Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shared apartment, Monaco – 10:34 PM

The bedroom lights were dim, just the golden spill from a corner lamp glowing softly across the sheets. The hum of the city below filtered faintly through the cracked window, salt air drifting in. Lando lay flat on his stomach, his phone held aloft in one hand while his legs swayed slowly behind him, crossed at the ankle. Carlos was curled against his side, shirtless and warm, one arm draped lazily across Lando’s back.

“I swear TikTok is gonna rot my brain,” Lando mumbled, scrolling with glazed-over eyes.

“You said that an hour ago,” Carlos murmured, voice sleepy but fond.

“I mean it this time,” Lando said, even as his thumb flicked again. Then, he froze. “Oh my God.”

Carlos lifted his head. “What?”

Lando turned the phone toward him, grinning. “Look. Sex positions that are actually good for your health. We’ve been doing cardio without even knowing it.”

Carlos blinked at the list on-screen, then snorted softly, resting his head on Lando’s shoulder. “Spooning lowers blood pressure? That’s the most Carlos Sainz position of all time.”

Lando laughed. “You literally cling to me like a koala when you’re half-asleep.”

“Exactly. I’m taking care of both our immune systems.” He leaned up slightly, pressing a kiss just behind Lando’s ear. “You’re welcome.”

Lando wiggled, blushing lightly. “Speed hump improves posture, cowgirl builds stamina - bloody hell, I’m basically training without needing Jon.”

Carlos’ fingers traced slow, absentminded circles on Lando’s lower back. “Next time Luigi tells me I’ve been skipping core work, I’ll tell him I was straightening my spine with you.”

Lando choked on a laugh and collapsed sideways into Carlos, grinning. “We should print this out and tape it in the motorhomes.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Under what title?”

“‘Wellness protocols. Private sessions.’” Lando’s tone was mock-serious.

Carlos leaned closer, forehead brushing against Lando’s. “We’re just responsible athletes. Taking health into our own hands.”

Lando smiled into his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

Carlos whispered, “You love it.”

McLaren Motorhome – Post-Race, Sunday evening

The air inside the McLaren motorhome was heavy with the quiet buzz of winding down, a mix of engine oil, sweat, and the kind of satisfaction that came after a long, well-fought race. Outside, mechanics were packing up, the sounds of tools clinking and tire trolleys rolling across concrete echoing faintly through the thin walls.

Lando sat slouched on the plush lounge couch, one leg propped up while the other hung lazily off the edge. His race suit had been peeled halfway down, the top half tied around his waist. A soft grey hoodie clung to his still-damp skin. His cheeks were pink, more from residual adrenaline than the low-grade humidity.

He held a protein drink in one hand and his phone in the other. His thumb idly scrolled, though his mind wasn’t on the screen.

"You've been chill lately," Jon remarked from the adjacent seat, eyes flicking between Lando and the recovery metrics on his tablet.

Lando glanced up. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Jon didn’t even blink. “Heart rate's been steadier. Cortisol levels are down. REM sleep is up by like, twenty percent.”

Lando blinked. “You track my dreams now?”

Jon smirked. “Wouldn't be surprised if your dreams are the reason the rest stats are so good.”

Lando made a vague sound and sipped his drink to buy himself time.

It was true. He had been sleeping better. Waking up was easier. He hadn’t had that restless churn in his gut before qualifying. And yeah, he could probably trace most of that back to Carlos. Specifically: Carlos curled up behind him like a human furnace, one arm draped over his waist, their legs tangled, their breaths syncing unconsciously sometime in the early hours.

Carlos was, despite his intense exterior, a shameless cuddler. Lando used to joke about it, mock his koala-like tendencies. Now he couldn’t sleep without the weight of that arm across his stomach, grounding him.

His phone buzzed with a message.

Carlos “immune system’s never been stronger 😌🛌💪”

Attached was a blurry photo of them taken from the side, clearly in bed, Carlos half-asleep, Lando tucked into his chest, the duvet twisted around their limbs.

Lando’s stomach flipped. He didn’t even remember taking that.

He texted back “i’m adding ‘daily spooning’ to my recovery program”

Carlos immediately replied “tell Jon. he should log it.” Lando snorted.

"You’re smiling," Jon said without looking up. "What's his name?"

Lando arched an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s a he?”

Jon gave him a look. “Mate, you light up like a Christmas tree every time your phone goes off. And I’ve seen your body language post-Carlos. I’m not blind.”

Lando blinked, heart thudding. He felt caught, but not in a threatening way. More like someone gently pulling a curtain back.

"You know?" he asked quietly.

Jon shrugged. “I’ve suspected. You don’t need to explain anything. I just need you healthy, focused, and not sneaking out past curfew.”

Lando chuckled. “He’s a pretty good sleep aid, to be honest.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it. Just don’t let Zak walk in on one of your... immune system boosting sessions.”

Lando buried his face in his hands, laughing. “Oh my god.”

Just then, the motorhome door creaked open, and Carlos appeared, still in his Williams gear, cap tugged low. He stepped in quietly, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on Lando. His entire expression softened.

Jon looked between them. “Right. I’m going to pretend I need to update your hydration log.”

He vanished through the side door.

Carlos sat down beside Lando, their thighs brushing. He leaned close and lowered his voice. "You okay?" Lando nodded. “Yeah. Jon knows.”

Carlos blinked. “About us?”

