fernando looked relieved?
“Anyway, I thought I was bringing home a timid little thing that would need lots of coaxing out of his shell. Not a bit of it.”
“He knows he's special.”
Mark smiled. That sounded familiar. He wondered if Fernando liked Patch so much because they were alike in some very critical ways.
“He does. And if you're not careful, you'll get on the plane on the fifth of January and find he's snuck under your seat. Don't say I didn't warn you.”
“Could find worse things under my seat.”
Mark put his mug down. “Right, I'm gonna enjoy this tea a lot more if I have a shower and warm up. Excuse me for a bit?”
“Sure.”
Mark knew in his bones that Patch would be up on the couch (and probably on Fernando's lap) as soon as the door closed, but he resigned himself to it. Training Patch off the furniture in the new year might even be a nice reminder of these few magical days, he thought as he climbed the stairs.
God.
He took down his bathrobe and towel and leaned his head against the back of the bedroom door. This was blissful torture. To be so close to Fernando, to be teased and flirted with, to share old memories and make plans for a fucking holiday to Australia together to meet Mark's family – it was everything he could have dreamed of (well, everything G-rated). Except that they were supposed to be just friends.
Mark went to toss his phone on the bed, until he noticed a text.
DAD
When you know what date you and F are arriving, let us know if you need one or two beds made up.
MARK
DAD!!!
DAD
Well we're not as young as we used to be. I'm not changing a second duvet cover unless I have to.
MARK
WE ARE JUST FRIENDS
DAD
No one looks that sad when he thinks he's made his friend the wrong dinner.
MARK
Maybe he's just nicer than your mates.
DAD
Could you ask him out before you get here?
MARK
Knock it off Senior.
DAD
I am not kidding about the duvets. Make an honest man of him and save your old man's back.
MARK
Give Mum your phone and tell her you can't have it til you grow up.
After his shower, Mark did feel a lot warmer.
But he also felt mischevious. There was no heterosexual explanation for the cologne incident. Might be best to check in with someone who would know.
MARK
If you got new aftershave, would you invite me to smell your neck?
JENSON
....
....
Have you been hacked man???
Happy Christmas, hacker.
MARK
Serious Q. I promise there's a reason.
(Not a hacker. Actually Mark)
(Happy Christmas)
JENSON
No, I wouldn't. Go smell your own neck!
MARK
Thanks, that's all I needed.
JENSON
I hope your Christmas gets less weird!
MARK
I don't mate. Love to Brittny.
JENSON
Thanks for spelling it right. Always weird when you send love to Nico by accident.
Go smell your own neck.
Mark wasn't going to do that, but he was going to cause a little bit of trouble. He made his way downstairs with just a towel around his waist, and not a large one either.
“Mate, can I grab that phone charger?” he asked from the living room doorway.
Fernando, on the rug, looked up from playing with Patch. His eyes flicked down Mark's torso, flashed dark for a split-second when they passed the spot where the towel sat low on Mark's hips (lower than it tended to when Mark was alone) and were impassive again by the time they met Mark's.
“Sure.” He grabbed the charger from the coffee table and passed it over, then turned his attention back to Patch. “You are so handsome, aren't you? And you know it! Yes you do! Are you happy here with Uncle Fernando? You want me to play with you?”
“Which of us are you talking to?” Mark teased.
Fernando turned slowly to face Mark, his smile languid. “I'm too overdressed to play with you right now.” He stood and stretched, exposing a thin triangle of skin between his sweater and his jeans. “Should also go and shower. Then dinner should go in the oven.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Mark asked.
“With the shower or with cooking?” Fernando smiled.
“I meant cooking, but I realise I'm dressed for showering.” Mark gestured casually at himself.
“I know my way around both, thanks,” Fernando said, heading for the stairs. He paused briefly beside Mark, so close that Mark could feel the static from Fernando's jumper against his damp skin. “Oh, and if I was talking to you? I wouldn't be asking you to call me Uncle Fernando.”
