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"That's a stonking lap. Well, you've out-qualified Mr Hamilton. George Russell. P2."
"Come on! Yes! Yes! Woooo! Yes, guys! Oh my God! Fuck! That was a lap! Amazing, guys! Amazing! Well done everybody! Well done!"
"Just fantastic, George! Awesome! The whole team did a fantastic job and you were outstanding! Thanks so much! You so much deserve that!"
George had balanced understeer and oversteer in a wet track with delicate precision. The FW43B could punch above its weight in qualifying but the high downforce made the car very sensitive to wind, and the on-throttle differential setting wasn't low enough to reduce the risk of sudden rear-wheel spin when he accelerated out of corners. Williams had done everything they could to make the car stable without sacrificing its speed. However, despite the strong starts, the race pace was frustratingly slow. But George was able to outperform his car every single time, specially in the rain. So when the skies poured on race day, his nerves calmed and his mind cleared. The track visibility was almost null but he pushed anyway.
"George, I imagine you can't see much."
"Yeah, mate, I can't see anything up through Eau Rouge. Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing into turn 5. Can't even see Verstappen's red light."
He wasn't worried though. He could drive with his eyes closed. He knew Spa like the back of his hand. It was his second favorite race track, the first being Silverstone, obviously. George was confident he could win points that day. Then the race was red-flagged after a few laps, Max was declared the winner, and he was P2. He was P bloody 2... This was not how he had imagined his maiden podium. He finished second after an extremely wet qualifying session where he started on the front row, but the race itself was suspended after only two laps behind the safety car. He didn't know what he felt about the whole situation. He was overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions that he couldn't enjoy the moment. He smiled and celebrated the points with his team, but his heart wasn't in it. He took a quick shower, got dressed in warm clothes, and then left. He needed to talk with his boyfriend, so he crossed the paddock in the direction of Alpine's hospitality. Fernando had told him before the race that he was staying with his team instead of going to his private motorhome. George had watched his post race interview. The Spaniard was visibly aggrieved by FIA's decision to award half points for a race where the drivers didn't have a chance to compete. He hoped Fernando didn't resent him for getting those points. When George entered Alpine's motorhome he was greeted by a hostess that, without him asking to, showed him where Fernando's private room was. It pleased him immensely that the older man had made sure he was welcomed with no restrictions. When they arrived at his door, she smiled politely and then returned to the lounge area. George took a deep breath and knocked twice. The moment Fernando opened the door, he hugged the smaller man tightly.
"Are you mad at me for getting early Christmas gifts?"
"You and Max are the only ones who deserve those points. You're both phenomenal in wet conditions."
"Do you mean it? Or you're trying not to hurt my feelings?"
Fernando placed a strong calloused hand on the back of George's neck, and looked up at him, his hazel eyes incredibly fond.
"You have no idea how talented you are, do you?"
"I know I'm a good driver..."
"You have the potential to become one of the greats. You just need a better team. With Mercedes, you'll become world champion before you're thirty."
"Will you be in the podium with me as P2?"
"Of course. I'll even spray you with champagne..."
The gorgeous Spaniard was smiling at him in that unfairly sexy way of his.
"And will you lick it off my skin, too?"
"Every inch, cariño."
When the hand on his nape pressed down firmly, but gently, George obeyed the silent command and lowered his head. Fernando kissed him with intent, a lot of tongue, and a little bit of teeth. His bottom lip was bitten and tugged on teasingly, then Fernando changed targets and started sucking the sensitive skin below his jaw. George moaned embarrassingly loud when he sucked hard enough to leave a bruise.
"No visible marks, please, or people will ask questions..."
"Tell them your boyfriend can't get enough of you."
"You don't think it's best to keep our relationship a secret?"
"From the press, sí. But family and close friends should know about us. I told Flavio..."
"Flavio Briatore knows we're dating."
"He wants to have lunch with you when the season is over."
"Flavio Briatore wants to have lunch with me."
Oh, sugar...
"There's no reason to panic, cariño. Flavio is a sweet old guy."
"I'm not panicking, ok?"
Flavio Briatore's reputation was infamous. The man had openly described himself as a democratic dictator. He was ruthless in the most cutthroat way, extremely ambitious, and very demanding. But he had secured Fernando's first drive at Minardi and had also brought him to Renault. Flavio was more than a friend, he was a mentor. George wasn't panicking because of the Italian's controversial past, or his intimidating personality. He was panicking because his boyfriend clearly valued Flavio's opinion. What if the man took one look at George and decided he wasn't good enough for Fernando?
"Take slow breaths, cariño. You don't need to worry about Flavio. If you don't want to meet him, that's ok."
"I'm fine. You just took me by surprise. I'll have lunch with him, no problem."
"My sister also wants to meet you."
"You told Lorena about me?"
"I always tell her about the important things in my life. And you're very important, cariño."
"Fuck..."
George rarely swore, but hearing Fernando talking like that about him was too much. He was probably, helplessly, and irrevocably in love with the older man. That explained why being accepted by Fernando's family and friends meant so much to George. He wanted their relationship to last, and for that to happen he needed to get along with them. He wasn't worried about his own family. He was positive they would accept Fernando despite the age gap. His friends were mostly from the F1 world, and they all respected the legendary driver. And even if no one from his close circle approved his relationship, he wouldn't end it. That's how much he cared about Fernando...
"Are you ok?"
"I'm great."
"You're sure?"
"I'm a little tired, that's all. I think I better head out to the hotel. Will you meet me there later? We could have dinner together."
"That's a date."
Fernando cupped his cheek tenderly, his gaze intense and reassuring.
"Congratulations on your maiden podium, cariño. The circumstances were not ideal, but if anyone deserves it, it's you. I'm mad at FIA, not you. And if you're not ready to meet my sister or Flavio, I understand. I just don't want you to think that our relationship needs their approval."
George let out a sigh of relief as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. Sometimes he forgot how incredibly perceptive Fernando was. Anyone else wouldn't have guessed what was going through his head.
"Fernando, I..."
...love you. He stopped himself from saying it, and kissed him instead. George poured all his love and passion into the kiss. He felt immensely proud when the Spaniard made a surprised, guttural sound at the back of his throat. He only pulled away when they were both out of breath.
"Wow, what was that for?"
"Nothing. Do I need a reason to kiss you, besides wanting to?"
"You don't. As a matter of fact, I encourage you to kiss me every time you feel like it, whether there's a reason or not."
George kissed him again just because he could.
"See you later, daddy."
Before he left the room he heard Fernando say something in Spanish.
"Te voy a devorar más tarde, nenín."
He had no idea what that meant, but Fernando's heated gaze was a clue to what was in store for him that night.