“Sort of. He knows enough. He’s cool.”

Carlos leaned back, visibly relaxing. “Good.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel empty. Then Lando turned his phone screen toward Carlos, showing him the message thread.

Carlos grinned. “You kept the picture?”

“Obviously. It’s scientific evidence. We’re practically medical professionals.”

Carlos shifted on the couch, pulling Lando subtly toward him, arms winding around his waist. Lando let himself lean in, his head resting on Carlos’s shoulder.

“Oxytocin,” Carlos murmured, chin resting on Lando’s curls. “Lowers stress. Strengthens the immune system. We’re doing god’s work.”

Lando chuckled. “Our physiotherapists should be paying us.”

Carlos kissed the top of his head. “They wouldn’t know good recovery if it spooned them in the middle of the night.”

Lando grinned and let his eyes slip closed. In the silence that followed, the distant clatter of packing crates felt far away. Here, in the dim golden light and the warmth of Carlos’ arms, he felt weightless.

“Do you think,” he said softly, “that the others suspect?”

Carlos hesitated, then nodded against him. “Some of them. But they’re not saying anything.”

“Because they’re cool, or because they’re scared of us?”

Carlos grinned. “Bit of both. But mostly... I think they get it.”

Lando tilted his face up to meet Carlos’ gaze. It was soft, unreadable, but safe. Familiar.

“Maybe one day,” Lando whispered.

Carlos kissed him, just a press of lips, quick and quiet.

“We’ve got time.”

Outside, the pit lane lights flickered. But inside the motorhome, there was only quiet breathing and the hum of something steady, something strong. Something healthy.

Carlos’ Flat – Madrid, off-season training week

It was a lazy Wednesday morning. The kind of day where the world seemed to move slower, gentler. Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors of Carlos’ flat, filtering through gauzy curtains that danced lightly in the breeze. The air smelled faintly of espresso and clean laundry.

Lando was sprawled on a yoga mat in the middle of Carlos’ living room, wearing a McLaren training shirt and navy shorts, arms flopped overhead as he stared at the ceiling. Carlos sat cross-legged beside him, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a wicked grin on his face.

"You're dying, aren’t you?" Carlos teased, nudging Lando’s ribs with his toe.

"No," Lando croaked. "But if I sneeze too hard I’ll split in half."

Carlos chuckled, tossing him a towel. “Jon’s been working you hard.”

“Yeah, well, he said my core strength isn’t where it should be. Apparently my abs are asleep.” Lando made a face. “Which is rich, considering I should have abs of steel by now.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You saying our... extracurriculars don’t count?”

Lando smirked, finally rolling onto his side to look up at him. “Actually, I was thinking about that TikTok the other night. You know, the one with the sex positions that help your health?”

Carlos barked a laugh. “Missionary helps the core, yeah? Pelvic floor, too.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “We’re basically athletes twice over. We should be getting bonus points.”

“Tell that to Jon. Or better, have Luigi write it into my training program.”

Carlos stood up and offered his hand to Lando, who took it with a grunt and let himself be hauled up. Their palms lingered together a moment too long, fingers brushing, before Carlos dropped his hand and turned toward the kitchen.

“You want eggs?” he asked.

Lando came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Only if you carry me to the table after. My core is on strike.”

Carlos leaned into him, warm and solid. “Deal.”

Later that afternoon, Lando was flat on his back again, but this time, in a small training facility in Madrid, with a resistance band looped around his thighs and a deep scowl on his face.

Jon stood above him with a clipboard, expression as impassive as ever. "Engage the core. Tighten. Breathe."

"I am breathing," Lando huffed. "Barely."

Carlos, sitting nearby on a stability ball, smirked behind his water bottle.

Luigi didn’t look up. “Maybe you need more activation exercises. We could try planks. Side bridges. Or... other forms of isometric training.”

Carlos choked on his water.

Lando’s eyes flicked to him, face suddenly splitting into a grin. “Oh, we’ve been doing some of that. Haven’t we, Carlos?”

Jon finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “Please don’t corrupt my training logs.”

Carlos raised his hands. “I’m not saying anything. I’m just here for moral support.”

“My pelvic floor has never been stronger,” Lando added innocently.

Carlos dropped his face into his hands, laughing silently. Jon muttered something under his breath and walked away.

“You’re the worst,” Carlos said when he could breathe again.

“I prefer ‘core-strengthening specialist,’ actually.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Carlos’ eyes softened as he looked over at Lando, who had let his head drop back onto the mat again, staring up at the ceiling with that lazy, post-workout glow.

“You do look stronger,” Carlos murmured.

Lando glanced sideways at him, brow raised. “Yeah?”

Carlos leaned in, voice low. “Yeah. Especially when you’re on top.”

Lando blinked, and then flushed, his grin stretching wide. “Is that a challenge?”

Carlos chuckled and reached out to squeeze his ankle. “Just an observation, amor.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise I’d make you do a hundred crunches for that one.”

Carlos’ smile faltered slightly, just enough to be noticeable. But then he stood, offering his hand again.

“I’ll do the crunches if you spot me.”

Lando took his hand. “Deal. But we’re logging it as a team activity.”

They moved together like muscle memory, mirrored instincts, quiet grins, light touches. There was something powerful in the ease of it, in the unspoken things they shared between sets and sideways glances.