While dinner was in the oven, Fernando faffed mysteriously in the kitchen (swearing every few minutes and using an electric whisk Mark hadn't known he owned). Mark sat on the couch with a new pot of tea, enjoying the fire and the Christmas tree lights and the snoring, happy dogs.
They made it as far as the first bites of dinner without anything weird and flirty happening.
This time Mark was the one who made it weird.
They decided to eat on the couch, in their comfy clothes. Mark had grown up in a house where everyone wore pyjamas or sunscreen-stained t-shirts for most of Christmas Day, so dressing up for the day was even more foreign to him than the storm outside. Fernando had spent Christmas Days in a shirt and slacks for Mass, until he was old enough to object to going to Mass at all. Mark asked for photographic proof. Fernando dug through his cloud storage and found a photo of his first Communion. Mark peered at the screen, where a small boy with dark eyes looked at the camera like it had stolen his last crisp, with a white rosette pinned to a grey waistcoat.
“You were a grumpy bastard even then!”
“It was May in Spain and I had to wear a waistcoat! And miss a kart race!”
“You look like a baby snooker player.”
“I felt like a baby idiot.”
“I love tiny angry Fernando. Well, tinier.”
“Piss off. Am five nine.”
“We both know that's not true.”
“Google me. Internet says I am five nine.”
The oven timer sounded from the kitchen. Mark went to stand.
“No, no, you stay here. I will serve.” Fernando jumped up.
“I'm happy to help, mate.”
“No, my mission was to bring Christmas dinner to a lonely Australian and that is what I am doing.” Fernando disappeared with Patch at his heels. Raven looked up and sniffed hopefully at the air.
The fire crackled perfectly and the sound of the storm ravaged outside. Mark took a quick video on his phone to send to his folks – he wanted them to know he was happy, and cosy.
Fernando brought in wine and loaded plates, and they both settled on the couch. Mark took a forkful of the fish dish, and at the taste, he made a sound that he'd hoped Fernando would hear for the first time under rather more naked circumstances.
Fernando sucked in a sharp breath.
“This is fucking amazing,” Mark said.
Fernando's shy blush was also something Mark had hoped to encounter under more naked circumstances, but he'd take it.
“Is OK?”
“Is way way better than OK. Wow. You're not allowed leave. You live here now. You, and me, and Patch, and Raven, and your Christmas dinner recipes.”
“Mark-”
“And Christmas is now every Friday, by the way.”
“Mark, I-”
“And I think I'd better marry you, just to make sure.”
Fernando's blush had made it to his hairline and even his neck was the colour of a Force India. Ha. Take that, Mr. Flirt.
“Have you always been able to cook like this?” Mark asked, after his second mouthful.
“Pretty much.” Fernando shrugged. “When I first came to England, if I didn't cook Spanish food, I didn't eat it. And am not like you – I was never as keen on the fitness side.”
“I had to be, mate. Too big for the cars.” Mark swallowed more food. “Good job I didn't know this was lurking in the paddock. I'd have retired three years earlier and moved into your spare room.”
“Wouldn't have been so bad,” Fernando said. “I don't make things like this during the season, though.”
“You didn't have to eat it, you could have just made it for me.” Mark grinned. “If I gave up a whole career for your food, mate, it's the least you could have done.”
“Am glad you like it. I know the bar was low, since you were facing freezer food and old bread-”
“This would clear any bar. Don't tell my mum, but this even beats her Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.”
“You will love Spain, then. I'll show you all the best places to eat.”
“And all the best red wines, I hope.”
“And the best cycling routes.” Fernando picked up his glass. “If student exchanges had been this fun at school, I might have done one.”
“What, getting pissed and eating and cycling? Yeah, not enough of that in my school either.”
“Mark, you know -” Fernando took a drink of his wine. “You are the first person to ask me to marry him.”
Mark's mind went into a vague, spinning panic. He wasn't sure he was perceiving reality as he should. He replayed the exchange in his mind.
