Work Text:
SILVERSTONE 2017
The first time Lando Norris won because of you, he was seventeen years old. Technically, he'd won races before, technically, he would've won this one anyway. But he'd spend years convincing himself otherwise.
The paddock was loud with the usual pre-race chaos. Engines screamed in the distance. Mechanics rushed between garages. Drivers paced around pretending they weren't nervous.
Lando sat on a stack of tyres outside the team area, bouncing one leg uncontrollably.
"You look sick."
His head snapped up.
You stood in front of him holding two bottles of water, amusement dancing in your eyes.
"I am sick."
"You've said that before every race."
"Because every race feels like I'm about to die."
You laughed, handing him a bottle.
The sound did something strange to his chest.
At seventeen, he didn't have the words for it.
At twenty-six, he still wouldn't.
"You'll be fine," you said.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
You rolled your eyes.
"You're annoying."
"That's not reassuring."
"You want reassuring?"
Lando shrugged dramatically.
"Please. Inspire me."
You stared at him for a moment. Then you stepped closer. His brain immediately stopped functioning. You were standing between his knees now, close enough that he could smell your perfume beneath the scent of fuel and rubber.
"You know," you said thoughtfully, "for someone who's supposed to be the cool race car driver, you're kind of a baby."
Lando barked out a laugh.
"Wow. Thanks."
"No problem."
"That's your motivational speech?"
"Mhm."
"Brutal."
"You'll still win."
The certainty in your voice made his stomach flip. You looked at him for another second. Then another. Neither of you moved away. The noise of the paddock seemed to fade into the background. Lando's heart was suddenly beating so hard he could feel it in his throat.
"Think so?" he asked quietly.
You nodded.
"I know so."
And before either of you could think better of it, you leaned down and kissed him. It wasn't dramatic, wasn't planned, wasn't some grand confession.
Just two stupid teenagers making a terrible decision five minutes before a race. Lando kissed you back immediately. Like he'd been waiting. Your fingers curled into the front of his race suit. One of his hands found your waist. For a brief, perfect moment, the entire world disappeared.
Then somebody wolf-whistled from somewhere nearby.
You both jumped apart.
"Oh my God."
"Oh my God."
You stared at each other.
Then burst into horrified laughter.
"You have a race."
"You kissed me!"
"You kissed me too!"
"I was sitting down!"
"That is not a defense!"
A mechanic appeared around the corner.
"Lando."
He whipped around.
"What?"
"We need you."
Lando looked back at you.
You were still smiling.
Still laughing.
Still standing there.
"Go win," you said.
And somehow, he did.
Years later, he'd remember almost nothing about the race itself.
Not the overtakes.
Or podium.
Not even the trophy.
But he'd remember the feeling of your mouth against his.
Perfectly.
Every single detail.
—
2026 - GREAT BRITAIN
The number one sat proudly on the back of Lando's race suit.
World Champion.
The title still looked strange on him. Not because he didn't deserve it. Because you'd spent too many years knowing the version of him that forgot where he left his keys and survived primarily on energy drinks and bad sleeping habits.The version standing beside you now was older.
Sharper.
More polished.
The entire world knew who he was. Yet somehow he still looked exactly the same when he smiled at you.
"Why are you staring?"
You glanced away from the suit hanging in the dressing area.
"No reason."
"Liar."
"There is literally a giant number one on your back."
"As there should be."
You rolled your eyes.
"There he is."
"What?"
"The ego."
Lando laughed.
The sound was familiar enough to make something warm settle in your chest. You'd arrived in England three days ago. Originally, it had been meant to be a short visit.
A week, maybe.
But somehow every plan kept extending itself.
Another dinner.
Another event.
Another invitation.
Another reason to stay.
Lando always seemed pleased when you agreed.
Quietly satisfied.
"Come on," he said, grabbing a jacket from a nearby chair.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"I hate when you say that."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, he was right. You followed him outside anyway. The afternoon air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. Lando opened the passenger door of a black car before you could reach it yourself.
You stared.
He stared back.
"Get in."
"You know I can open my own door."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Get in."
You laughed despite yourself.
Lando waited until you climbed inside before shutting the door. The smile on his face lingered a little too long afterward. But you didn't notice.
And if you had, you probably wouldn't have understood it anyway.