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If anyone asked him where so many children (“rookies, Lewis” as Silvia had pointedly corrected) had come from, he would honestly not have the faintest idea.
It was as though a new face popped up every race, and each time it seemed to be younger than the last. Criminally younger, some would say, because honestly, were those kids even old enough to have a driver’s license?
He thought the first and last time the FIA had approved of child labour had been with Max, way back in 2015.
For obvious reasons, Kimi was the only one of them he was aware of previous to this year, and he really didn’t know how they expected him to learn so many names in such little time.
He wasn’t getting any younger, thank you very much, and he’d always had a shit memory anyway.
The next name to enter his radar was Ollie’s, and not just because the kid was a Brit and Lewis did have some semblance of national pride, but also because ever since he’d started negotiations with Ferrari he’d made a conscious effort to be in the know of all things Scuderia.
Ollie was FDA born and bred, after all.
And the kid was surprisingly sweet, shyly waving at him whenever they crossed paths paired with rosy cheeks that made him look like an honest to God cherub.
After Ollie came Franco, a young man that could never go unnoticed due to the sheer talent he possessed along with an unfair amount of charisma that translated even through his thickly accented English.
He had to admit that he’d been endeared since hoards of his ever-so-loyal fans started tagging him in all the nice things Franco had said about him even before he’d been part of the grid, and when the kid went as far as to post a picture of him patting his back and call it “the best part of his day”… how could he possibly forget him?
Perhaps it was the sentimentality that came with old age that was getting to him, but he didn’t think anyone could blame him.
He’d never exactly received many compliments from other drivers before the younger generation started to come in.
And Franco was also very touchy, always gently placing a hand on his shoulder or lightly patting his waist whenever they were near.
There was that one time when he was waiting to go into the drivers parade bus and Franco sauntered up to him, greeting him with a lingering kiss to his cheek and a handshake that turned into a brief clasp of hands before he was being pushed away by Alex, the other Williams driver rolling his eyes at his teammate presumably for holding up the line.
When he turned to joke with Checo about the infamous Latin-American touchiness, his fellow grid veteran looked at him with what could only be described as incredulity, shaking his head and muttering something in Spanish that he obviously couldn’t understand.
Trying to learn italian was hard enough, he was certain that being a polyglot was not in his future.
His poor understanding of the language could get annoying though, like when he’d been in a presser and one reporter asked about how it felt to be entering his 18th season in Formula 1, especially when some of the rookies such as Ollie were barely past eighteen.
Which, yikes.
But Lewis chuckled along, never one to feel self-conscious about his age. “Well, I suppose it is strange that I am old enough to be his father, but I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t think I have what it takes to win.”
“I do not see you as my father.” Ollie stuttered out, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights as his aforementioned chubby cheeks burned bright red.
“Yeah, your Father Figure more like.” Kimi grumbled so only the drivers could hear, causing most of the older guys to snicker.
Lewis nearly cooed at the kid’s obvious embarrassment, completely missing Franco’s dreamy sigh that had Jack Doohan giving a long-suffering one in return from the other end of the room.
That little interaction spurred a heated discussion between Ollie and Kimi, the two boys quickly switching to rapid-fire italian that he had no chance of following.
Going by Carlos’s amusement they couldn’t possibly be saying anything too harsh to each other, but he still would’ve liked to understand to see if he could be of any help.
Lewis might not have kids of his own, but he didn’t mind checking in on the younglings every once in a while.
And it really had seemed as though the grid was turning into a high school when Visa Cash-whatever the fuck signed yet another rookie named Isack.
The Algerian was another surprisingly sweet kid that his fans were quick to approve of, mostly due to the support he’d shown him since his karting days.
Lewis made sure to be extra nice to the kid after that revelation, though he was unable to hide his amusement whenever the kid turned beet red in his presence, something that Angela found endlessly endearing.
Though it seemed like a lifetime ago, Lewis remembered what it was like being that age, unable to not feel nervous whenever he was surrounded by the much more experienced older men.
Thankfully, Lewis already somewhat knew Jack and Liam, the latter being easy to remember for how he admitted to wanting him to win over Max even as a junior Red Bull driver.
As was to be expected, Liam hadn’t spoken much to or about him since being officially signed to the Red Bull big leagues, but he had once complimented him for having “beautiful, cow-like brown eyes” at some sponsor event shortly before being guided away by Max, his fellow world-champion giving him a solid slap across the head all the while apologising for not making sure his “baby teammate” stayed clear of the open bar.
But Lewis didn’t mind, he assumed it was just Liam’s way of showing friendliness now that he couldn’t possibly compliment his skill as a driver if he didn’t want to get on Horner’s shit list.
