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Lucas doesn’t allow himself to do so many things, it’s his way of getting on with life, but he lets himself feel pain; pain after awful races, pain after a crash, pain after heartbreak. He needs to feel it, the sorrow and miserableness after the pain keeps his chest full, doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, but it’s not empty.
Lucas cannot handle emptiness; physical, emotional, psychological, doesn’t matter. When he’s full he thrives, when he’s empty he fails. It’s that simple for him, if he needs to be angry and pathetic all the time to succeed he will do that, no matter what it takes. He likes being alone, he doesn’t need anyone’s pity, but he can’t bear the thought of being lonely and out of the spotlight.
Lucas loves the attention, his ego completely filled with pride. Hearing his name on other people’s mouths is more than enough to fuel him into being more eccentric, more annoying, far more different than he actually was.
Lucas’ driver persona is extroverted, talkative, blunt, ruthless. He has to be like that if he wants to succeed, if he doesn’t want people to walk all over him. He doesn’t care if he comes across as apathetic, egoistic, it doesn’t matter because he’s going to have people talking, he’s going to have people looking at him. Looks, murmurs, annoyed sighs, it’s all that Lucas wants, all that Lucas needs. He knows only a few people tolerate him, even lesser like him, but that’s still ok with him, he has just enough people to not be completely deplorable and have everyone pitying him.
Fury has Lucas going until he goes to Formula E and has to battle against Sébastien. He knows the Swiss can see through his facade, the way he looks at him it’s different from the rest of the drivers. He doesn’t pity him, but he despises him and refuses to even acknowledge him. It makes Lucas irascible, he needs Sébastien attention, he needs Sébastien to talk about him, to look at him with daggers in his eyes. But he never gets a reaction, not in London, not in Montreal. Sébastien’s attention always goes to somebody else.
He knows he can’t confront his rival, he knows Sébastien will be right, but he can’t help but burn and he keeps consuming all his anger. The anger slowly turns into distress; distress that he isn’t used to, distress that keeps him awake at night. It’s eating him alive and there’s nothing he can’t do about it. Sébastien is ruthless towards him, uncaring, rightful; he knows the Brazilian. And that’s another worry to add to Lucas’ chest.
His temper keeps watering down; he cannot let himself be pathetic again, he cannot let people inside his life and pity him again. He needs to find another way to keep him on edge, bad enough to make him succeed, good enough to not let his distressed heart win.
He discovers his new fuel accidentally. As he’s washing the dishes in his house, a glass breaks in his hand. He sees the blood before he feels the pain and he just lets the blood run through his fingers. He knows he has to do something about it, but that crimson color in his hands makes his heart race. It only lasts a few minutes until he goes back to cleaning the dishes, but he has now the answer to his aching chest.
He never feels the need to make himself bleed until the start of the new season. Even with the French driver from Techeeta being his main rival, his fight will always be with Sébastien. Almost every race weekend starts and ends in the same way: blood running down his legs and hands, and the biggest adrenaline rush ever.
It feels right, it keeps him going, and he doesn’t get any pitiful looks from the people surrounding him; it’s the best decision he has ever made. But the Swiss still knows something is up, he knows how much his inattentive self has hurted him, he knows Lucas’ ego has been broken, yet he’s still being so overly confident, so cocky. Sébastien cannot fathom how Lucas can keep going like that and he wants an honest answer from him.
New York is the title decided and it’s bold enough for Lucas to think that he still has a chance, but he does and he will cling onto it until the end. 1-2 in the first race is more than enough to encourage his delusion, or as he would put it, optimism. The third place goes to the Swiss, who is pleased with his result after such disappointing races. Still, the thought of the Brazilian being so euphoric makes him want to confront him on the podium. Sébastien knows better than that, so he swallows it down and waits until the feelings water down.
He debates, if it’s better to warn him or to suddenly show up in his room, and he decides to do the second. After a shower and a change of clothes, a long-sleeved t-shirt and short pants, he finds himself knocking on the Brazilian’s door. Lucas opens the door, a surprised look on his face, wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and long joggers, as he lets him in. As much as he hates Sébastien, he still wants his attention, he needs to know what he wants from him.
-If you weren’t so… Eccentric everyone would be able to read you, y’know?- Sébastien is serious as he makes his way into the room- I know you, Di Grassi, I know how much you love attention. But this year everyone was so focused on Jean-Éric, so what’s your deal? Why are you like this?- the Swiss is staring at him, trying to decipher his facade, once again.
Lucas is taken back, Sébastien’s words hit too close to home. He can’t find the right words, not to bicker back, not to give him an answer, and the Swiss takes a step closer to him.
-I’m gonna find it out either way, it’s your choice how I know it- the Brazilian clicks his tongue and chuckles.
Lucas’ mind thinks of telling him, giving him the pain of having to bear such a deep secret, but he’s not an easy person, nothing he does or says it’s easy.
-You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? You’re always so nosy, so slick. Do you think you deserve to know, Buemi?- he speaks low, teasing him, and now is Sébastien the one who’s taken back.
Neither of them looks away, but neither of them speaks another word. There’s so much tension in the room, the unspoken filling every gap, until they finally kiss and the room explodes with passion. They’re touching each other, being closer than they have ever been. Lucas grabs Sébastien’s forearms to pull him closer but he only gets a painful whine from him. They both pull away, the younger man ready to give a fake excuse and leave, but the Brazilian knows what that means, he knows why his rival always wears long sleeves, no matter the weather, and it makes Lucas’ chest feel a weird tingle.