Later that night, they lay together on the couch, a movie playing on mute in the background. Lando’s head rested against Carlos’ chest, fingers idly tracing circles on his stomach.

“You know,” Lando murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t joking earlier. I think this stuff helps.”

Carlos looked down at him. “The core workouts?”

“The... closeness. Being with you.” He tilted his head up to meet Carlos’ gaze. “I used to be anxious all the time. Overthink every race. Every interview. But lately... it’s like my brain finally exhaled.”

Carlos cupped the side of his face, brushing his thumb along Lando’s cheekbone. “Maybe that’s what love’s supposed to feel like. Like strength without strain.”

Lando turned to press a kiss to Carlos’ palm. “You should write that down. Very poetic for a guy who just watched me nearly throw up during planks.”

Carlos laughed softly. “I'll add it to your training log.”

They stayed there for a while longer, limbs tangled, hearts steady. And if Jon or Luigi checked the metrics the next day and noticed a marked improvement in both drivers’ recovery rates, well... maybe some things didn’t need to be logged.

Some things were just understood.

Shared Apartment – Monaco, Grand Prix weekend

The air was thick with the hum of luxury. Monaco always pulsed with a kind of quiet opulence. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a private terrace overlooking the marina, where million-dollar yachts glittered under a honey-gold sunset. Inside, the room was still, save for the faint rustling of sheets and the occasional distant sound of a race engine being tested in the paddock.

Carlos lay stretched out on the bed, shirtless and face-down, reading something off his tablet. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly against the nape of his neck. Lando stood by the desk, fiddling with a bottle of water, and watching him with an expression halfway between fondness and distraction.

“You look like a cat sunbathing,” Lando said finally, amused.

Carlos glanced up, smirking. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

“Maybe. You’re lucky I like cats.”

Carlos set the tablet aside and patted the bed. “Come here. I’m not moving. My back is a disaster.”

Lando wandered over and climbed up next to him, straddling his thighs gently and placing his hands flat on Carlos’ back. “Too many simulator hours?”

“Too many everything hours,” Carlos mumbled into the pillow.

Lando began to knead slowly along the line of his spine, and Carlos sighed contentedly. “You’re good at this.”

“I know,” Lando said cheekily, “it’s all the posture correction I’ve been forced to endure. And…” He dropped his voice dramatically, “the TikTok says this position helps straighten the spine and activate the core.”

Carlos snorted into the pillow. “So we’re doing physio now?”

“Exactly. Jon would be proud.”

“Jon doesn’t know what we get up to in our physio sessions.”

Lando leaned down, lips brushing Carlos’ ear. “Luigi might. He saw your heart rate spike the other night on the wellness app.”

Carlos groaned. “I told him I was doing yoga.”

“Yoga doesn’t usually leave you limping.”

“Depends on the poses.”

They dissolved into quiet laughter. Lando continued to rub his thumbs along Carlos’ lower back, now more focused, more deliberate. It wasn’t sexual. It was tender, caring. There was something deeply intimate in the way they allowed themselves to soften like this around each other.

After a few minutes, Carlos turned his head lazily to one side and cracked open an eye. “You know, I read somewhere that lying like this after a long day can really help decompress the spine.”

Lando nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why it’s on the TikTok list. With the right kind of pressure” he shifted his hips slightly “it probably forces the back to realign.”

Carlos grunted in agreement. “Let’s tell Luigi we discovered a breakthrough in spinal therapy.”

“You can demo it with a powerpoint presentation.”

“And you’ll be my volunteer?”

Lando grinned. “Only if I get a branded water bottle.”

The joke lingered in the air like a shared secret. Lando eventually slumped forward, chest to Carlos’ back, arms wrapping gently around him. They lay like that for a while, breathing in sync, the room dimming around them as twilight deepened.

“Do you think it’ll ever be like this... all the time?” Lando asked quietly.

Carlos shifted slightly, adjusting so they were both more comfortable. “You mean, not hiding anything?”

Lando nodded against his shoulder.

Carlos didn’t answer immediately. He let the question sit there, honest and heavy. Then, slowly, he turned beneath Lando so he could look him in the eye. “Maybe not always publicly. But here? With the people who matter? It already is.”

Lando exhaled softly, his smile warm and tired. “That’s enough for me.”

Carlos ran a hand through Lando’s curls, brushing a few damp strands from his forehead. “You should be sleeping. Early call tomorrow.”

Lando hummed. “Then let’s just stay like this for five more minutes. My spine still needs realignment.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re using that excuse again?”

Lando leaned in, voice playful. “It’s not an excuse if it’s medically sound.”

The next morning – Williams garage

Luigi stared at his iPad, expression unreadable. Carlos, towel slung around his neck, was pretending to review tire data.

“Your core readings are improved. Spinal alignment looks ideal,” Luigi said slowly.

Carlos nodded. “Slept well.”

Luigi looked up. “That spike in your sleep metrics around 1:45 a.m., deep REM?”

Carlos smirked. “Let’s call it that.”

Luigi gave him a look. “At least tell Lando to share the recovery data next time. Your graphs are outpacing his. It looks suspicious.”

Carlos grinned. “Tell him to up his cardio, then.”

Meanwhile – McLaren gym

Jon looked up from his smartwatch. “Your lower back’s less tense than usual.”

Lando, mid-stretch, tried not to look smug. “Must be the new... method.”

“New stretch routine?”

“You could say that.”

Jon paused. “Is Carlos involved?”