“I didn't ask you, mate, I told you,” he managed. “And I didn't get down on one knee or anything. Sorry it was such a poor show, for your first.”
“I'm sure you'll do better next time.” Fernando's smile was soft and fond.
“If you don't scare off all my boyfriends,” Mark countered.
“Oh, yes. The boyfriends I am going to protect you from.” Fernando forked up some fish. “Maybe I'll protect you so well, you'll have to marry me.”
“Nice try mate, I know you're only with me to get to Patch.”
Fernando smiled again. He nudged Patch's side with a socked foot, teasing the dog's outstretched paw with his toes. Mark thought his heart might burst.
“Seriously...” Mark said. “I promise this will be the last time I'll say it. But thank you so much for today. And yesterday. I might stop saying it, but I'll never stop thinking it.”
“I'm glad I did. I've had fun. Should we put on Die Hard?”
“Let's do it.”
They watched and ate, with Mark interrupting a few more times to compliment the food. He stopped when he noticed Fernando seemed out of sorts and fidgety. He wasn't watching the film, but he wasn't on his phone or looking at Patch either. Maybe he was regretting his Christmas gesture – he could have been feeding clams to Fabi right this second if he hadn't decided to break up with her for no reason Mark could understand.
After dinner, Fernando insisted on clearing the plates and serving dessert – a homemade chocolate mousse that he said was easy. Mark didn't believe him, since no one swore that much at an electric mixer if they were finding things easy. And if he had been embarrassed at the sexual sound he made when he first tasted dinner, his reaction to the chocolate mousse was so pornographic that he apologised for it, feeling as hot in the face as Fernando had looked when Mark had sort-of proposed.
“I'm sorry, that was... not a sound you needed to hear right now.”
“No, no, is good... that you like it.”
“I really do.” Mark managed to be dignified for his second spoonful.
“I remember you liked chocolate when we were racing, but could never have any.”
“Mate, you made these specially for me?” Mark's eyes felt soft and wet.
Fernando shrugged. “In Spain we have turron at Christmas, but not everyone likes it. Thought you'd prefer chocolate.”
“I cannot believe...” Mark shook his head. “I am the luckiest bloke on the planet. Now I know why you've got so many girlfriends.”
“Because I have a recipe for easy chocolate mousse?”
“Because you're insanely thoughtful.” Mark took the last spoonful, intending to savour it. “Seriously, if you proposed right now, I'd say yes.”
“Mark...”
Mark stopped mid-lick of his spoon at the seriousness of Fernando's tone.
“...would you like some coffee after that?”
Mark smiled. “At least let me make it.”
Chapter Text
After dinner, they put on Top Gun. Fernando suggested a drinking game where they drink every time his theory about Iceman being Maverick's true love was proven right. Mark protested a little.
“I can't rush a gorgeous Spanish red like this.”
“Mark, you forget. I'm not red anymore.”
“Do you ever stop flirting?”
“Yes. When it's worked.”
Mark looked at his glass. “Say two more of these should do it?”
“I am right about Tom Cruise so won't take you long to get there.”
Turned out Fernando had a point, and Mark was pleasantly tipsy and convinced of the great Maverick/Iceman love story before long. He was curled on one side of the couch, his knees close to Fernando's outstretched legs, in the aura of warmth from Fernando's skin. They were so close. Another centimetre – less – and they'd be touching.
If he was sober, he might have resisted.
Mark let his knee drift so it rested against Fernando's calf. Even through two layers of cotton, he could feel the taut muscle. Mark thought about spending two weeks cycling around Australia with Fernando's calves and sighed happily. His lips and fingertips tingled at their proximity to the man Mark had dreamed of – and then been frightened to dream of – for so long.
“More wine?” Mark asked sleepily.
“Are you sure?” Fernando reached for the bottle. “You have a goofy smile and we haven't done the volleyball scene yet.”