He wasn’t letting it get to his head though, even if he couldn’t deny that it was nice.
That had been him once upon a time after all, starry-eyed and amazed when he first met most of his idols.
He still remembered how the clear dismissal many of them showed him stung like hell, and thus he couldn’t be blamed for trying to be as nice as possible to every wide-eyed kid that stuttered through a very stilted conversation whenever they happened to stand together.
Which didn’t happen all too often nowadays, what with his lovely new teammate more often than not being squarely by his side.
Charles and himself had always had a great relationship, and it was truly very thoughtful of him to make sure he adapted to Ferrari and to send a message to the media and the fans that they were a united front.
And it wasn’t like Lewis minded, Charles was someone whose presence you got used to pretty quickly, so much so that you almost immediately started to miss him.
Although he was as clinical as any of them when locked into their racing, there was always a warmth that emanated from him, almost like the rays of sunshine that made his green eyes shine slipped right under his skin, giving it a golden glow.
Lewis had enjoyed Charles’s company prior to them being teammates, ever since the faces he’d seen for years around the circuit started disappearing one by one, until it was just himself and Fernando left.
It wasn’t always the easiest to connect with the new generations, but for some reason he’d never had that problem with Charles, not when it was so easy to be himself around him.
However, he did think that he could go a little overboard with his glaring whenever other drivers tried to take his self-appointed spot at his side, but he also understood that the pressure of properly fighting for the championship probably had his competitiveness really flaring up.
When he brought it up to Fred the older man looked entirely too amused, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin and assuring him that he would “figure it out.”
Of course, he had no idea what exactly he was supposed to figure out, but since he didn’t have time to solve riddles he decided to call the one person who knew Charles better than Fred.
“I’m just a little worried man, the other day he even said something to Pierre when he tried to step in between us.” Lewis explained, absentmindedly sipping at his espresso and trying not to wince at the bitterness he had yet to get used to. “I have no idea what it was, but he sounded pretty vicious to me.”
Sebastian hmm’d on the other end of the line, and Lewis was a little irked at how he sounded quite dismissive of his very valid concerns.
“This is serious man! I get that he wants us to win but Pierre is one of his oldest friends, it can’t be healthy for him to be pushing even him away.”
The german had the audacity to sigh, and Lewis could almost picture his long-suffering expression that he’d become very familiar with during the Nico days.
“Right. But have you actually noticed him withdrawing from the others, or is it only when anyone dares to approach you?”
That gave Lewis pause, because now that he mentioned it, he hadn’t really seen Charles act standoffish when he wasn’t right by his side.
“Oh God, do you think this is my fault? Does he think I’ll look down on him for having friends on the grid?”
The silence from the other end dragged on for so long Lewis had to check if the call had disconnected.
But, alas, his so-called friend finally answered.
“Lewis, I really, truly love you… but sometimes you’re hopeless. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
And with that, the call in fact disconnected, leaving Lewis with more questions than answers and a mental note to complain with Hannah about her rude husband next time he visited the farm.
This was the second person who’d cryptically told him he’d “figure it out”, and he was getting quite tired of people expecting him to go around solving mysteries when he had an entire championship to fight for.
Thus, even if it mortified him just a little, Lewis bit the bullet and went to the nearest possible source that he wasn’t completely adamant to avoid.
“Hey Arthur!”
The blonde man looked predictably startled as he jogged up to him, since they had never really had a proper conversation just by themselves.
“Oh - hey Lewis. Everything alright?”
Lewis nodded absentmindedly, unable to help how the corner of his mouth curled upwards at how he added at least three syllables to his name the way all native french speakers seemed to.
“Yeah, yeah all good. I actually just wanted to ask you something about your brother, if that’s cool.”
Arthur looked slightly apprehensive at that, and Lewis felt a rush of warmth at how obviously protective the younger man was when it came to Charles.
“Uhhhh sure, shoot.”
“Okay, so.” Lewis cleared his throat, subtly looking around to make sure no reporters were around to eavesdrop. “Ever since the season started I’ve noticed how Charles has been acting a little coldly towards the others, and I really just want to make sure that he’s not doing it out of some misguided belief of having to act aloof to earn my respect…”
Every last bit of tension dropped off of his shoulders as he spoke, and he felt his confusion grow as Arthur’s face stretched into an entirely too wide grin.
“Oh?” Arthur questioned, lips quirking as if he was having to physically suppress a laugh.
“… he knows I would respect him no matter what, right? That I would never look down on him for any reason, never mind having friends?”
