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“Well? How do I look?” It’s a rhetorical question but Lando still turns around in his chair and scans Charles’s body from head to toe, in a way that makes Charles feel nervous, borderline shy.
He laughs and twirls around in Lando’s bright orange McLaren shirt, which is apparently the only shirt Lando could lend him to sleep in. He’s also wearing Lando’s criminally short gym shorts. Lando’s legs are shorter than Charles’s so even though these shorts reach mid thigh on Lando’s legs, Charles thinks his ass might be hanging out of them, or at least his underwear is showing. He ends his twirl with a bow, legs crossed like a ballerina.
“Orange suits you,” Lando says with a smile. “Definitely more than red.”
Charles knows what he’s hinting at. He decides to ignore it. “I look like a traffic cone, Lando.”
The younger racer turns around, back to face his computer screen, and mutters something about traffic cones being sexy nowadays; Charles doesn’t get what the hell he’s talking about, so he ignores that, too.
He’s still a little baffled at how he got here in the first place. This morning, just mere hours ago, he was still in Monaco in his apartment, bored out of his mind. And then Lando texted him that he had a free ticket to a football game and suddenly Charles is here, in Lando’s London apartment. He packed in a rush, so much so that he forgot to throw in any kind of pyjamas. Lando offered to host Charles for the night when he mentioned he couldn’t find any hotel appropriately close to the stadium and now he’s in Lando’s gaming room, surrounded by his helmets. Charles wants to run his fingers over them, trace the intricate designs, maybe it’d help him understand Lando better.
“Can I get a blanket?” He asks and Lando shoots him a look. “You’re cold?” It’s the middle of summer and the damp heat in England is suffocating. He’s anything but cold. But he can’t sleep without a blanket and the couch only provides a couple of stiff throw pillows.
Lando clicks his tongue at him. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. My bed is big enough, unlike the tiny loveseat.”
Charles’s guts twist at his words. It wouldn’t be the first time he shared a bed with a friend but this is the first time he shares a bed with Lando. He doesn’t know what to expect. That’s it. That could only be it, right? What else?
“Don’t look at me like that, Leclerc. Or are you scared to sleep with me?” He wiggles his eyebrows at him and Charles rolls his eyes. “I’m not scared of anything, Norris. Definitely not of you.” He says it as a challenge and watches as Lando scans him head to toe again. “I could take you no problem.” He adds, because it’s true. He’s been training like crazy since the summer break started. Not that he would actually want to fight Lando. But if he did, he’d win.
Amused, he notices Lando’s eyes widening and his face turning red. Silly boy, getting embarrassed at the possibility of being defeated in a fight.
They move to Lando’s bedroom; Charles has never been there before, there was no reason. He looks around: it’s a nicely sized room with not much in it; a big bed, two bedside tables and a dresser with a TV mounted above it. There is a door to Lando’s walk-in closet. On the dresser, he has his perfume bottles and a few framed photos of himself and his friend. Charles recognizes the Quadrant guys, there’s also a photo of him and Carlos when the Spaniard was still in McLaren. There’s a few polaroids of him and Max, all in one frame.
“I am genuinely surprised there’s no photos of you with George and Alex,” Charles comments.
“Because they look like ass most of the time,” Lando shoots back. “But I wanna print some out. I have a lot of photos with the other racers that I wanna have here on display, like my photos with Danny or Oscar.”
“There’s no photo of the two of us,” Charles pouts. Not that he’s bitter about it. He’s not jealous, never been the jealous type, especially in friendships. But it stings that Max got several polaroids and Charles didn’t get any. And they have photos together, several.
Lando clears his throat and Charles turns around to look at him, only to see Lando awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. “Actually,” he pauses and clears his throat once again. “There is.” He gestures towards his bedside table. There, next to a bottle of water and his cordless charging station is a framed picture of the two of them. It’s one of the very first ones they ever took together, during Lando’s rookie season, after his DNF in China. Charles was trying to make him feel better and Lando ended up laughing so hard he cried. It turned into a genuine cry and Charles held him through it, patting his hair and caressing his sweaty back. He didn’t care about any of that. That moment still holds much importance in Charles’s heart, it’s nice to know that Lando likes to be reminded of their moment too. “Whoa, I really made it from a photo on the side of your bed right into your bed,” Charles jokes and Lando lets out a sound that can be only described as half groan and half choked cry. “I’m gonna take a shower. Pick what side you wanna sleep on.”