Lando didn’t answer, but the glint in his eye was answer enough.

Their data might not say everything, but their bodies told the story anyway.

Private Villa – Post-Brazil GP, Recovery Weekend

The kind of quiet that enveloped the Brazil villa was luxurious, almost surreal. It wasn’t the type of silence that came from emptiness but the peaceful hum of seclusion. The villa sat perched on a low hill just beyond the coast, where the ocean breeze brought the scent of salt and jasmine through the open terrace doors. The pool water glimmered under the late-afternoon sun, and inside, everything was hushed and warm and private.

Carlos was stretched across a lounger by the pool, a book forgotten on his chest, his sunglasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose. The sunlight kissed his bare shoulders, a golden hue warming his already tanned skin. Lando appeared at the edge of the deck, freshly out of the shower, damp curls darkening to bronze as they clung to his forehead.

“You’ve been in that position for nearly an hour,” Lando teased, holding a bottle of water loosely in his hand. He dropped onto the second lounger with the lazy grace of someone who didn’t have to be anywhere anytime soon. “Statue of Recovery, by Carlos Sainz.”

Carlos didn’t open his eyes. “Recovery is sacred. Don’t mock it.”

“You’re ‘recovering’ by watching old race footage on mute.” Lando leaned over to look at Carlos’ phone, which was propped on a towel. “Did you seriously rewatch 2021 Austin quali again?”

Carlos finally cracked an eye open. “It was a good lap.”

“You and that lap,” Lando muttered fondly. “You should marry it.”

Carlos smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have time for our very educational cardio sessions.”

Lando's cheeks colored slightly, but he grinned. “Speaking of, did you know riding helps brain function? It improves blood circulation and builds stamina. I read it on TikTok, so it must be true.”

“Let me guess,” Carlos said, amused. “Sex positions that are good for your health?”

“Exactly.”

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re becoming an ambassador for fitness via TikTok smut.”

“It’s scientific!” Lando protested. “Think about it. You always say I need better stamina in the car.”

Carlos sat up slightly, resting on his elbows. “So you’re telling me you’re improving your race performance by-”

“-riding you?” Lando finished, innocent and not-so-innocent all at once. “Absolutely.”

They shared a long glance, one filled with laughter just beneath the surface. The kind of glance only people who knew each other well could hold without flinching.

“Tell you what,” Carlos said, dropping back down and folding his arms behind his head. “Next time Luigi complains about my heart rate, I’ll say I was working on cardiovascular endurance with a personal trainer.”

Lando laughed, loud and unfiltered, his head tipping back. “And who’s the trainer in this scenario?”

“You, obviously.”

“Then I’m putting it on my CV.”

Later that night – Inside the villa bedroom

Carlos lay sprawled across the oversized bed, half-tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling in a rhythm still recovering from earlier exertion. Lando, sitting upright against the headboard, was sipping from a glass of water and checking his smartwatch.

“Jon’s going to love this data,” Lando muttered, voice breathy but amused.

Carlos rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand. “How many calories?”

“Almost 180. And my average BPM was 152.”

“Efficient workout.”

“I’m tracking all of it. Data doesn’t lie.”

Carlos smirked, reaching out to trail his fingers down Lando’s thigh. “You’re going to show Jon your health gains from sex?”

Lando grinned wickedly. “Maybe not explicitly. But when he praises my improved stamina in Austria, I’ll know why.”

Carlos laughed quietly and tugged Lando down beside him. Their limbs tangled naturally, familiar now, like gravity worked differently between them.

“I like this,” Lando said after a moment, voice soft. “The quiet after.”

Carlos kissed his temple. “Me too.”

Monday – McLaren HQ, Woking – Gym floor

Jon stood near the elliptical machine, studying Lando’s recent heart rate trends. His brows furrowed slightly.

“You’ve been logging unusually high cardio activity in the evenings,” Jon said, turning toward Lando, who was half-heartedly planking on a mat.

“Yeah?” Lando said, not looking up.

“Midnight peaks. Full 30-minute cardio sessions. You training in your sleep now?”

“Maybe I’ve developed a passion for midnight calisthenics,” Lando offered innocently.

Jon crouched beside him. “You don’t even go on runs unless I drag you out.”

Lando glanced up, biting back a grin. “Cardio comes in different forms.”

Jon sighed. “You’re dating someone, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”
Jon stood, holding out the iPad. “Because no single man burns 170 calories at 11:45 p.m. unless he’s either fighting crime or-”

“Fighting gravity,” Lando interrupted with a smirk.

Jon blinked, then handed him a protein shake. “Just stay hydrated. Whatever superhero training you’re doing.”

Meanwhile – Williams HQ, Gym recovery area

Luigi had his arms crossed as he watched Carlos step off the stationary bike, cheeks flushed and shirt damp.

“You’ve been pushing harder than usual this week.”

Carlos wiped his face with a towel. “I’m focusing on endurance.”

“Yeah, your pulse data says that. Especially Sunday night. Said you were in Zone 4 for nearly 40 minutes.”

Carlos raised a brow. “You’re tracking me that closely?”

“Part of the job,” Luigi said. “Also, you limped into the physio room this morning.”

Carlos grinned. “Was a… full-body workout.”

Luigi gave him a skeptical look. “You and Norris are syncing up your mystery cardio again.”

Carlos didn’t deny it.