To his credit, it was clear the monegasque was trying to be as serious as possible, but after spending the better part of three months glued to his brother’s side the mirth dancing around his eyes was crystal clear.
“Absolutely, I wouldn’t worry.” He started, and Lewis immediately felt reassured at the earnestness in his voice. “Charles can just get a bit… what’s the word? Territoriale? Anyways, don’t stress it man, just give him some time and I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it.”
And with two small pats on the shoulder, he turned around and walked away before Lewis could so much as blink.
“Wait - Arthur! Talk about what!”
But the blonde only threw him a cheeky wink over his shoulder and a parting wave. “Talk later mon beau-frére!”
Lewis tried to devise multiple plans over the next few race weekends in order to fix this “Charles issue”, but each one seemed to be less successful than the last.
First, he tried to pull other drivers into their conversations so that Charles would notice he had no problem making acquaintances, but it always seemed to have undesirable effects.
Carlos just held his hands up in surrender when he tried, jokingly hiding behind Hulkenberg as his former teammate grumbled about being too old for this shit.
George got so deathly pale Lewis was actually worried for his fellow brit, especially when he nearly tripped over his own two feet as he rushed to walk away, grabbing onto Alex and dragging the very confused man along.
And Max? He actually said “nope” out loud before turning on his heel and going the opposite direction, which made absolutely no sense because they were supposed to get on the parade bus.
He had no idea what Charles had actually done to garner these kinds of reactions, but he was almost offended on behalf of the man.
Had they all seen him? He was about as intimidating as Leo was!
(Of course, Lewis never saw how his “innocent” teammate’s eyes turned into slits whenever anyone approached him, or the sheer rage he emanated that Lando dubbed his “manic demon child aura”)
When that didn’t work, Lewis tried to talk up their colleagues whenever he could, but Charles got the saddest, most kicked-puppy look on his face whenever that happened.
Lewis was seriously trying to keep the Leo comparisons to a minimum, but this was getting ridiculous.
There was that time he talked about how nice Oscar was, and how he was a breath of fresh air with his direct, no-nonsense personality, and Charles looked so offended Lewis nearly trailed off mid-sentence.
And okay, maybe praising a McLaren driver wasn’t the best idea considering Charles lived and died for Ferrari. But it was Oscar for crying out loud! Who could hate him?
Then there was that other time when he said how cool it was that Lance had been having such a great start to the season, and Charles had actually gone on a rant about how they were the superior world-champion/race-winner team pairing and how they’d leave Aston Martin eating dust.
Which was true, but had nothing to do with the conversation at hand.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Lewis carefully brought up how white and blue suited Carlos, trying to appeal to the friendship that existed between the two former teammates, and Charles genuinely looked as though he could cry.
Lewis had no idea what he had said wrong, but he quickly backtracked into safer territory and just asked him about his weekend plans, quickly agreeing to catch dinner together when he saw how the younger man perked up.
And their impromptu dinner turned out to be very nice, with Charles booking them a private table at a lovely restaurant he’d discovered the last time they’d been in Canada, going as far as to making sure they had more than one vegan option and vegan wine.
If it was anyone else Lewis could have almost believed he was being wined and dined, but that was ridiculous.
It didn’t matter how truly lovely Charles looked while sitting in front of him, the light of the candles making it so his unfairly long lashes casted featherlight shadows across his faces, almost as if someone had sketched out his face.
Charles had obviously offered to drive them because he knew Montreal better than him, and the beautiful purple irises he gifted him just showed what a thoughtful man Pascale Leclerc had raised.
He sent a picture of the flowers to Sebastian to ask for tips on taking care of them, cause that’s the kind of shit he’d know, and Lewis might be a vegan but that did not translate into a green thumb.
You:
hey man
any tips on how to make these last longer??
Seb-bee Vettel:
Those are lovely.
May I ask who’s getting you flowers?
You:
oh Charles got them for me!!!
he’s such a great friend :)
Seb-bee Vettel:
typing…
typing…
typing…
Jesus fucking Christ.
Summer break could not have come fast enough for Lewis, no matter how much he enjoyed doing what he did.
Ever since they had gotten their groove on and managed to push Ferrari into the mix of both championship battles, his stress levels had gotten a hell of a lot higher, and while he was much better at handling it than he’d been ten years ago he still welcomed the distraction.
And doing press for the F1 movie was a very effective distraction.
It was almost perfect really, since he could leave the brunt of it to Joseph and the actors while simply having to give a couple of interviews and walk one red carpet or the other, which gave him the perfect excuse to go back to expanding his wardrobe now that he didn’t have to wear his team kit every other weekend.