It’s clear that Lando usually sleeps on the left side, the one where their photo is right next to his head, farther from the door. The pillow is flatter on that side, a little more crinkled too. Charles wonders if Lando moves a lot in his sleep.
Carefully, he climbs onto the right half of the bed and places his phone on the bedside table, then lies down. The sheets smell like Lando. A mix of fabric softener and several perfumes together, like his shampoo that Charles something gets to smell when they hug, like skin and sleep. Charles feels weird that he finds it so comforting. He wiggles on the mattress that is a little too firm to his liking, then scrolls on his phone for a bit. The door to the bedroom opens and in comes Lando, hair wet from the shower, basketball shorts low on his hips. He’s shirtless. Charles always seems to forget how ripped Lando is until he sees his bare chest again. He quickly looks away when he catches himself staring. Lando walks over to his side of the bed. “I can’t sleep in a shirt, not in this heat. I hope you don’t mind.”
Of course Charles doesn’t mind. It’s not like he’s never seen Lando exposed like this before, or that it matters anyway.
It is a little awkward to lay next to Lando like this. They’re not talking and Charles doesn’t know if he should speak up and start a conversation, but then Lando turns around to face Charles and he sees his stare burning into the side of his head.
“What’s up?”
“Would you mind if I moved a little closer?” Lando asks sheepishly. Charles turns his head to the side to look at him. Lando looks a little nervous, avoiding his eyes.
“Aww do you want to cuddle?” Lando nods and Charles is overwhelmed with thoughts of Oh he is so cute.
He opens his arms and lets Lando crawl into his hold, head on his chest, arm thrown over his waist.
Charles hadn’t cuddled with anyone since he and his ex girlfriend broke up and it’s only when he’s holding Lando in his arms, curly hair tickling his skin, warm and solid presence so close to him, that he realizes how much he’s really missed this. He squeezes Lando’s shoulder, then lets his hand fall down to the small of Lando’s back, settling on the small dip right above Lando’s butt. It’s nice to hold and be held. It’s enough to make Charles start drifting off to dreamland.
In his half asleep haze, he thinks he feels Lando’s lips press a quick peck to his collarbone.
~*~
He wakes up with Lando still snuggled up into his side, his mouth partly opened and letting out little puffs of air. His face is adorably pink and soft from sleep. Charles finds it endearing and immediately shakes his head when he realizes that. It’s stupid to think of a grown man like that.
He gently moves Lando’s sleeping form and then slips out of the bed and goes to use the bathroom and change into fresh clothes, his own this time.
When he comes back, Lando is up, leaning against the headboard and scrolling on his phone. His hair is a mess and there’s a slight puff to his cheeks that still hasn’t come down.
“Good morning,” Charles smiles at him and Lando looks up from his phone and grins back at him. “Morning. Back in your own attire, I see?” His phone chimes and he looks down. “Alex is inviting us to play with him and George this afternoon. I haven’t agreed just yet, I don’t know when you’re going back to Monaco.”
“Tomorrow morning, actually,” Charles informs him. “If you don’t mind me staying here one more night, I’d love to join you guys.”
Lando beams and furiously taps a reply on his phone. “Great! I’d love to have you here, so no worries. You can play on my xbox or my computer, whichever you prefer.”
Charles can’t help but chuckle at Lando’s enthusiasm. His chest gets all warm seeing how much their friendship evolved in the past few months, he’s happy that Lando wants to be in Charles’s presence and spend quality time with him. He hasn’t felt this connected to someone since he and Max started looking past their rivalry on the tracks and became really good friends.