“Oh, God, the volleyball scene...” Mark groaned as Fernando topped up his own glass. “That's so gay I don't think I can watch it in the company of a respectable citizen like you.”
“Afraid you'll get hot?” Fernando teased. His calf muscle tensed against Mark's knee.
Get? Mark almost said.
“None of the blokes in that film are my type. Well,” Mark amended, “maybe Maverick. If Tom Cruise wasn't such a space cadet.”
“Oh, you like him?” Fernando's smile was wicked. He was still holding the wine bottle. His other hand rested on the couch so his fingers brushed Mark's knee. Mark could feel the crest and dip of each knuckle. “The short dark pilot? He's your type?”
Pilot, of course, was the word used for racing drivers in Spanish.
“I like gutsy little fighters, yeah,” Mark said, not meeting Fernando's eyes.
“Hmm.” Fernando's knuckles pressed lightly against Mark, sending a dart of electricity through him that almost made him groan. “Now that's interesting.”
Half of Mark wanted to dive forward and press the rest of his aching body against the gutsy little fighter who held him in thrall. The other half wanted to hide away from ruining one of the most precious things he had ever known. He waited, his heart pounding, to see what would win out.
Fernando gestured for Mark to hold out his glass. “Definitely more wine, then.”
In spite of his better judgement, Mark let Fernando pour. Some wine splashed on to the back of Mark's hand.
“Sorry.” Fernando placed the bottle on the coffee table. He gently took Mark's wine glass from him and set it alongside. He lifted Mark's hand from where it had dropped on his lap, raised it to his lips and kissed the wine away.
“Fernando...” Mark breathed. “What are you playing at?”
“I think you know,” Fernando whispered against Mark's fingers. “All you have to say is yes.”
“What am I saying yes to?” Mark asked softly. “A quick fuck by the fire?” His head was clearing. “Or a premium spot in the revolving door?”
“Mark-”
“Do you even know?”
“Mark, I -”
“Do you even know what you're asking me to risk here?” Mark pulled his hand back. “You've been flirting with me so much since I came out to you. Do you actually want me, or am I just the closest person? Is this actually about us? About me?”
“Yes!” Fernando said.
“Why the about-face then? Why are you suddenly all over me?”
“Because – oh, fuck this!” Fernando stood, almost knocking his wine. “You won't even listen.”
He made for the door. Mark heard it slam.
Mark sat, fuming, for a few minutes, fighting tears of rage and sadness.
Then he remembered.
The storm.
Shit.
Mark scrambled from the couch, stuffing his feet into the first trainers he could find. He was still fuzzy from wine and lust, but he could think well enough.
Maybe he and Fernando could talk out what had happened. Maybe they could even fix things.
But Fernando had just rushed out into a storm that every news bulletin for two days had been telling him posed a danger to life.
Mark grabbed his keys and his phone and followed Fernando into the night.
There was no sign of Fernando when Mark got outside. His car was still parked – Fernando would never drive after drinking, Mark knew – but it was a relief anyway. Mark looked every way but could see no trace of his friend. He thought back to what Fernando was wearing: dark jeans, a charcoal jumper. Nothing anyone had a hope of seeing in the dark, especially not through driving rain, whipped into a spin by the strongest winds in forty years.
He had to think.
Mark kept a torch by the door for when he walked the dogs – he went back for it, and rang Jenson as he pulled the door behind him and ran off his own land, towards the main road. Running was hard, with the wind trying to force him back with every step – although, he reminded himself, it was worse than that. The wind wasn't fighting him. It didn't know or care that he was there.
“Mark! Can't get rid of you today!”
“Jens, I need something, mate!”
“I'm not smelling your neck.”
“Shut up a sec. Fernando was at my place, there's a storm, he's gone out and I'm trying to find him. There's a stay at home order in place, I have to get to him, it isn't safe out here. If I don't call you back in an hour, will you send someone out to look for us?”
There was a pause. “Hang on. Fernando is with you?”
“Yeah. Well, not right now. Right now he's gone out into the storm like a fucking idiot!”