That was how he found himself in LA in the middle of August, enjoying the late-morning sun that felt perfect on his skin when paired with the cool breeze blowing over the hotel terrace, nursing a very angelian and unfairly delightful blueberry matcha latte while listening to Tom and Zendaya’s latest industry gossip.
The two lovebirds had turned from acquaintance to very dear friends after his and Z’s joint Valentino ambassadorship, and it was always nice to talk to people so far removed from the Formula 1 world that were still interested enough in the sport.
Over the years they had both proven to be fantastic listeners and even better confidantes, which was why Lewis never hesitated to share his own gossip as freely as they did.
These days, there was only one particular subject that kept plaguing his mind.
“Honestly? I think it’s kind of sweet.” Zendaya shrugged, lazily swirling around her mint-leaf tea. “It’s obvious that your little teammate is very protective over you, and it’s about time someone was if you ask me.”
“Other than Angela.” Tom helpfully interjected before Lewis could, sending him a wink when his lips pointedly snapped shut and earning himself a smile from Z.
“And if his brother and the others don’t see anything wrong with it I don’t see why you should.”
Lewis sighed, forcing the tension he’d been holding on his shoulders to ease out. “I guess you’re right, I just worry about him, he’s already got enough on his plate and I don’t want him to take me on as a burden.”
Both of his companions scoffed.
“Okay first of all, we’re talking about a 27 year old man, he can make his own decisions. Second of all, someone caring about you isn’t being a burden Lewis.”
Tom nodded. “Exactly. If he didn’t want to look after you he wouldn’t, you know better than anyone how easy it is to focus on your own racing and ignore everything else. If Charles wants to worry about you and it doesn’t annoy you, just let him.”
The way both actors completed each other’s train of thought so easily would’ve been eerie if it wasn’t so disgustingly cute.
“I guess you’re right.” Lewis conceded, shaking his head in amusement at the twin smug smiles that earned him. “I’ll keep trying to return the favour though, and if he keeps pushing people away I’ll have to intervene.”
“Sounds good enough to me, but don’t even act like you haven’t been worrying about him since he first got into F1, we all know how much you like to play paddock protector.” Zendaya pointed out with a raised brow, never one to mince her words.
“Hear hear.” Tom seconded, raising his espresso cortado in a toast. “And I mean, if his hovering does get to be too much you can always play cupid and set him up with someone.”
Lewis choked on his latte.
Because what in God’s given name was Tom talking about? Set Charles up? With one of his friends?
He had no idea why, but the mere thought of it was ludicrous, something that would’ve never crossed his mind on its own.
“I’m sorry - what?”
“I think it’s solid advice.” Tom replied, the picture of nonchalance. “Charles seems like the type of guy to devote his whole attention to someone when they’re together, so help him find someone to give that attention to.”
Now it was Lewis’s turn to scoff, setting his mug down with a tad more force than necessary and completely missing the knowing look the couple exchanged.
“Absolutely not. If Charles wanted a partner I’m sure he’d have no trouble finding one, and I always make a point to not mix business with pleasure.”
The look Zendaya gave him reminded him so much of his mother it was scary.
“Seriously? What was Nico then, chopped liver?”
“Could be for all I care.” Lewis grumbled, glaring at Tom as he let out an undignified snort at his pettiness.
Zendaya rolled her eyes at their antics. “Okay old man, if getting the little french prince a princess isn’t an option, then let’s stick with the original plan.”
“He’s monegasque.” Lewis felt compelled to point out, feeling the back of his neck get unreasonably hot at the raised brows his clarification garnered.
“Little monegasque prince it is.” Zendaya amended, something about the knowing glint in her cat-like eyes sending an uneasy shiver down his spine.
It was hard to believe those two were yet to turn thirty, their married couple act just adding to the reasons why they seemed way too mature for their age.
Lewis usually appreciated their wisdom, but today was not proving to be one of those days.
That sense of unease followed him around for the rest of the day, so much so that he had to step out from an LVMH-sponsored dinner to gather some air, and hopefully calm the jumble of thoughts racing through his head.
When trying some breathing exercises didn’t work, he took his phone out of his pocket and absentmindedly scrolled through some apps, only stopping when a particular post caught his attention.
And, of course, it had been posted by Charles.
It was a carrousel of photos from his own summer travels, but the one that stood out the most was one that showed him laying on his back in a cream-coloured surfboard, the angle making it so the harsh rays of Greek sunlight reflected off the crystal-blue ocean and lit him up like a spotlight on a stage.