Later that day, after a few failed attempts to log into his account on Lando’s xbox, and subsequently giving up and using Lando’s. Since he’s using a different device than the rest of them, their game options are somewhat limited but they still find something they all want to play.
They video chat on discord while playing and after a while, George squints and keeps focusing on something. “Charles? Why are you playing on Lando’s account?”
“He’s at my place,” Lando chimes in. “I’m in the gaming room and Charlie is in the lounge.”
Charles bites the inside of his cheek at Lando calling him Charlie.
“You never let us play on your xbox,” Alex mutters. “Didn’t know you were the type to play favorites.”
George chuckles. “Oh please Alex. Lando has always played favorites, especially since he got a crush on a certain F1 driver.”
“George, shut the fuck up!” Lando hisses into his microphone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
It takes Charles aback slightly. He didn’t know that Lando had a crush on anyone, let alone another racer. He feels a little sad that Lando never trusted him enough to tell him.
George’s eyes widen comically. “Fuck, mate, I’m so sorry. It’s so obvious, so I thought he knew. Everyone knows.”
Charles feels dumb now. Everyone knows. Not him though. It’s so obvious. Charles shoots a look towards Lando’s gaming room where the younger driver plays.
“George, please,” Lando genuinely sounds upset. “Stop talking about that.” George immediately closes his mouth shut and mimics locking it. Alex scratches his head awkwardly. The energy definitely shifted.
Charles is wrecking his brain at who could it possibly be. Obvious? Charlie would say Carlos but Carlos and Danny have been a known couple - to the paddock at least - for quite some time now. Charles doesn’t think Lando would openly crush on a taken man, especially if everyone knows, because that would mean Danny knows too. And Daniel and Lando are getting along well, so it can’t be Carlos.
But then that means-
“It’s Max, right? Lando adores Max. Their bond is so widely known and popular that even their fans are making cute edits of them on TikTok.
Lando groans and slouches down in his chair. Neither George nor Alex say anything, so Charles takes it as a yes.
Once they’re done gaming, Lando orders them something to eat and they watch TV while they wait. Charles keeps stealing glances at Lando, who of course notices and twists his torso to look at him. “Go on, just say whatever it is that you wanna say.”
“I know we’re not as close as you are to George and Alex but you know you can tell me anything, right?” Lando nods and smiles but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s also keeping a considerable distance between them. Charles is having none of that, so he shuffles closer to Lando until their knees are touching. “I would never judge you or look at you any differently, you know that too, right?”
Lando keeps avoiding his eyes but nods again. Some of the awkwardness dissipates after that and by the time the food arrives, they’re back to their usual banter. Lando even laughs, genuinely, not like those forced chuckles he was letting out while they were playing. Charles likes that. He likes making Lando laugh.
When they go to bed, he automatically opens his arms again and notices the slight hesitation on Lando’s face. He smiles at him in what he hopes is a reassuring expression and lets the younger man settle into a comfortable hug. However, Charles is aware that he’s not the one Lando wants to hold. He ignores the hollow pain in his chest that he feels once he thinks about that. The ever growing nothingness, a numb sting that weasels its way between Charles’s ribs and lungs, squeezing his heart like an overripe fruit until there’s nothing left. He’s not lucid enough to deal with that or its implications.
Lando falls asleep fairly soon and Charles holds him and stares at the ceiling as he waits for sleep to take over. He wants Lando to be happy. Seeing him so distraught after George slipped up about his crush was awful and Charles never wants to witness that again.
Lando should be with the one he likes. He should be lying here with Max, not him. Charles lets out a shaky breath and thinks back to every interaction between Max and Lando that he’s ever witnessed, all the laughs they shared, all the subtle touches to the other one’s arms and shoulders, all the looks, and after a while he decides that there’s a very high chance of Max liking him back. Charles will have to play cupid for a bit but he will make it happen. Because Lando deserves it. Because he likes Lando and wants his friend to be happy.
~*~
A few days before their short summer break is over, just as they’re about to fully start preparing for the upcoming race, Max invites a few people over to his place for a housewarming party as he just got himself a new place. Charles is already back in Monaco so he happily agrees and when he hears about Lando joining them, he gets giddy. He already has about a thousand ideas how to get Max and Lando alone.