“Shouldn't you call the cops? Or... search and rescue, or something?”
“I don't want to call anyone out tonight unless I have to. Don't want to put anyone else at risk!”
Mark had reached the end of his lane. Left or right? If he was Fernando, in a strange part of the country, where would he go?
“Why did he go out?” Jenson asked.
Probably back towards the village, towards lights and people and activity.
Mark turned right.
“We had a fight – it was really stupid. He's on foot but I've had too much wine to drive...”
“Mark, call someone. Call 999.”
“And say what? An adult millionaire celebrity has gone for a walk?”
“An upset man has defied the stay at home order in a badly lit area he doesn't know?”
“I can still catch him! He didn't have much of a head start!”
Jenson sighed. “What can I do?”
“Call for help if I don't ring you in an hour.”
“Right. Stay safe, man. Don't put yourself at risk. Promise me.”
“Promise.” Mark hung up and ran.
Mark gambled that Fernando would keep to paved roads – he was a city boy at heart and wouldn't know any of the rules or norms around rambling on someone else's land. Mark ran as far as the village, looking for any sign, shouting Fernando's name fruitlessly into the wind. Within minutes, his hair was soaked through and lying flat on his face, thick with rainwater. Mark looked at the bus stop, under the church awning, anywhere there was shelter, anywhere Fernando might have gone to regroup.
Nothing.
Christmas night, everything was closed. Mark ran past shuttered shops, which had never looked so bleak. The dark shape of unlit Christmas lights looked like ghosts, the village Christmas tree like a looming, misshapen monster.
The only other place Mark could think to try was the river bank.
The river was probably swollen and ready to flood, if it hadn't already, but a riverbank seemed like somewhere an angry and hurt Fernando might go. He might want to be alone and stare out at the running water. He was a strange, dark, romantic soul, in his own way.
Mark made for the river, trying not to think about loose stones underfoot, about slippy grass banks, about Fernando plunging unseen into the water and being swept away. The village gave way to countryside, and Mark was descending a steep hill towards the river when he fell, tumbling through mud and grass, his legs folding over on themselves.
He landed hard on one ankle.
“Fuck!” he yelled into the wind, his hands slapping flat into the mud as he came to a stop. His voice was carried away in the storm. “Fuck, fuck fuck!” His yells were becoming sobs, the sharp, driving rain on his face becoming tears. He stood, testing his weight on his ankle, but it wouldn't hold him and he fell back to the ground.
Mark dissolved into messy, coughing tears.
He couldn't find Fernando now. Not moving this slowly, not on one foot, not without any idea where to start looking. He checked his watch. He should call Jenson and check in – it had been forty minutes since they spoke, but maybe it was time to get someone else involved. Someone with two functional feet, for a start.
Mark steadied his breathing and took out his phone.
It was already flashing Jenson's name.
“Jens?”
“Mark! Where are you?”
“Just outside the village, by the riverbank. Why?”
“Fernando's looking for you. He went back to the house and when you weren't there, he phoned me. Stay where you are, I'll send him to you.”
Mark scrambled to stand, with a lot of effort, but his foot still wouldn't hold him.
“Mate, my ankle is busted. He'll have a job getting me home.”
“Shut up and don't move. We'll fix this. Switch on your phone location and send me your coordinates.”
Jenson hung up. Mark sat heavily on the ground, not caring that the wet mud was soaking his jeans, nor that the wind kept shoving plumes of rain into him. He curled in on himself for some protection, and stayed. He kept twisting his foot, checking if his ankle was getting any stronger. Maybe it was. He wasn't calling anyone out to help. He'd crawl home first, if that was what it took. It was only a few miles. He could do it, and it would get easier once he was out of the mud.
Mark didn't know how long he'd been waiting when he saw a shape emerge from the darkness. Of course it was Fernando. No one else was out tonight – no one else should be.