They go back to kissing, the Brazilian completely avoiding the Swiss’ arms and placing his hands around Sébastien’s waist. It clicks in Sébastien’s brain, what Lucas had been up to in the past season, why he keeps being so egocentric. He wants to see him; to see his pain, see his depth, to see his anger, see his worry. The second they pull away, again, Sébastien speaks.
-Show me- Lucas shakes his head- I’ll show you-.
The Swiss starts to take off his t-shirt but the Brazilian’s hands work quicker and grabs the brim of it.
-Lucas, I want to show you and I want you to show me-.
"Lucas" echoes in the Brazilian’s head. He never calls him that, he never even speaks about him. Lucas loses the grip of the t-shirt and lets Sébastien get undressed. He blushes as he sees Sébastien’s toned body, arms full of old and recent scars. His hands wander around Lucas’ joggers, figuring if he can go further, if he can see him like that. Lucas hates being vulnerable, being seen, being pathetic. He looks into Sébastien’s eyes, looking for pity, looking for sorrow, but he finds curiosity, maybe even lust. The Swiss stays still until Lucas nods at him and he takes off his joggers.
They’re both staring at each other, seeing each other’s pain. The Brazilian feels his heart beating faster, his breath being arrhythmic, his brain clouded with sorrow. A hand is placed on his hip, and another grabs his left hand. Lucas closes his eyes and rests his head on Sébastien’s shoulder. The Swiss has always been more open with his emotions, letting people see him in distress, something the Brazilian has never done. Lucas’ free hand moves to his rival’s lower back.
Sébastien is the person who has been the closest to him, yet he feels like a vague memory in his mind. He has him standing there, caressing him, holding him close to his chest, but he can’t reach out to him. Still, he’s not going to be vulnerable around him; still, he can’t let himself be seen like that; still, Lucas is the same driver he was 4 years ago. His breath is still irregular, his heart beating fast, but his brain is focused on the Swiss. He wonders, if Lucas is ever in Sébastien’s mind.
-Lucas…- the Swiss wanted to get the Brazilian out of his train of thoughts- Can I kiss you, again?- Lucas looks at Sébastien, still looking for mercy in his eyes, but nods again and they go back to kissing.
Lucas doesn’t want to feel sorrowful in front of anyone, but he cannot free himself from Sébastien’s grip and make himself feel good. It has been so long since Lucas has felt so helpless, so trapped, and Sébastien reads him. He gets on his knees, kissing the fresh cuts from the morning. It stings, it itches, but the Swiss is being so careful, so loving, it’s worth it. He looks down and he’s met with Sébastien’s curious eyes. He’s yet to see any kind of pity on the Swiss’ eyes but his heart doesn’t believe his eyes, feeling that Sébastien would be merciful with him and belittle him, like everyone always has. Sébastien knows the look too well, and his mouth is speaking faster than he’s thinking.
-No one will understand you like I do- he starts- No one will care for you like I do. No one is better for you than I am- Lucas looks away- I don’t care what you go through, I don’t care if you win or lose, I only care about you-.
Lucas takes a deep breath. He has two ways to approach the situation and cannot tell which one is worse. For once, he can let his guard down and believe him, or throw him out of his room and never speak to him again. He’s close to making the decision when he heard Sébastien’s voice again.
-Do you have a knife?- the question makes his heart race again, of course he has a knife.
-Yes, let me get it- Lucas turns around and grabs the razor from his bag. He plays with him before handing it to Sébastien, wondering what he had in mind.
-Let me show you how much I care about you- Sébastien puts the blade in his mouth as he takes Lucas’ t-shirt off.
Lucas is smiling, now. He never knew how much Sébastien would be like him, and now he has him craving his initials on his chest. It stings, he feels his blood running down his chest, to his underwear, and he cannot help but feel aroused. His hands wander on Sébastien’s waist, pulling him close one more time. The Swiss’ hands are stained with his blood, the crimson liquid running through his fingers. Before Lucas can kiss Sébastien, once again, he’s handed the razor. He doesn’t need more instructions to start craving his initials in his rival’s chest. Sébastien whines, then bites back the urge to whine again.
-You’re so pretty it hurts- Lucas kisses Sébastien’s chest once he’s done, the metallic taste filling his mouth.
-You’re gross-.
The Brazilian smiles then goes back to kissing Sébastien’s lips. It’s disgusting and both their chests hurt, but Lucas now trusts Sébastien, he can let his guard down, just a bit, and the kiss turns far more emotional than the previous ones.
They’re in the bathroom, taking care of the wounds. It’s a vulnerable, caring moment that neither of them have ever felt. It’s deeper than one would think, more emotional than anyone would understand. It’s them, it has always been them, and now they can appreciate each other in ways they have never done, in ways they have never felt. Lucas feels happy, something that he almost forgot and he cannot stop fidgeting around the scars he just made on Sébastien’s chest.
-You think they’re clean?- the Swiss teases.
-Shut up- he smiles at him- I want them to be perfect, just like you-.
Sébastien rolls his eyes and kisses him. They’re finally, finally, comfortable with one another. Lucas doesn’t have to pretend, Sébastien acknowledges the Brazilian, and they both know each other. The beauty of blood and pain bonding them forever; the beauty of glitter and sweetness healing them forever.