Alex and George are also attending, along with Checo, Carlos and Daniel, so Charles just needs to make sure neither of the older racers won’t try to steal Max for themselves, he’ll even ask Carlos to keep his boyfriend by his side the whole night.
He hits up Lando the night prior and asks him to go shopping with him, since the McLaren driver is in Monaco already, too.
When Charles picks him up from his place, Lando looks like he’s going to a fashion show, instead of just some mundane shopping with Charles; his hair is styled to perfection and he’s wearing clothes that clearly accentuate his figure. One would think he’s trying to impress someone.
The moment he gets into Charles’s car, it’s immediately filled with the scent of Lando’s perfume. Charles is aware that Lando usually wears three different perfumes at once but this time he can only smell the Tom Ford one, the floral scent clinging to every part of the car, and Charles finds himself not minding at all. He’s always found Lando’s scent nice, almost calming, especially ever since he slept in Lando’s bed.
“You look like you could be on the cover of a magazine,” Charles smiles and waits for Lando to fasten his seatbelt.
“I think you’re talking about yourself, Mr L’officiel.”
Charles cringes and Lando immediately waves his hands. “It’s a good thing, you looked amazing. The burgundy turtleneck looked good on you.”
Charles feels himself flush at that. Not that he wants to sound full of himself, but he’s well aware that he’s conventionally attractive. He sees all the tweets and comments about how handsome he is. But there’s a big difference between seeing that and knowing it’s from fans and then hearing it from one of his closest friends. A friend that is extremely attractive himself.
They listen to Lando’s playlist on the way to Metropole Shopping Mall. Charles notices that there are a lot of love songs, which makes Charles chuckle. Now, knowing what he knows, it’s so obvious that Lando has a crush. He’s humming along as Charles drives and it feels nice. Charles likes having Lando around. He keeps stealing glances at the younger man, taking in all the details of his face. From his perfectly straight nose - which seems to be the only straight thing about him, considering whom he has a crush on- to the slope of his heart shaped lips, the moles on his face, even the curls on the top of his head.
Suddenly, Lando turns to him and Charles pretends like he’s been focusing on the road this whole time. Even if they’re not in motion, waiting for the green light. “What song is this? I kinda like it.”
“It’s called Lose it all. I’ll send you the spotify code or something.”
Charles nods and tries to ignore the warmth spreading throughout his face and neck.
“What are we shopping for anyways?”
“I want to buy something for Max, as a housewarming gift. I’d get him some alcohol but I’m pretty sure Danny and Checo will beat me to it, since they’re alcohol brand owners.”
Lando hums. “I got him alcohol anyway. If Daniel and Checo bring something, it’ll be wine and tequila, so I got him whiskey. A nice Irish one.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to get him then,” Charles groans. “I know he didn’t invite us to get presents but I’m not gonna show up empty handed.”
Lando purses his lips just as Charles parks his car and turns the engine off. “Get him a shelving unit, so he doesn’t have to put his trophies on a fucking mini fridge,” Lando laughs. “Or get him something with a Ferrari logo, to spite him.”
“A travel mug,” Charles says, suddenly excited. “It’s not completely useless, but it’s also kind of funny.” Lando nods enthusiastically. “Either he’ll end up using it or he might even throw it at you, either way it’s funny.”
They giggle like madmen, like evil geniuses conducting an evil plan.
~*~
Charles groans in frustration when Max tugs on Daniel’s sleeve and pulls him into the conversation with Lando and himself. Charles tried so hard to get those two alone but Max is a big dummy and constantly keeps bringing other people into it. He made Charles stay there with them so many times and Charles had to lie and say he needed to use the bathroom to get himself out of that situation.
Alex, who’s sitting next to him on the sofa, looks up. “Why are you groaning?”
“Max-“ he starts and rubs his temples when he sees Daniel leaving their little bubble and Checo joining. “I tried to get Max alone with Lando but they just keep getting interrupted,”he groans again and throws his head against the couch headrest. George leans over Alex, almost crawling into his lap. “Max?”