Fernando was lit by the screen of the phone he held to his ear. “I see him! Jenson, he's here, I've found him!” Fernando's voice cracked on the last word and he stuffed his phone in his pocket as he ran to Mark.
Fernando dropped to his knees beside Mark and wrapped his arms around him.
“Mark, is OK, I've got you, is OK.” Fernando's lips were buried in Mark's hair, murmuring soft reassurances. The warmth of his breath in the cold air sent tiny shivers down Mark's spine, even as he resisted the floods rising in him.
“I am so glad to see you,” Mark managed finally.
“Jenson said you were hurt.” Fernando held Mark's face in his hands, staring into his eyes. “Where are you hurt?”
“My ankle. I fell a few minutes ago. Can't put my full weight on it yet.”
“Can you stand?”
“Not very well.”
Fernando stood and extended his hands for Mark to take. He hoisted Mark to his feet – well, foot. The mud was reluctant to let Mark go, making a gross, wet sound when he stood.
“Is the right ankle?” Fernando looked at the foot Mark had curled up so it didn't touch the ground.
Mark nodded.
“Come on.” Fernando tucked himself under Mark's right arm and held his waist. “See if you can walk it off with some help.”
Fernando had the sure-footed-ness of someone with a low fucking centre of gravity, Mark thought resentfully, as they made their way uphill from the river. His foot wouldn't hold his weight for more than a step, so it was slow going through the storm. They didn't talk until they got to the door of Mark's house, and fell into the bright warmth.
Chapter Text
Fernando shepherded the happy dogs into the kitchen to give Mark space, ignoring even Patch's pleas for more attention. He came back to the hallway where Mark was swaying, clutching the bannister, and helped him upstairs, mumbling nothing and everything.
“Is OK...you're home now...we'll get everything sorted out...you don't have to do anything... I'll take care of you.”
“Mate, I am so-”
“If you apologise, I will let Patch up here.”
Mark wisely shut up.
With Fernando's help, he peeled off his wet, mud-logged clothes and Fernando banished him to the shower. Showering with one working foot was an experience, but worth the effort. Mark felt a million times more human as his cold skin became warm and pliant again, and the stiff mud swirled down the drain.
Unfortunately, it also brought him back to his senses.
So. My best friend and crush tried to seduce me using Top Gun and red wine. I flipped because I was scared it would ruin everything, and I was afraid of being just a casual fuck – even though we've been making proposal jokes all day. He stormed out, no pun intended, and I launched a transatlantic search party, basically told Jenson we'd had a lovers' tiff, managed to injure myself on a river bank I've been jogging along for over ten years, and could have had to call out the emergency services to risk their own safety in the worst storm in decades. Then Fernando had to help me home. And help me get undressed. And saw me looking like a crying muddy mess on the ground. I bet that was attractive. He's probably waiting for me on the bed in his underwear right this second, with a rose between his teeth.
Mark had been many things in his life and in his career. He had tried hardest to be brave.
He dried off, wrapped himself in the dressing gown Fernando had left warming on the radiator, and stepped gingerly into his bedroom.
Fernando was waiting on the bed.
Not in his underwear – well, presumably he was wearing it under his clothes – and no rose between his teeth. Just sitting in the soft glow of the bedside lamps, deep shadows under his eyes in the low light, and wearing a shy, sad smile. The smile Mark remembered from when they first met, when he'd taken the new Spanish kid under his wing. The smile Fernando had before he got married, before his divorce, before he became one of the biggest players in the paddock.
“Feel better?” Fernando asked.
“So much.”
“I left some clothes warming over there.” Fernando pointed to the bedroom radiator. “I hope they're OK.”
Mark managed to get sweatpants on under his dressing gown, then dropped his robe to pull on the warm sweater. It had been a gift from Fernando about ten years ago. Mark had worn it til the cashmere pilled at the cuffs and the collar fell loose and low over his collarbones. He'd worn it when it hung from his racing frame and when it finally fit properly after he retired. He'd worn it on special occasions and boring, miserable Sundays when he'd watched Fernando from his couch, racing at the back of the grid, the best of his generation left to moulder.