“Just don’t let it affect your actual performance.”

Carlos gave a half-smile. “It improves my performance. Believe me.”

Back at shared apartment - Monaco, later that week

They lay under the stars, a light breeze rustling the palms outside. The heat of the Monaco sun had faded, leaving behind the warmth of closeness and comfort.

“I think I actually feel fitter,” Lando murmured, head on Carlos’s shoulder. “Like I could climb a mountain.”

Carlos ran a hand through his curls, soft and unruly. “We’ll do the Alps next break.”

Lando grinned. “And tell Jon we climbed it for cardiovascular training?”

“Tell Jon you carried me up it.”

Lando laughed. “You’re not that light.”

“I’m dense. In the best way.”

They shared a kiss under the quiet sky, wrapped in each other and in the joke only they were in on. And somewhere, in some high-tech database, their heart rates spiked again—beautiful, silent proof of something that looked a lot like love.

Monza GP Week – Thursday Evening, Drivers' Briefing Day>

There was something surreal about the calm of a Monza evening. Even the glitz couldn’t drown out the peaceful hush of the green all around as the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting gold across the houses and cobbled streets. In the suite Carlos had rented for the week, the windows were thrown wide open, letting the breeze flow through the rooms. The buzz of the city below was muffled by the altitude and the fact that Carlos had insisted on a place with private access and no nosy neighbors.

Lando leaned against the kitchen island, still in his McLaren team hoodie, sipping a smoothie Carlos had insisted on making for “electrolytes and recovery.” The blender was still out. Carlos, barefoot and in a plain white t-shirt and joggers, was washing a bowl with unnecessary precision.

“You’re nervous-cooking again,” Lando said, amused.

Carlos looked over his shoulder, his expression just this side of mock-offended. “It’s called nutrition. You’d survive on chips if left to your own devices.”

“You love my chips.”

“I tolerate them,” Carlos said, drying the bowl. “Because I love you more.”

Lando’s heart stuttered for a second. Even after years of friendship and something deeper now, it always hit him hard when Carlos said things like that so effortlessly, like it wasn’t terrifying or impossible. Like they hadn’t grown up in a world that dissected everything.

He walked over, placing the smoothie on the counter. “You’re tense.”

Carlos didn’t look up. “Drivers' briefing was long. FIA politics.”

“Want to unwind?”

Carlos glanced at him, then leaned in. “What did you have in mind, Norris?”

Later – Bedroom, soft music playing from the living room speaker

The aftermath wasn’t just heat and tangled limbs. It was laughter. Carlos’ hair was sticking up in all directions. Lando had a hand pressed to his chest, catching his breath, his smartwatch beeping softly.

“Dude,” Lando gasped, flopping back against the edge of the mattress. “That was a full-on HIIT session.”

Carlos huffed a laugh, grabbing a towel from the chair. “That was… very vertical.”

Lando smirked. “You mean standing.”

“Yes, I mean standing. And holding your weight”

“Excuse me, I’m lean.”

“You’re a literal gym circuit. And very wriggly.”

“I was motivated.”

Carlos flopped down next to him. Their shoulders touched, sweaty and bare and unbothered. Lando looked over and grinned. “You know, apparently standing sex can burn like… 160 calories in half an hour.”

Carlos snorted. “Half an hour? You’d faint.”

“I lasted 27 minutes,” Lando protested. “That’s practically elite athlete level.”

“You took a break to take off your socks.”

“Efficiency.”

They laughed quietly, not trying to fill the silence but savoring it. Lando reached for his smartwatch and scrolled.

“Heart rate peaked at 168. Not bad. Jon’s going to think I went on a nighttime hill sprint.”

Carlos propped himself up on an elbow. “You did. You just didn’t use your legs.”

Lando smirked. “That’s going in the group chat.”

Carlos raised a brow. “Which group chat?”

Lando grinned mischievously. “The secret one. With George and Alex. We rate each other’s thirst traps and suspicious fitness stats.”

Carlos stared at him. “I should have known George Russell is in a thirst trap group chat.”

They dissolved into another round of laughter, arms brushing, breath mingling.

Friday Morning – McLaren Motorhome, Monza paddock
Jon was scrolling through Lando’s wellness dashboard on the tablet, brow furrowing like he’d just found out Lando had done laps around the harbour in full race gear.

“Your cardio stats from last night are… odd.”

Lando was eating breakfast, acting casual. “I did some stairs. Monza has lots of stairs.”

“Your elevation didn’t change.”

“Maybe the GPS was wrong.”

Jon turned the screen around. “You burned 200 calories and peaked at 172 bpm at 11:20 p.m.”

Lando coughed into his orange juice. “That’s… good?”

“You’re not a triathlete.”

“No, but I’m flexible.”

Jon gave him a long look. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact Carlos also had a spike in HR last night?”

Lando blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re comparing our data now?”

“The entire paddock compares your lives already. I’m just doing it scientifically.”

Lando wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Science would say that’s correlation, not causation.”

“Jon would say,” Jon replied dryly, “you need to either start training in the day, or stop logging your… extracurriculars.”

“Or maybe McLaren should reward my peak cardio effort,” Lando said with faux arrogance. “Standing core strength. Stability. Focus under pressure.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And hydrated.”

Meanwhile – Williams Garage

Luigi stood next to Carlos in the engineering office, reviewing the morning wellness metrics.