“Yeah?”
George shoots Alex a look, then looks back at Charles. “You want him to be alone with Max?”
In that moment, Max makes Lando laugh really hard and something in Charles’s chest blooms at the sound. Lando must be on cloud nine.
“It’s not like I expect him to confess here, but I think they should spend as much time together as possible. Lando won’t confess but Max might.”
George grabs at Alex’s thigh, who hisses in pain and looks at George with wide eyes. They just stare at each other, frowning or widening their eyes and darting them around. They’re having a whole wordless conversation. Charles feels left out.
Finally, Alex turns his whole body to Charles. “Charlie-“
“It’s Charles,” he corrects him. George scoffs. “Lando calls you Charlie.” Charles bites back the Because he can. Because I like the way it sounds with his accent , because it’d be stupid to admit that. Both George and Alex are British, too. It would be a dumb argument to make.
Alex gently slaps George’s knee before running his fingers over it. Huh. Maybe there’s more to these two, too.
“I think you should stop playing Cupid,” Alex finally says. George opens his mouth to say something but Alex glares at him. “It’s not our place to say anything. Don’t.”
Charles feels confused. It’s not like he ran to Max and told him about Lando’s feelings. He’s trying to be a good friend.
Suddenly, Lando comes to them and squeezes himself between Charles and Alex. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his breath smells of alcohol. He looks giddy. Charles is suddenly overcome with emotions he doesn’t have names for.
“Having fun?” He asks instead. Lando nods and puts his head on Charles’s shoulder. “It’s warm.”
“It’s August, of course it’s warm,” Charles chuckles fondly and pulls Lando closer to himself. Just to make him more comfortable. Lando stays cuddled up to Charles who keeps sipping the wine Daniel brought. He notices Max looking at them, then remembers what Alex told him. He should stop playing cupid, so that's what he’ll do.
Instead of trying to get Max to Lando or vice versa, he puts his hand over Lando’s shoulders and giggles at Lando rubbing his face into the crook of his neck. Lando really is the cutest drunk.
He looks up to see Max glancing at them and something bubbles up in Charles’s gut and he looks away, squeezing Lando’s shoulders in the process. He had the chance to have Lando all for himself but he blew it. Lando’s now by his side, snuggled up into his neck. Charles feels a sense of power in that. Like he’s finally in control over something Max can never be in control of.
“Let’s get you to bed, hm?” He says to Lando; gently, quietly, as not to burst this bubble that they’re in. Lando whines, burying himself further into Charles’s being until the Ferrari driver’s senses are full of him; seeing him, touching him, smelling nothing but Lando Lando Lando.
“Don’t want to move, Charlie,” he drags out the last syllable and it makes him sound like a petulant child. Charles pulls Lando on top of himself and moves them around, nudging Alex with his foot until both he and George leave the couch all to them.
With Lando lying on his chest, Charles starts gently rubbing his back and Lando purrs like a cat. The party starts dying down and most of the guests leave soon. Max walks up to them and Charles chuckles quietly. “Would you mind if we crashed here tonight? I’m pretty sure Lando’s already asleep and I don’t want to wake him up.”
Max shakes his head. “Of course not. Checo’s staying here too, anyway. Need a blanket or something?”
“I think we’re good, thanks.”
Once again, Max looks them up and down and Charles’s guts twist uncomfortably. Is Max jealous? And wouldn’t that be a good thing? But Charles hates the idea of it, for whatever reason.
~*~
Charles sort of knew that there was no way he could win Max’s home race. He’s the hero, the Max Verstappen, who would stand a chance?
But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have tried. He wanted to. Wanted to give it his all- and then the fucking car betrayed him.
For someone who’s supposedly the team’s favorite, he keeps being let down and getting fucked over.
He’s angry. Wants to kick the car, slam his fist into the machinery that’s supposed to make him happy but instead makes him feel miserable, unimportant and forgettable. He feels like a failure. He’s hiding from everyone by the time all that crap around is over and feels absolutely pathetic as his lower lip starts to tremble, the bridge of his nose burns and he blinks away tears that are threatening to fall.