Mark sat on the bed beside Fernando. Fernando immediately dropped to his knees to help Mark on with his socks.
“Nando...” Mark breathed. The sight of Fernando kneeling before him was too much, in too many ways. “You don't have to do that.”
“Let me,” Fernando whispered.
“Are we gonna talk about this?”
Fernando nodded. “By the fire. When you have your foot bandaged and you've had the hot whiskey I'm going to make for you.”
“You don't-”
“Have to? I know, Mark. I didn't have to do anything. I did it anyway. Is the whole point.”
Fernando's fingers were deft on the bandage. Mark didn't bother to ask if Fernando knew what he was doing – of course he did, always. The whiskey was hot and rich. And Fernando was back on the couch, beside Mark, where all the trouble had started. This time, Mark was the one with his legs extended, his injured foot resting on the coffee table, and Fernando was curled to make space.
“Sorry I have so much leg.” Mark said, shifting slightly to make more room.
“I'll find a use for it,” Fernando said. His smile was flirty, but it fell fast. “Mark, can I tell you some things? I have been trying all day.”
“Of course, mate.”
Fernando didn't speak for a long time. He stared into the fire, deep in thought. Mark could see his lips move a little, like he was trying out words. Again, Mark remembered that Fernando conducted most of his life in his second language, and had worked for years at Ferrari through his third. He couldn't imagine what that felt like.
Finally, Fernando spoke.
“When you called me from the airport,” he began, “I realised I am in love with you.”
Mark's stomach lurched, and his lips and hands tingled like he was about to pass out. He blinked hard and breathed deep.
“When we hung up, I sat for a while. I made a plan. I went to Fabi and told her – well, that was like I said before, except I told her that night, not on Christmas Eve. I said there was someone else, but not who. I said I didn't know if the person loved me back, but I had to try. She gave me a kiss and told me to go. She wished me courage.”
Mark almost said that Fernando didn't need more courage, but he stopped himself.
“I brought her to her family that night - I was probably driving when you were - and went home. I didn't sleep much. When I got here, I wanted to give you a perfect Christmas. And I wanted to tell you how I felt. But with the storm – I knew you wouldn't let me go home in the storm, even if you didn't want me. So I couldn't...sweep you off your feet, is how you say it?”
Mark nodded.
“I spent all Christmas Eve thinking of how to make the moment perfect. I was going to take you in my arms as soon as we lit the Christmas tree. Or I would feed you an almond piece in the kitchen, then kiss you. Or in front of the fire tonight with a drink. I thought of so much. I even checked your garden to see if I could find mistletoe.”
Mark smiled as he melted. “Not that common in English gardens, sorry.”
“Then there was this.” Fernando yanked a folded sheet of printer paper from his pocket and handed it to Mark. Mark unfolded it. A crude drawing of some mistletoe, done in blue biro ink by someone with no natural drawing talent. “I was going to pin it up and drag you under it.”
Oh, God. Mark's groin tightened, and his heart softened.
“But I realised then that if I did a big gesture, and you weren't into me too...” Fernando rubbed a hand over his face. “You wouldn't send me away, not with the storm. So I couldn't. I thought I would just flirt as much as I could to see if you liked me back.”
“I do,” Mark murmured. “So fucking much.”
“I am sorry I was so...intense.”
“Why didn't you just tell me when I came out to you?” Mark asked, thinking of the gnawing disappointment he had felt.
“I didn't want to spoil your moment.”
“Fernando.” Mark reached out and bundled Fernando into his arms. “I have wanted you for so long. So long.” He stroked Fernando's cheek. “It's why I never told you I'm gay. If I told you... I couldn't pretend anymore that you wanted me too and were just waiting for your chance. I needed that dream.”
“I didn't know how much I wanted you,” Fernando mumbled into Mark's chest. “For years I thought just that you are my friend and you are hot, so of course I liked to think of you.”
