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André Lotterer kept popping up all day. Wherever António went he could see that head of perfectly groomed greying hair out of the corner of his eye, lanyard swinging, sporting the neon green "media" accreditation that would clash with any normal person, but suited him annoyingly well.
On the pit wall, during the autograph session, on the grid, taking photos of Nico's Porsche. André was there.
During the podium celebration that evening, António could feel the buzz under his skin. There was no doubt the elation of his first win for a new team was seeping through into his demeanor. He could feel it escape from the corners of his eyes that crinkled with delight, the tears that slipped down his cheek. He wanted everyone to see it, to see what it meant. Unsurprisingly, one person in particular was seeing it. André. Front and centre, diligently snapping shots. And he was sure, António thought, André would capture it perfectly.
Because he had to give André credit, no matter what random side quest he seemed to be doing nowadays, he never did anything by halves. And not too much later that evening, António was about to see proof of that fact.
When António approached André in the hospitality suite a few hours later, he was still going. Animatedly talking to James about his camera set up, gesticulating wildly towards different buttons. James looked on, jaw tight,unmistakably British, attention absorbed, but with a kind look that made his eyes crinkle around the edges, a soft expression proving that there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
André noticed António out of the corner of his eye and beckoned him over, clearly more than happy to share his camera setup with another (more or less) willing passerby. When António asked to see the pictures he'd taken, André was more than willing to hand his camera over. In hindsight, maybe that should've warned him what was to come.
António expected to see cars along the start/finish straight, James and Nicki talking into microphones, maybe even DC and Karun. He hoped to see the podium. Confetti, champagne spray. The way the Portuguese flag flew as he leaped into the air.
He didn't expect to see... Jev. At least not like that. Okay, if he was honest with himself, given how much he knew about André he wasn't remotely surprised. The pictures he expected to see were there of course, but suddenly they didn't really matter. Not when he could see everything else, evidence of earlier… activities, In a place that kept them barely concealed from the world outside.
The flash of dark red overalls contrasted with the unmistakable silhouette of bare skin.
That same red clearly hastily pulled down and bunched around ankles.
Flushed skin, beads of sweat captured mid motion.
A throbbing carotid, a mouth parted.
Flashes of white.
Big brown doe eyes looking directly up into the camera lens, kneeling and obedient, with a mouth impossibly full.
The camera made Jev look almost innocent, eyes full of devotion as he worked. A flicker of knowing in his gaze, he was performing. He knew he was being photographed. He knew André wanted to keep the sight forever. He knew this was a sight that André would share.
António felt the prickle of heat rise up the back of his neck.
He knew.
André confirmed it from the way he met his eyes. It was a gift for him. André wanted him to see it, Jev did too.
António sucked in a breath.
He didn't want to look. That's what he was telling himself. What went on between him and Jev was ancient history now. Jev had a wife. He had a wife. And he still had Robin after all these years too, even after getting married. His wife loves him, Robin loves him. He should be satisfied with that. He is satisfied with that. But he longed for what he had.
After all this time, he still wanted Jev. Still needed Jev. It was obvious.
What he would give to have Jev like that for himself, on his knees, looking so beautiful. Whether Jev would kneel with such reverence for him, he didn't know. António didn't care. He just wanted it. And André knew it.