“You didn’t sleep until nearly 1 a.m.” Luigi said, glancing at the data. “But your heart rate was in cardio zone for almost 40 minutes. I’m not judging, but you could be smarter about recovery.”

Carlos looked up from his espresso. “I felt amazing this morning.”

Luigi crossed his arms. “You do know standing workouts are harder on your knees?”

Carlos sipped his espresso with the calm of someone who’d already made peace with his life choices. “I’ll stretch extra.”

“Whatever mystery HIIT you and Lando do during race week is your business, but maybe less of it 36 hours before FP1.”

Carlos smiled, calm and unbothered. “Think of it as stress relief.”

Luigi rolled his eyes. “You’re giving me stress.”

That Evening – Private Rooftop Balcony, Monza

The city was lit like a jewel, warm golden glows reflecting in every glass pane and stone step. Lando leaned into Carlos, both of them watching the street lights twinkle below.

“I love Monza,” Lando said softly. “Feels like we can hide in plain sight.”

Carlos tucked a curl behind Lando’s ear, fingers brushing his cheek. “We don’t hide anymore. Not from people who matter.”

Lando nodded. “Even if the whole grid has figured it out.”

“Let them,” Carlos said, pulling him close. “I’m not ashamed.”

Lando kissed his shoulder gently, then whispered, “Standing room only next time.”

Carlos chuckled, voice low. “I’ll start strength training.”

Their laughter mingled with the sound of the sea below, and their heart rates, though not tracked in that moment, surely climbed again, steady and synchronized.

Post-Race Weekend – Tuscany, Off Days

There were few places where time moved slower than the hills of Tuscany. The air was thick with lavender and the hum of insects in the vineyards. Olive trees lined the gravel driveway to the restored farmhouse Carlos had rented, something quiet, far from the usual post-race chaos. Here, no PR people were chasing them, no cameras watching for a glance too long or a hand too close. Here, they could breathe.

Inside the stone villa, the floor was cool under their bare feet. The large window in the bedroom overlooked a vineyard that dipped and rose with the shape of the land. Lando stood at that window now, holding a glass of iced tea, wearing only a loose T-shirt and his briefs, curls still messy from their afternoon nap.

Behind him, Carlos sat cross-legged on the floor, stretching. His arms lifted above his head in a yawn, spine flexing, muscles pulling taut.

“You look like a yoga instructor,” Lando said, sipping slowly.

“I feel like one,” Carlos replied with a groan, flexing his back again. “I haven’t stretched this much in months. My thighs are still dead.”

“That's because you tried to win Spa on foot.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Spa is ninety percent faith and ten percent wings.”

Lando walked over and dropped onto the rug beside him. “Or, in our case, ninety percent glutes, ten percent balance.”

Carlos blinked. “Are you referring to what I think you’re referring to?”

Lando smirked. “Lotus. From the TikTok.”

“Ah,” Carlos said with a mock-serious nod. “The position that tones your muscles and doubles as cardio.”

Lando leaned his head onto Carlos’ shoulder. “Also the position that made me cramp mid-way and nearly fall off the bed.”

“That was your fault for locking your knees.”

“You were the one who said we didn’t need a pillow.”

Carlos turned his head and kissed Lando’s temple. “Worth it, though.”

Lando smiled and nuzzled closer. “We looked like a human pretzel.”

“A strong, toned, flexible pretzel.”

They laughed quietly, the kind of laughter that comes from exhaustion and affection and the total absence of walls.

Next Day – McLaren Simulator Room, Woking

The simulator hummed as it powered up, and Jon stood behind the main monitor, checking Lando’s stats as the warm-up lap played on screen.

“Your balance has improved,” Jon noted. “You’re smoother through the high-speed corners.”

Lando, still strapping in, replied, “Thanks. I’ve been working on core engagement.”

Jon glanced down at his iPad. “Your core HR variability is tighter too. Coordination’s better. You doing extra drills?”

“Yeah,” Lando said with a casual shrug. “Balance training.”

Jon tilted his head. “What kind?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “Lotus.”

Jon blinked. “Like the yoga pose?”

“Exactly that,” Lando said, biting back a laugh. “Very… centering.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “You’re being weirdly evasive.”

Lando gestured at the simulator. “Let’s drive.”

Jon sighed and muttered, “Every time you go on a ‘recovery trip’ with Sainz, your metrics either skyrocket or make zero sense.”

“Coincidence.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Meanwhile – Williams Gym, Two Days Later

Luigi watched Carlos move through a balance routine, using a Bosu ball and light resistance bands. Carlos was unusually focused, muscles taut, back straight, every movement deliberate.

“Balance and stability drills?” Luigi asked, curious.

Carlos nodded. “Trying to improve my symmetry under stress.”

Luigi raised an eyebrow. “You mean in the car, or in whatever extracurricular training you and Norris are doing?”

Carlos, who’d been mid-rep, gave a faint smirk but didn’t look up. “Both.”

Luigi sighed dramatically. “Do I want to know?”

Carlos stood, wiped sweat from his brow, and said, “Let’s just say it takes a lot of coordination to hold a position without falling over while maintaining tempo.”

Luigi stared. “I… no. Never mind.”

Carlos tossed him a towel. “Don’t judge me if I show up at Zandvoort with abs.”

Luigi muttered something in Italian about “these kids” and went back to recording data.