He’s not going to cry, he’s better than that. He’s stronger than that.
He’s only half aware of a door clicking shut. “Charlie?”
Shivers run down Charles’s spine at the pitiful tone of voice and he furiously wipes his cheeks, until they’re raw and sensitive and it stings when more tears roll over the rubbed skin. The last thing he needs is to be pitied. “Lando.” He can only let out a whisper, anything louder than that would make his voice break, and he doesn’t want to seem that weak.
The younger man immediately pulls him into a hug and suddenly, Charles feels so small in his arms. He wants to scream and shout and curse but his voice betrays him and he can only sob into Lando’s ugly orange race suit. “You did everything you could have.”
“I know,” Charles sniffles. “So why aren’t they doing that too?” His chest aches, his heart feels like it’s missing, like it’s not even in his body. He loves this sport, would give it his whole life- is giving it his all, and yet he just can’t seem to get it right.
His body feels cold despite the hot temperatures and he is shaking as a leaf; numb except the places where Lando’s holding him, those are searing hot, spreading warmth like a wildfire. Like it’s the only way to keep him sane. Like he’s his lifeline. Like his embrace is keeping his head above water so that he doesn’t drown in his anger and disappointment.
Before he can truly process what he’s doing, he pulls away slightly, just enough to see Lando’s face but close enough to keep their chests touching. “Could you sleep in my room tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
Lando’s facial hair tickles his forehead when he presses the lightest of kisses into his hairline, standing on his tiptoes.
Lando’s body is like a furnace and Charles can already feel sweat sticking to his back where Lando’s front is pressed to him. Warm puffs of breath are blown against the base of his neck and Lando snores softly, the room otherwise oddly quiet. He glances down at the arm curled over his waist, barely making out the outline of it. Deep down, he knows that keeping Lando all to himself is selfish. Deep down, he knows that Lando should be with Max and should celebrate with him, with the man he has feelings for. But he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. There’s an ugly part of his being that revels in knowing Lando chose to be with him tonight. And to Charles, this is the grand price. This is his own version of a trophy. Max might have won and stood on the podium and while that is still something Charles yearns for, he feels victorious that Lando is not with Max. That the guy he likes was secondary to Charles, that finally, he is the winner, someone’s first choice.
Charles places his own hand over Lando’s. It feels right. That’s how it should be.
Panic arises in Charles’s chest, crawling up his spine like a poisonous spider, he feels bile in his throat.
He keeps staring at their hands, the feel of Lando’s on his body, how it’s searing into him through his shirt, the way the back of his hand feels against Charles’s palm. Every thump of his heart that’s beating against Charles’s back, soft evened out breathing, the way their feet are intertwined under the light blanket; Charles is suddenly hyper aware of it all. He can’t think of anything else, can’t focus on anything but Lando. Lando in his bed, in his hotel room, invading his space.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell. Shit shit shit.
Charles feels like he’s gonna throw up. Or faint. Maybe both, and have a panic attack on top of it.
He tries to get up but Lando, still asleep, just groans and pulls him back in.
Charles carefully turns around to face the younger man who immediately snuggles into his chest. His beard is tickling him over the soft cotton fabric of his pyjama shirt. He gently runs his fingers through Lando’s hair, relishing in the feeling of those soft curls slipping through his fingertips.
Lando mumbles something, still deep in the dreamland, and Charles bites the inside of his cheek. “Don’t choose him over me,” he whispers, the clicking of his tongue as he speaks suddenly so loud in the deafening silence. “I know he’s better, in basically everything, I know you know him better, I know you like him more, but please Lando, don’t choose him over me. I can make peace with losing to him on the tracks, but I won’t let him take you.” His heart expands in his chest, suddenly so full it physically hurts. He might go into a cardiac arrest. “God fucking damn it, Lando, I think I’m in love with you.”
