Work Text:
The hotel room reeks of cigarettes and deadlines, it’s quiet, for the most part. The soft scratch of a pen and the occasional sigh of a man on the edge break it every so often. Mark’s in a navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open, black velvet tie loosened. He’s hunched over the desk in business-torment leaning over a folder full of clauses and red tape that someone should’ve dealt with hours ago. But no, it always ends up in his lap. Legal director of ‘Red-Bull Racing’, or as he’s privately dubbed it: professional janitor for multimillion-dollar chaos. His brows are furrowed, red pen hovering across official documents that haven’t made sense for hours. The ashtray beside him is already hosting the ghosts of three Marlboros, and he’s halfway through a fourth when he catches movement in the corner of his eye.
—Sebastian’s lounging across the bed like he owns the place. Legs crossed onto each other, black sweatpants, Mark’s black sweatpants , sagging enough to see a sneak of his thin hips, team-shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, collar crooked, smugness practically radiating off him. His blond locks still damp from a too-long shower. He’s been quiet for maybe five minutes, record-breaking , and that silence alone should’ve warned him.
“You always get.. that look when you’re about to snap,” Sebastian says, voice syrupy, legs kicked up like he’s on vacation. One hand behind his head, the other twirling a cherry lollipop between his fingers, the same one he’s been mouthing for half an hour without so much as a bite. “Must be exhausting, being the guy with all the rules. I’d be terrible at it.” He pops the candy back in with a smirk. “No discipline.”
Mark exhales, slow and heavy, like he’s been holding the breath of this whole damn season inside him. His fingers tap the red pen against the table like a heartbeat out of sync. “Discipline’s exactly why I’m still here, Seb. Someone’s gotta keep this circus from burning down.” Accent thickening at the last few words he let out, He glances at Sebastian lounging there, all reckless charm and lazy grins, like the chaos on wheels is just a game for him.
Sebastian only grins wider, like he knows exactly how to push the button without pressing it. “You’re so busy playing the responsible adult, I forget you’re actually capable of having fun. Bet you peaked in law school, huh?” His eyes flick to Mark’s hand, catching him tightening the grip around the pen. “But hey-, you do you. Just don’t turn into one of those suits who forgets how to have fun.”
Mark blinks, then lets out a dry laugh. “Peaked? I peaked when I survived your rookie season without losing my mind.”
Sebastian grins wider, like he’s just scored a point on a scoreboard only he can see. “See? I’m basically your personal chaos trainer.”
Mark shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “More like your unpaid therapist.”
Seb sits up, leaning forward, voice dropping just enough to tease. “You love it. Admit it.”
Mark’s jaw twitches, the faintest smirk threatening to break through. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but you keep coming back.”
Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’ve already started.” He stretches, hips shifting just enough to be obscene. “You’re the one who was ignoring me.”
“Because I have work, Sebastian. Real work.”
Seb lifts a brow. “And I’m not real?” the candy in his mouth muffling his words slightly.
Mark slams the folder shut.
Seb grins. Victory.
“You’re not my problem,” Mark mutters.
“You’re forty-four and still pretending that’s true.” Seb pushes up onto his elbows, balancing his chin on his hands. “What happened to that scary Aussie lawyer who barked at everyone in the paddock? You’ve gone soft.” voice going in a sweet tone as blue puppy-eyes stared at the man across from him
Mark crosses the room in three long strides. He stops at the foot of the bed. “You have no idea how soft I am right now.”
“Lie,” Seb breathes, eyes flicking down right there, mouth curling. “Liar.”
Mark looks like a man strangled by his own tie. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching like he wants to light another cigarette just to have something to do with his hands.
Seb’s soaking in the tension of it all, The way Mark wants to be professional, clean, untouched, and how that cracks the second Sebastian opens his mouth.
“Take a break,” Seb says, all innocence, all venom. “Come blow off steam. Or just blow .” he mumbled under his breath, chuckling at his own words.
Mark swears under his breath. He needs those papers finished by tomorrow, 6:00 sharp.
Seb smiles like a boy who’s broken every rule and gotten away with all of it.
“You’re going to kill me,” Mark mutters.
“You’re sensitive—soft, even.” Seb whines, lying flat on his stomach with his arms crossed under his chin, eyes locked on Mark like he’s daring him to deny it.
Mark’s eyes darken, the tension snapping tight between them like a wire ready to break. He steps closer, close enough that Seb can feel the weight of the elders instincts at that moment. “You think I’m soft?” Mark asks, voice dropping into that slow, simmering growl.
Seb doesn’t flinch. Just grins, still stretched out on his stomach like sin itself. Chin on his arms, bare legs bent at the knee, (socked) feet lazily kicking the air behind him like he’s the picture of innocence. His lashes flutter, mouth all fake-sweet, enraptured with the taste of a lollipop stick he refuses to let go of.
“Think?” he says. “I know.”
Mark steps forward.
Seb props himself up on his elbows, tilting his head. “You’re all bark, old man,” he purrs. “You come over here, huffing and puffing, and I’m still waiting for the house to blow down.” His voice was honey-laced with mockery.
Mark moves faster than he should, but Seb’s already pushing himself upright, knees folding under him, cocky grin still in place. He sits back, legs spread just enough to be rude, shirt still clinging to his collarbone.
Mark grips the edge of the bed, knuckles white.
Seb leans in. “Come on,” he says, voice low and teasing, “Make me shut up.”
“I know you want to”
Mark’s hand shoots forward—Seb ducks, laughing, slips just out of reach. He loves this part. The chase. The tension. The look on Mark’s face like he’s trying to decide whether to snap or beg.