Later That Night – Shared Apartment, Monaco

The apartment was dimly lit with warm lights and the low murmur of jazz from the speaker. Lando sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through a health magazine he'd swiped from the airport lounge earlier. Carlos came in from the kitchen, two mugs of chamomile tea in hand.

“You’re domestic tonight,” Lando teased.

“Tea is good for sleep. And you need recovery after all that ‘balance training’.”

Lando leaned back into the couch cushions. “I’m still sore.”

Carlos handed him a mug, then sat beside him. “That’s because you insisted on doing the twist version.”

“I was being adventurous.”

“You were being chaotic.”

Lando nudged him with his knee. “You loved it.”

Carlos didn’t argue. Instead, he rested his head against Lando’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “You’re good at this, you know.”

“At what?”

Carlos didn’t open his eyes. “Making all this feel… normal. Like it’s not something we have to overthink.”

Lando smiled, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want us to be a secret. Not really. But I’m okay with it just being ours. The quiet version.”

Carlos nodded. “We’re not hiding. Just living.”

“Exactly.”

They sat there in the hush of a late Monaco evening, hands loosely intertwined on the couch, bodies still aching in the best way from the night before. The air smelled of tea and skin and something sweetly tired. They didn’t need fireworks. Just that moment.

Just each other.

A Few Weeks Later – Shared Apartment, Monaco

It started with a ding.

Lando was sprawled on the couch in their shared flat, nursing a smoothie and watching old Premier League highlights. Carlos padded into the living room from the kitchen, still wearing his running gear, towel slung around his neck. He flopped down beside Lando just as both their phones buzzed at the same time.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You too?”

Carlos checked. “Yep. Shared calendar update.”

They both tapped the notification.

NEW SHARED CALENDAR EVENT:
"Recovery Window – No Additional Cardio/Explosive Core Work
🏋️‍♂️Physio Approved – Please Respect These Limits!
🟢 General Training | 🔴 'External Activities' | 🔵 Sleep/Rest
– Jon & Luigi"

There was a second notification:

Attached Document: “Sainz-Norris Overtraining Pattern – Confidential”

Lando choked on his smoothie. “They made a full-on report?”

Carlos stared, scrolling. “They charted our heart rates and muscle recovery patterns over six weeks.”

Lando pointed at the red entries. “Those are… us.”

Carlos leaned in. “They color-coded our sex life.”

Lando wheezed. “RED FOR DANGER.”

Carlos grinned, deadpan. “🔴 External Activities: High-intensity private sessions… Partner-assisted.”

Lando dissolved into laughter, curling into Carlos’s side. “Oh my God. We’re a logistical concern.”

Carlos chuckled and pressed a kiss to his hair. “I told you we were cardio.”

Later That Evening – Home Gym Room, Same Apartment

Their small in-home gym was neatly set up: one side weights and mats, the other had a yoga area, a treadmill, and a corkboard Jon had once insisted they install “for wellness tracking.” Lando had stuck a “hydration is sexy” sticker on the side. Now, someone, definitely Luigi, had updated the board.

Pinned to it was a laminated legend.

TRAINING LOG COLOR KEY
🟢 Normal Gym Time
🟡 Light Recovery
🔵 Sleep & Passive Rest
🔴 Private Sessions (Partner-Assisted)
🟣 ‘Lotus’ Activity – Please Monitor Balance Recovery
❤️ Coordination Required – Max 2x/week

Below it, a weekly planner had been filled in with impeccable handwriting.

“I swear they’ve hacked our lives,” Lando muttered, reading it upside down as Carlos added a magnet to the “Wednesday – Light Recovery” box.

“They mean well,” Carlos said, clearly trying not to laugh.

“They’re assigning us days off from each other” Lando hissed.

Carlos grabbed a marker and cheekily added a heart to “Saturday – Core Activation.”

Carlos collapsed onto the couch. “Jon and Luigi have lost it.”

“They’re parenting us. With spreadsheets.”

“I don’t even care,” Carlos said, opening his calendar app. “This is iconic.”

“I feel like we’ve just gamified sex.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

Lando raised a brow. “You’re going to get us a timeout.”

Carlos smirked. “Worth it.”

Then, after a beat, he reached into the drawer under the board and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Lando without a word.

Lando opened it slowly. It was the same list. “Sex Positions That Are Good for Your Health” printed out in full, annotated with post-its. A sticker at the top read
“EXERCISE LOG – VERIFIED”

Lando laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Carlos knelt beside him, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “Now it’s official. We’re following a certified training program.”

“Do we need to report this to HR?”

“Only if we hit a new personal best.”

They stuck the list to the fridge.

Right next to their race schedules and a Polaroid of them in spa robes, looking smug and completely, unapologetically in love.

McLaren HQ, Physio Office – Midweek

Jon was staring at the screen of his tablet with the kind of deep, silent concern usually reserved for brake failures or catastrophic telemetry data.

"Again?" he muttered under his breath.

Luigi, video-calling from the Williams physio suite, was holding up his own screen, eyes squinting. “I thought it was a bug in the tracker. But this makes it three nights in a row for Carlos.”

Jon turned the tablet to show Luigi the same erratic heart-rate spikes on Lando’s logs. "One-fifty BPM at midnight. Consistently."

Luigi exhaled and dragged a hand down his face. “You know what this is.”

Jon didn’t blink. “They’ve weaponized the ‘sex-for-health’ TikTok video.”