~*~
It’s his driving force, he realizes. The next two races end with him just barely missing the podium, but he finds himself not minding so much, when he gets to see Lando on the podium, grinning ear to ear. He makes sure he’s the first one to congratulate him, the first one to hug him. Lando is pink faced and giddy and Charles fights the urge to pull him in by the racing suit collar and kiss him square on the mouth.
It doesn’t matter that Max is there, right next to Lando on the podium, because once they come down, once he can, he takes all of Lando’s time and attention. He notices Max looking at them hugging after the Japanese grand prix, and he shoots him a grin; friendly enough not to raise suspicion but cocky enough to say that he is the one holding Lando.
“You did well, kiddo,” he jokes and ruffles up his curls. “Podium is a good look on you.”
“You are going to be there with me,” Lando shoots back, confident as ever, taking Charles’s hand into his in a manner that makes Charles’s heart beat so much faster. It’s gentle and tender and he wants to kiss the daylight out of Lando. “Next race, you’re up there and I’m the first one to hit you with a champagne shower.” Charles links their pinkies together and looks Lando straight in the eye. “I’ll take your word for that. In two weeks, you’re there by my side, you got that?”
Lando’s eyes look a little hazy, glazed over, and he opens his mouth just a little bit to breathe out shakily. Charles watches like a hawk as the tip of Lando’s tongue swipes over his lower lip. The energy around them shifts and it takes all of Charles’s willpower not to jump Lando right then and there. “In two weeks,” he reminds Lando in a whisper. Their faces are so close he feels the warmth of his breath. “I promise, I’ll be there with you in two weeks.” He squeezes Lando’s waist and Lando’s knees buckle as he falls into Charles’s embrace.
Finally, the Ferrari driver feels victorious. Unless he’s reading all of this completely wrong, Lando wants him just as much as he wants Lando. It is exhilarating. He won’t let go once he gets his mouth on Lando’s, he’ll make him his completely.
The younger man angles his head just right and Charles could probably steal a kiss without anyone noticing but he can’t, not yet. Despite everything in him screaming to just do it, he wants to prove that he’s worthy. That Lando should really pick him because he can do it, for himself and him as well.
Lando is his ultimate prize. And he will make sure he gets it.
He qualifies for P1, Lando gets P3. Excitement as well as nerves are thrumming in his temples, pure determination running through his veins. He’s jittery, can’t seem to sit in one place for far too long. He distantly remembers Carlos congratulating him, recalls hugging him and Max, who surprisingly seems genuinely happy for Charles. But he isn’t stupid or naive enough to think that Max won’t give him a run for his money. And Charles accepts the challenge.
He’s still restless hours later but falls asleep rather easily, dreaming of Lando’s heart shaped smile, of his lips, of light touches and desperate sounds, of Lando’s accent when he says Charles’s name.
“Don’t fuck this up for me,” Charles says as he puts on his helmet.
“Just stick to the plan, and we’ll be golden.”
“Yeah, right.” That’s what they say every time. Stick to the plan, Charles. The strategy is solid, Charles. Listen to us and you’ll keep missing the podium, because we suck major ass, Charles.
But Charles is on a mission and even if it means getting yelled at afterwards.
Eventually, Max does take the lead. But Charles knows he needs to pit soon while he can definitely finish with these tires, his pit stop already over. He takes the lead back. And this time, he won’t let go.
“How’s Lando? What position is Lando?” He asks his gp.
“ Norris is P3, right behind Alonso .”
They’re nearing the final lap and the combination of blinding anxiety and excitement makes a sudden comeback. Max overtakes both Lando and Fernando, but Lando pulls through with his last lap magic and the moment Fernando’s car swerves unexpectedly, he uses that to his advantage, moving up to third place.
The finish line is so close Charles can taste it and he gives it his all for that final moment. Max’s car is basically right beside his but Charles crosses over first.
“ Charles Leclerc, P1! Max Verstappen, P2, Lando Norris, P3!”
“Fuck yeah!” He screams, not caring who hears. His car slowly comes to a stop. He feels drunk on happiness as he climbs out. Max offers a handshake, then pulls Charles into a quick hug.