Lewis had always known that Charles was a handsome man, and he’d never shied away from saying it both to his face and to others, but there was something about that particular photo that had him looking borderline ethereal.
But the aesthetic value of it all wasn’t the most surprising thing about the photo, rather it was the realisation that Lewis actually missed him.
He wanted to know how he was enjoying his annual boys trip, if Joris had finally gotten over his fear and asked out the girl he was crushing on, and if he’d gone back to that oyster joint in Crete that he always brought up.
So no, Charles’s beauty was not a recent discovery, but the depth of the camaraderie he felt towards him definitely was.
Before thinking it further, Lewis pulled up their (long) string of texts, quickly typing and sending a new one so he’d have no chance to back out.
When a reply came almost instantly, a rush of warmth flooded his chest, his earlier anxiety all but forgotten.
You:
hey man
sick of beautiful greek islands already?
Charlie:
Hi Lewis!!
Don’t think I could ever be haha
But I am starting to miss our garage
Lewis couldn’t keep a grin off his face if he tried, hopelessly endeared at how Charles always referred to the team as “theirs.”
You:
yeah I know what you mean, LA is nice and all but it’s not the same
The cool breeze felt wonderfully against his slightly sweaty skin, and he wondered where Charles was at that very moment, and if they were both looking up at the same sky.
You:
I also miss beating you at chess
Charlie:
Excuse me!!!! We are 4-4!!!!!
He laughed, perfectly picturing the indignant look Charles must be giving his phone as their inherent competitiveness flared up.
Sometimes he thought they hated losing to each other at chess more than they did on track.
You:
mmm you’re right, but you’re only delaying the inevitable
wanna start a match?
It was probably a long shot when Charles had a whole ocean and his group of friends at his disposal, but there was something about playing against him that never failed to make him calm, no matter how intense their games could get.
One time, when he was playing a game while sitting next to his dad, he had told him it was remarkable how similar their minds worked, and that that was why they always had so much trouble beating each other.
Perhaps predicting each other’s next move wasn’t the best thing while playing chess, but it proved to be a fantastic asset when it came to building a team.
A ding broke him out of his thoughts, and the grin that had yet to leave his face only expanded at the response.
Charlie:
Already sent the request and you are so going down
Btw, wanna fly with me to Zvoort and make Seb proud?
Lewis snorted, always finding some amusement at the fact that both Charles and himself talked to Sebastian enough that his eco-friendly ways rubbed off on them.
He also felt a rush of excitement shoot through him at the thought of spending quality time with Charles after being apart for an entire month, which might not seem as much but definitely felt like it after being practically glued to each other’s sides ever since his move to Ferrari.
You:
you wish
no cheating this time!
and yes to flying together, I’ll even take my chess set so I can properly beat you to your face
Charlie:
Less talking and more playing old man
Txt me when you can facetime so you see how I beat you fair and square
And if Lewis excused himself with the excuse of having an early training session while already planning out some moves, that was between himself and the full moon.
By the time Monza rolled around, things were entirely too hectic for Lewis to worry too much about his Charles-shaped problem.
A problem that was starting to take all sorts of shapes.
If he thought the tifosi’s support was overwhelming before, it had absolutely nothing on what they experienced in their mother land.
Lewis moved through the weekend as if in a daze, his ears constantly ringing due to the sheer volume of the cheering fans anytime they so much as stepped into any public area.
Charles was admittedly a godsend through it all, always right there to offer him a grounding touch or commiserating smile whenever things got to be too much.
And he was right there beside him when it was time to line up on the grid, the two of them parking right behind the McLarens on a second row lockout, almost vibrating with the tension that seemed to permeate the very atmosphere as everyone waited with bated breath for the start.
Just before the first light went out, Lewis craned his neck to the right, unsurprised to find Charles already staring back.
The air crackled between their locked gazes, an unspoken conversation passing through the airwaves over the sound of the engines and the thousands of fans.
Charles nodded minutely, and Lewis returned the gesture before turning back to stare straight ahead, something inside him knowing the monegasque had done exactly the same.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his heart hammered inside his chest, and when the last light went out any remaining thought left his brain, and he sped off.
He couldn’t tell you exactly what happened after that.
Yes, he remembered passing Lando on the first corner, doing a lightning fast check of his mirrors and letting out a whoop when he saw a flash of red right behind.
He remembered the tunnel vision he got with every lap completed, and how his soul nearly left his body when he finally outmanoeuvred Oscar, barely squeezing past him and into the lead.
Not once could he remember a time when the noise of the crowd had actually reached him through his helmet, but he could swear he heard them now.