“You’re impossible,” Mark growls.
“You’re boring when you’re predictable,” Seb shoots back, licking his teeth, the sticks finally out of his mouth. “If you’re gonna try and snap at me of all people, at least do it properly.”
Mark finally catches him, a hand around the back of his neck, firm enough to make Seb’s breath hitch. His hand wrapped so easily around it, thumb slightly over his trachea
Seb quickly changed his expression the moment Mark caught onto him, fear going back to cockyness. “C’mon,” he whispers, wild and wicked, “I dare you.”
He doesn’t want sweet. He wants to be wrecked on his terms, dragged there kicking, taunting, fighting the whole way down. Mark can have him, if he earns it.
But Mark doesn’t take the bait right away. He just stares at him. Jaw clenched, chest rising slow, like he’s counting to ten but only got to seven before giving up.
Then?
His hand slides higher, fingers digging into the hinge of Seb’s jaw, thumb pressing under his chin, tilting his face up—not hard, but enough to remind him who’s bigger. Stronger. Older .
Seb’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, eyes glittering with challenge.
“You really think I won’t put you in your place?” Mark murmurs.
Seb’s tongue flicks out, wetting his lips slowly. “No,” he says. “I think you want to. And that’s worse.”
Mark’s patience snaps clean in half.
He grabs Seb by the hips and pulls, dragging him forward across the bed in one smooth, practiced motion—Seb lets out a surprised sound, half-laugh, half-moan, hands scrambling against the sheets but not resisting. Not really.
Because that’s the thing with Sebastian.
He wants the fight. Needs it. Needs the press of control just to push back against it.
Mark’s knee comes up between Seb’s thighs, spreading them. He looms close, so close their breath mingles. Seb’s panting, but still grinning, cheeks flushed with wicked satisfaction.
“Finally,” Seb mutters. “Didn’t know if you had it in you.”
Mark’s hand tangles in his curls again, pulling his head back just enough to bare his throat. “You should know better than to provoke me.”
“And yet,” Seb gasps as Mark’s mouth grazes his jaw, hot breath dragging over skin, “I keep doing it.”
“You don’t get to be in charge,” Mark says, low and dangerous, lips brushing Seb’s ear. “Not tonight.”
Seb shivers. Not delicate, not pretty. It rolls through him like static under skin, shoulders tensing, breath catching halfway up his throat. His hands pause where they’d been curled in the sheets, twitching, going still. Just for a second, just for a breath.
Then he rolls his hips up, slow and deliberate, all challenge, all grin. Like he’s testing gravity, just to make sure it’s still there.
Mark growls. Low, guttural. His fingers dig in at Seb’s waist, possessive now, anchoring him down. Less control, more restraint. Barely.
“You’re a nightmare,” he bites out.
Seb's grin spreads sharp and smug, too white and too wide, wicked like a sin dressed in silk. “And you’re gonna let me ruin you.”
Mark’s patience burns up, cinders at his feet. He presses forward, palm landing flat against Seb’s chest-right over his heart. Just to feel how wild it’s gone. He pushes him back into the mattress, weight pinning him, body hovering close enough to feel but not quite touch. Just enough to drive him crazy.
“No,” Mark says, voice like gravel, hot against his mouth. “I’m going to ruin you.”
Seb doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t buck. Doesn’t smirk this time.
Just tilts his head to the side, neck exposed, lips parted on the breath he doesn’t take.
At that moment, he looked like surrender dressed in defiance.
He bares his throat, eyes half-lidded, lashes low—offering the fight, the spark, the beautiful kind of loss he knows how to wear like a crown.
Mark doesn’t give him time to breathe. One hand fisted in Seb’s hair, the other still pressing down on his chest, he crashes forward. Not a kiss, not really. It’s claiming. It’s punishment. It’s the end of Seb’s grin torn from his mouth and devoured in real time.
Seb gasps, already arching into it. Desperate without looking it, mouth open to everything. He’s got that glint in his eye.
Mark bites his bottom lip, hard. Tasting the hints of cherry from the candy he refused to let go of, Drags it between his teeth until Seb whines, hips twitching up again like his body’s got no idea how to be still. Mark slams them back down, hand trailing lower, pinning him by the hipbone.
“Stay down,” he growls, voice gone dark and sharp with want.
Seb’s laugh is breathless, messy, whining with arousment before his words. “Make me.”
And Mark does. He grinds down, rough, slow, dizzying. Just enough friction to make Seb writhe under him. Cursing, gasping, moaning into his mouth like he’s trying to claw back control through sound alone.
But it’s gone. All of it.
Mark kisses him again, sloppier now, deeper, hand sliding up under his shirt, nails scraping across ribs and muscle like he’s trying to carve the shape of him into memory. Like he wants proof this happened. Skin under his nails. Bruises in the shape of intent.
Seb claws at his back, all nails and no aim, losing ground with every second. He kisses back like he’s drowning.
“You still think I’m soft?” Mark hisses, voice breaking at the edges, forehead pressed to Seb’s, eyes wild.
Seb’s laughing again, hoarse and fucked-out already. “I think you’re obsessed.”
Mark growls again, deeper this time. Dangerous.
“You have no idea.”
And then he flips Seb over, yanks him up by the hips like he weighs nothing. Like he’s a toy. Like he belongs like this—sprawled, panting, cheeks pink, thighs trembling with tension.
Seb’s breathing hard, voice thick and shaking. “You better ruin me properly.”
Mark leans down, lips brushing the back of his neck.
“Oh, I will,” he promises, low and lethal. “And you’re gonna thank me for it.”