Lando basically runs into Charles’s arms. Their helmets clink together and Charles can’t wait to take that thing off and see Lando’s face, his beautiful smile, all for him. Lando tightens his grip on his racing suit and Charles cheekily slaps his ass as they pull away. They did it; they made it.
His mind zeroes in on Lando and what this means for them and in that moment, nothing else matters. Charles promised and he delivered. Everything else is insignificant. Trivial stuff.
Charles almost forgot how good it feels to stay on the podium, let alone be the race winner. He can’t stop smiling. The trophy in his hands feels like it’s always meant to be there. His other trophy is mere a few feet away from him. He feels on top of the world. He feels happy.
~*~
Lando smells like sweat and champagne, Charles can’t get enough. They both desperately need a shower but Charles feels like he’s going to implode if he spends any more time away from Lando.
They’re inches apart. The hotel room feels heavy, stuffy and way too warm. Charles’s hands tingle with the need to take his and Lando’s clothes off until it’s just them and nothing in between. Until they’re in an absolute vacuum, where nothing and no one else matters.
Lando slides his hand underneath Charles’s polo shirt; his palms are warm and dry. In turn, Charles takes Lando’s face into his hands and rests his forehead against Lando’s. The younger man looks a little cross-eyed as they make eye contact.
“I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”
Lando makes a high pitched noise, not quite a whine. “Please, Charlie. I’ve waited for so long.”
Charles rubs his thumb over Lando’s cheek. “Long?”
“For like a year now. But your dumbass thought I wanted Max,” Lando laughs. “When it’s always been you. So please, just make it up to me already.” Charles refuses to think back at every missed signal, doesn’t want to dwell too much on the fact that he could have had this already. If only he realized his feelings sooner. If only he wasn’t so focused on playing Cupid.
Finally, he closes the distance between them. Lando’s lips are dry and chapped from the constant biting on them but Charles doesn’t care. He’s a man starved, moving his lips against Lando’s desperately, mirroring what he feels inside. Lando digs the blunt half moons of his nails into Charles’s back, the dull pain a welcomed feeling, grounding Charles, reminding him whom he’s with and what they’re doing.
He nibbles on Lando’s lower lip and the other man opens his mouth and invites Charles’s tongue in. He tastes like champagne, a bittersweet aftertaste of alcohol clinging to his gums and the roof of his mouth; Charles gladly licks it away, sucking on Lando’s tongue until his lover whimpers into the kiss. “I want you, all of you, but I also feel gross and need a shower,” Lando pants as they pull apart. His cheeks are pink and lips swollen and red with spit clinging to the corners. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I can’t,” Charles says and rests his head on Lando’s shoulder. “I feel like I’d go crazy if I were to be away from you for more than five seconds.” Then he gently bites the skin of the base of Lando’s neck. “Moreover, I too need to shower. Let’s just do it together. To save water and time.”
Lando glares at him and Charles snorts out a laugh. “I will be on my best behavior, I swear. I wanna make love to you properly, not risking cracking my skull open on those tiles.”
It feels oddly familiar to have half naked Lando sprawled over his chest, tracing his fingertips over the many red and blue marks that are now littered all over Charles’s pecs.
“So… what does this make us?” Lando asks just as Charles starts drifting off.
“Boyfriends?” Charles offers. “Partners.”
Lando hums appreciatively. “I like the sound of that.”
Charles brushes his fingers through the mass of Lando’s damp curls. “Next race is in two weeks.” He informs him as if Lando didn’t already know. “Maybe you could spend some time at my place in Monaco before that.”
“Do I get to have my own toothbrush in your bathroom?”
“Well you better. How else would you brush your teeth when you stay over?” Lando hums, agreeing with that logic. “And should I bring over some pjs?”
Charles’s fingers slide over the line of Lando’s spine which makes him shiver, then dips his index finger just below the waistband of Lando’s underwear. “Not really. I have plenty of clothes you can wear. Like some of my old Ferrari t-shirts. I think it’s only fair that you wear those, too.”