It was almost unbearable to refrain from asking where Charles was, but he had to keep his head down, he couldn’t risk getting distracted for even a second. Not now.
And then, without him knowing, he snapped out of his near trance at the deafening cheers that rang from his earpiece, Ricky blabbering in Italians before remembering who he was talking to and effortlessly switching to English.
“P1! P1, that’s P1!“
After experiencing so many highs throughout his career, there were a handful of moments he would truly never forget.
This was one of these.
The cool down lap passed through in a daze, and he slowed down just enough to receive an Italian flag from one of the marshals just as he’d done in Brazil, holding it up with pride as if in offering to the red-blooded tifosi that were all around him.
When he finally reached parc-fermé, his heart leapt to his throat as he saw Charles parked squarely in P2.
A Ferrari 1-2 in Monza.
Their first Ferrari 1-2 in Monza.
Once again, they locked eyes, and it was only when he saw the tears pooling in those baby blues that Lewis noticed the wetness running down his cheeks.
It was hard to know who moved first, but they both raced to get out of their belts and out of the car, all but falling into each other’s arms as soon as their feet touched the gravel.
They jumped around as they hugged, looking more like two little kids than two Formula 1 drivers, but that’s exactly what it felt like at the moment. Like a childhood dream had come true against all odds.
Lewis cupped Charles’s helmet with his hands, the monegasque mirroring him without hesitation.
“We did it Lewis, we really did it.”
He laughed, feeling the same elation he had at all the highest points of his career. Of his life. “We did. Holy fucking shit we really did.”
Their helmets bumped together almost painfully, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered right now but the absolute ecstasy of this win, one that was felt by every living soul at the circuit.
A new set of arms wrapping around them both was the only thing that made them break eye contact, and Lewis laughed once more as Fred practically jumped on top of them, his feet barely reaching the ground as he screamed with joy, even smacking two kisses to each of their helmets.
It was all a blur after that.
Lewis jumped into the arms of his team, he lifted and spun Angela around, and he was lifted and spun around by his dad, who had always been there.
Then it felt as if every other driver came to say congrats, the younger ones giving him enthusiastic hugs and patting his back while the older guys settled for a handshake and a grin (or, in Max’s case, a respectful nod) until Charles appeared back at his side to gently but firmly drag him away to get weighed.
If he’d looked to the side at that moment, he would have noticed the half-exasperated, half-amused look Angela and his own father shared.
(He’d have also noticed a microphone-holding Nico Rosberg looking a bit green around the gills, but it was for the best he did not)
Going out to the podium that stood over a sea of red was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and he had to giggle as the Italian president actually kissed his cheeks as he handed him the trophy, his giggles not stopping as the man hugged Charles as if he was his child.
Standing on the top step, the sunlight shining on his face, Lewis felt a weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders finally lift up, so much so that it felt like pressure oozing out of his chest.
And as Charles looked up at him from the lower step, his usually bright eyes appearing dark from how wide his pupils had blown, Lewis’s stomach gave an unfamiliar flip.
They barely looked away as the Italian anthem blasted from the speakers, getting drowned out by the hundreds of voices singing along.
In fact, if Oscar hadn’t aimed the champagne straight at his face, Lewis wasn’t sure he would’ve looked away at all.
(Later, Angela would be secretly glad that Lewis didn’t use social media as often as he had, shaking her head in bemused amusement at the thousands of posts that gushed about what they called “the 1-2 of heart eyes”)
Lewis’s cheeks started hurting from how wide his smile had remained since he stepped out the car, posing for photo after photo with Fred, his parents, Ricky, John, his engineers, one or two officials, and Charles.
Always Charles.
It took a long time before Lewis could retreat to his motorhome, if only to take a quick shower and change into non-sticky clothes.
After a few rounds of breathing exercises to settle down, a quick cuppa of lemon ginger tea Angela had been nice enough to leave on the counter, and a spritz of his Dior cologne, he set out to find Charles, remembering his offer to get to the after party together.
Fortunately, he had to look no further than the motorhome next to his, and a soft smile spread across his face when Charles opened the door before he could even knock, looking adorably disgruntled as he dried his hair with a towel with an intensity that made his micro-fibre using heart hurt.
“Hi again! Come in, please.”
Charles’s motorhome had a similar layout to his, but the decor was decidedly more minimalist and monochromatic.
Where Lewis enjoyed having vibrantly coloured cushions and throw blankets over his green couch, Charles had opted for a pristine white couch that he had no idea how managed to keep clean.
He itched with the need to gift him something less sterile, a soft, knitted blanket to keep him warm.
However, he did spy plenty of photographs of his friends and family scattered around the space, some perched on the coffee table, others hanging on the wall.