“You thought I was hot?” Mark's voice was hesitant.
“Still do.” Mark could feel Fernando smile against his chest.
“You liked to think of me?” Mark teased.
“Still do,” Fernando whispered.
“When I came out, I was waiting for you to say it back.” Mark ran a hand over the soft wool of Fernando's sweater. “And when you didn't say you wanted me, or that you like blokes too, I thought OK, that's it. Just good friends, I'll take that.”
“I was waiting for the perfect time. Wanted it to be like a film. Perfect for you.”
“Mate.” Mark sighed. Then, because he couldn't bear not to, he lowered his mouth to Fernando's tangled, damp hair and planted a kiss above his temple.
Fernando moaned. Even at that chaste contact of Mark's lips, he moaned. Mark's mind short-circuited as he thought of what else he could do.
“I'm not asking for you to love me back,” Fernando said, raising his head so he was looking deep into Mark's eyes. “But could we try? Take these few storm days and see how things go?”
Mark held the mistletoe drawing above Fernando's head, then leaned in to kiss away Fernando's laughter.
And for all Fernando's failed plans, it was perfect, Mark thought, when they pulled apart. He had never dreamt that Fernando would kiss so gently, so shyly, so teasingly. In Mark's fantasies, he'd always been forceful. Mark hadn't been expecting to be kissed like he was made of glass. He hadn't expected to melt into the softness of Fernando's lips, or that Fernando's fingers would instinctively drift to stroke his temples and rake through the hair above his ears. Mark hadn't expected that he would plant a tiny kiss on Fernando's nose, that Fernando would giggle when he did, that he would brush a thumb tenderly across Fernando's cheekbone and follow it with his lips. Mark let out a pleasantly surprised sound when Fernando lay him backward on the couch, his elevated foot still on the coffee table, and wriggled deliciously against him to get comfy enough to resume kissing.
“What do I do...” Fernando murmured, “to make you make that sound again?”
“Surprise me,” Mark said, against Fernando's mouth. Fernando pulled back, a mischevious smile on his face, and playfully nipped Mark's neck.
“You sod!” Mark yelped.
“Close enough.” Another kiss, this one so long that Mark's leg started to cramp in its awkward position. He moved, adjusted his foot, and drew Fernando close again.
“When I imagined this,” Mark said, his voice low and quiet, “I always thought I'd carry you upstairs. Bridal style. Don't think I'm going to manage that.”
Fernando's laugh was hot. “You imagined this?”
“Of course. I've been wild about you for years.”
“How long?” Fernando buried himself in the hollow of Mark's neck, planting hot little kisses from the dimple below Mark's ear all the way to his collarbone.
“Since..oh...” Mark's eyes fluttered closed. “2010, I think?”
“So much time.” Fernando sighed. “So much time we wasted when we could have been doing this.”
“And all we have to show for those years is millions of pounds and massive trophy cabinets.”
“Not a fair trade. Not for this.” Fernando's voice was almost a growl. “All this time you were thinking of me, and I was thinking of you...”
“And all of your women, Fonz. You weren't exactly pining away in a tower.”
“I would have if I'd known you would feel like this.” Fernando ran a gentle hand down Mark's chest. “May I take you to bed?”
“You can take me anywhere.”
Fernando helped Mark to stand. The hand-drawn mistletoe fell to the floor.
“Reckon we might need that,” Mark said. “I was going to pin it to my belt.”
Fernando's smile was both loving and absolutely carnal. “I'll find my way without it.”
__
Epilogue
MARK
Happy Boxing Day folks! Booked our flights for 15th Jan. Coming from Spain. Will email on the flight schedule. See you at the airport at noon.
DAD
Happy Boxing Day! See you then.
MARK
And it's good news for your back, Pops.
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sweetpeapoppy on Chapter 1 Sat 03 Dec 2022 08:29PM UTC
Last Edited Sat 03 Dec 2022 08:31PM UTC
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