Luigi groaned. “Mamma mia.”

Jon spun his tablet around and pointed at the chart. “They’ve built an unofficial training regime. Based entirely on-” he tapped the spike graph, “-external activities.”

“Carlos came in Monday complaining his legs were sore,” Luigi said, slumping back into his office chair. “When I asked what happened, he said, We did the cowgirl again, very good for blood circulation. With a straight face.”

“I walked into the gym yesterday and Lando had a post-it note on his water bottle that said ‘lotus cardio day’,” Jon deadpanned.

Luigi squinted. “What even is that one?”

“Don't ask.”

They sat in collective, resigned silence for a beat.

Finally, Luigi said, “We need to do something before they accidentally injure themselves. Or get too fit and suspiciously hard to explain in press conferences.”

Jon sighed. “What are you thinking? More physio check-ins?”

“No,” Luigi said, rubbing his temple. “We need structure. We need boundaries. We need-” he paused like it pained him to say it, “-a shared calendar.”

Jon perked up. “With color-coded entries.”

“And limits on how many ‘external activities’ are allowed per week,” Luigi added.

Jon nodded grimly. “Two. Maximum.”

“We’ll balance it with rest and hydration windows.”

“And make it sharable between our apps,” Jon said, already tapping into his scheduling software. “So we both get pinged if they try to override the rest days.”

Luigi was already scribbling on a pad. “We need a visual aid, too. Something they see daily. Like a corkboard in their home gym.”

“They have that already,” Jon said. “Lando put a hydration sticker on it last season.”

“Perfect. We’ll turn it into a behavioral management system.”

Jon looked up, eyebrow raised. “Like a star chart for children?”

“Exactly like that,” Luigi said flatly.

Another silence passed.

“I love them like sons,” Jon said.

“They are idiots,” Luigi said at the same time.

They stared at each other via video chat and sighed in sync.

Wednesday Evening – Jon’s Flat, London

Jon was halfway through his evening cup of green tea, the one ritual he had to wind down from another day of trying to keep Lando Norris in one piece, when his phone buzzed.

🔔 Shared Driver Calendar Alert: UNSCHEDULED ACTIVITY DETECTED
Heart Rate Spike — Lando Norris & Carlos Sainz
Time Logged: 22:37
Duration: 42 minutes
Activity Type: Unknown / Outside Registered Zones
REVIEW FLAGGED? Y/N

Jon stared at it.

The alert came with a thumbnail graph: both heart rates climbing in suspicious synchronization and peaking hard before a gentle, lingering descent.

He didn’t need to be a genius to know what that meant.

He sighed, muttering, “I just gave them a green recovery zone for today…”

As if summoned by the universe’s shared exasperation, his laptop buzzed. A video call from Luigi.

Jon answered with a tired, knowing look. “Let me guess. You got the alert too.”

Luigi’s eyes were already narrowed. “They broke the schedule. Again.”

“They’ve been so well-behaved since we installed the calendar.”

“They had a green day,” Luigi said, throwing his hands up. “A recovery day! No riding, no standing cardio, no lotus, nothing!”

Jon rubbed his temple. “I swear, if they hit a new VO2 max just from ignoring us, I’m printing them both little gold medals with the phrase ‘Horny but Hydrated’.”

Luigi grumbled something in Italian that sounded half-prayer, half-threat.

“We confront them tomorrow,” Jon said firmly. “I’ll pull Lando aside, you handle Carlos.”

“Copy that.”

Thursday Morning – McLaren & Williams Paddock Area – Las Vegas GP

Jon intercepted Lando outside the motorhome, sunglasses perched on his head, arms folded across his chest in full “team dad” stance.

“Morning,” Lando chirped, already suspiciously cheerful.

“Did you get enough rest last night?” Jon asked pointedly.

Lando blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Loads of… bonding time.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “You had a green day, Lando.”

Lando gave him a sheepish smile. “We felt emotionally recovered.”

Across the paddock, Luigi had cornered Carlos near the massage table.

“You broke the protocol,” Luigi said flatly.

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “It was a special circumstance.”

“Special how?”

Carlos hesitated for a heartbeat, and then smiled in that rare, slow way of his. “Special enough that I’d do it again. Even if you dock me recovery points.”

Before Luigi could fire off a snappy retort, Jon called across the lot. “Luigi, come here.”

Carlos and Lando stood shoulder-to-shoulder now, oddly… glowy. Soft, even for them.

Jon squinted. “Wait…”

He stepped forward, eyes narrowing at Lando’s hand. “Is that…?”

Luigi’s gaze zeroed in at the same time — on the thin, simple silver band resting quietly on Carlos’ left ring finger.

“Oh my god,” Jon muttered.

Carlos met his look calmly. “We didn’t plan on telling anyone yet.”

Lando added, a little breathless, “We just… decided. No media, no announcements. Just us.”

Jon looked at Luigi. Luigi looked back.

They said nothing for a long moment.

Then, finally, Luigi exhaled. “We’re going to pretend we didn’t see the alert.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “And we’re deleting the spike data. For today.”

Lando smiled like the sun. Carlos reached over, fingers curling loosely around his wrist, thumb brushing soft and familiar.

“You’re still putting it on the board at home,” Jon added quickly.

“Color-coded,” Luigi grunted.

Lando grinned. “Of course. Core and cardio.”

“And extra hydration,” Carlos added.

“God help us.”