A beautiful picture of him and his father with matching, ear to ear grins was square in the center of the collage.
When he realised Charles had been watching him inspect his space, he gave him a small smile, a weird feeling pulling at his chest at the tentative grin he got in return, one that exposed his dimples.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes, yes.” Charles replied, carelessly throwing the damp towel over the closest counter and giving him a once over that had warmth rising to his cheeks. “Though I should change my shirt, I think, I feel underdressed now.”
If it was any other person, Lewis would have thought the comment to be a sly dig at his interest in fashion, but the cheekiness in his tone only made him chuckle.
“Not at all man, you look great.”
And he did.
While it might not be the all-black ensemble tailored made by Rick Owens that he was donning, there was no denying that Charles looked great in the white slacks and black, long-sleeved shirt that had exactly the right amount of buttons left undone.
There were a few droplets of water resting over his collarbones as if he’d pinned them there, and Lewis had the strangest urge to press his fingertips on those same spots and see if they dried up.
Charles’s eyes followed his gaze, flickering back up to his face and exposing a delightful flush that spread over his chest at the unexpected attention.
“T-Thanks, but I could never look as good as you.” He stammered, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
Lewis stepped closer, slowly but surely closing the distance between them, getting near enough that he noticed his breath hitch.
“Don’t put yourself down Charlie.” Lewis admonished lightly, mentally noting how the man let out the tiniest gasp at the nickname. “You look beautiful.”
His pupils were as wide as they’d been when they stood on the podium, and the sight stirred something up inside of Lewis that he had no interest in decoding, but that he definitely couldn’t ignore.
It was as if a bell ringed on the inside of his mind, trying to alert him of something that had been there for a long time, but that he’d only just started to see.
Those greenish blue eyes flickered to his mouth, and it was Lewis’s turn to get short of breath as he got a small peek of a pink tongue as Charles licked his lips.
Without him noticing, the two had gotten almost impossibly close, close enough that he could count every individual eyelash if he tried.
Or they were, until a series of loud knocks made them spring apart.
“Oi! Nous sommes lá Charles, allons-y!”
The door opened to reveal Lorenzo Leclerc at the other side, and Lewis was sure that both him and the aforementioned man had the same deer caught in headlights look as their new companion did.
“Oh. Hello Lewis.” Lorenzo offered after a bit with a friendly smile, and that same french tilted pronunciation Lewis was becoming so fond of. “Sorry for the noise, I thought my brother was alone.”
Lewis shook his head, answering with a grin. “No worries at all man, just came to make sure he wasn’t taking two hours getting ready. He’s made us late more times than I can count.”
Lorenzo snorted as Charles gave an indignant huff, grumbling under his breath that he wasn’t the one who once took thirty minutes to pick a team shirt when “they all looked exactly the same.”
His influence on his teammate’s fashion choices was still a work in progress.
“And me, Arthur and Charlotte thank you for that.”
“Alright, no more of whatever this is.” Charles loudly interrupted, bodily stepping between them and levelling his brother with a glare that didn’t faze him one bit. Sometimes, Charles forgot Lorenzo had dealt with his tantrums since he was in diapers. “Let’s go before we’re actually late.”
Considering Lewis was the one who drank the least, and that he owed Charles after their dinner, he offered to drive the three Leclerc brothers and their (two) partners to the celebration, for once being granted permission to take a (rental) AMG to maintain as much anonymity as they possibly could while in Italy.
Charles took his place as shotgun without second thought, neither of them catching the knowing look that passed between the other brothers when Lewis passed his unlocked phone to his copilot so he could play music as if they’d done this a hundred times before.
Which could mean nothing, except Charles was not known for his great taste in music. And for good reason.
Mercifully for everyone, the restaurant Ferrari had rented out was barely fifteen minutes away from the circuit, and both drivers were immediately swept away by their adoring guests.
(But not before Lorenzo let his eldest brother tendencies shine through, earnestly thanking Lewis for their collective ride with a whispered “merci mon beau-frére”)
Lewis lost count of how many hands he had shaken and how many drinks he had turned down, yet he never quite lost sight of where Charles was, periodically catching his eye and sharing conspiratorial grins even if they were at opposite sides of the room.
It was heartwarming how many of the other drivers had showed up to celebrate with them, no matter that Yuki, Isack and Liam practically dive bombed to the floor anytime a camera was pointed their way, aided by his own father who didn’t hesitate to step between them and any lens.
Let it be known that Anthony Hamilton was a huge mother hen, even to this day.
At some point, Lando and Oscar threw their arms around his shoulders and practically forced a shot of tequila down his throat after countless nagging for “ditching the papaya family for that ugly red”.
Lewis felt compelled to remind them that he had never worn that nasty colour, thank you very much, but his protests fell on deaf ears, so he decided to humour them.
(“If not for the team pride then do it for the British pride Lewis!”
“Oscar, you’re Australian.”
“I’m a global citizen is what I am, ask twitter.”)
Ron Dennis would have never let Jenson and himself be caught dead in Ferrari territory during their McLaren days, but alas, times had really changed.
At some point he found himself dragged into the Leclerc family picture no matter how much he protested, and he made a mental note to ask Charles what the hell Lorenzo and Arthur kept calling him when he saw how he nearly choked on his drink after he heard it.
Lewis gently patted his back to stop him from actually choking, but soon enough he was dragged away yet again by a red-faced Ollie and a way-drunker-than-he-should-be-looking Kimi to dance.
He made a mental note to text George to make sure he got to their hotel safe afterwards, and leave some aspirin at his bedside table for good measure.
Before he knew it Lewis was surrounded by more than half the rookies and feeling like a chaperone at a high school dance, but he couldn’t deny the fondness he felt at how they were all jumping around with the inexhaustible exuberance one could only have in their young adulthood, or the happiness it brought him to see them let loose after all the pressure they dealt with on a daily basis.
So even if he was sure that some people (read: Angela, Fred and Pierre) were taking blackmail-worthy footage of him allowing Franco to spin him around, Lewis was inclined to let it slide.
He came close to drawing the line as the cheeky Argentinian actually dipped him, but he looked so pleased with himself he couldn’t bear to do it.
And in the blink of an eye he realised that that he didn’t have to, because a gentle yet surprisingly firm grip appeared around his bicep and all but dragged him away from the dance floor.
Apparently, Lewis had had more to drink than he’d thought, since he had genuinely no idea how he had come to stand in a balcony he didn’t know existed and face to face with an incensed Charles Leclerc.
“Are you seriously entertaining it? Entertaining him?”
Lewis could only blink stupidly as his disoriented brain tried to process what Charles was asking, and he really ought to leave the rental’s keys with someone else, because he honest to God had no bloody idea what he was talking about.
“Uhhhh, what?”
A multitude of alarm bells rang around his brain as his response only made Charles look angrier, his green eyes nearly black as red spread up his neck and all the way to his cheekbones.
“Do not “what” me Lewis Hamilton! Are you going to sleep with Franco?”
And yeah Lewis was definitely drunk. Possibly drugged. Maybe even concussed.
Because, again, what?
“Charles, what the hell are you talking about?”
The Monegasque huffed, stressfully running his hands through his hair and messing up every strand of black, shaggy hair.
Deliriously, Lewis couldn’t help but think the disheveled look suited him.
“Mon Dieu, Sebastian said you were oblivious but this is ridiculous.” Charles ranted, every word that came out of his mouth increasing Lewis’s confusion. “You cannot tell me you have not noticed how every single one of those - those rookies want to sleep with you!”
It was honestly commendable how Charles could inject so much vitriol into a single word. Too bad he was yet to make a single ounce of sense.
“Charles, did you hit your head or something?”
He gave a dramatic groan, throwing back his neck and exposing every inch of his thick, long neck that was just begging to be marked up.
And holy fuck Lewis needed to get a grip. Where had those thoughts even come from?
“I did not! Those kids have been trying to seduce you from day one.”
Lewis let out a nervous laugh, this whole entire situation too ridiculous for him to handle. “Charles, I highly doubt that Kimi -“
“Okay, maybe not Kimi.” Charles acquiesced with a huff, forehead firmly set in a deep frown. “But definitely Ollie and Liam. Jack too. And do not get me started on Franco.”
Now that Charles didn’t seem actively murderous Lewis allowed himself to properly think over what he was saying, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had to concede that maybe his teammate had a point.
And maybe a hell of a lot of people had been subtly trying to make him see how daft he was being for a long, long time.
The constant blushing, the lingering touches, the darkened eyes whenever he gave them a smile?
Yeah, maybe he had been a little blind.
But that didn’t explain why Charles was so against what was definitely harmless flirting, and it definitely didn’t explain why he had physically dragged him away from Franco.
It was almost as if he was jea- oh.
Ohhhhhhhhh.
God, Sebastian was never gonna let him live this down.
In a matter of seconds everything snapped into focus, a locked box inside his brain opening up and bringing to the forefront of his mind the many instances he should have realised he’d stopped seeing Charles in a platonic light a long time ago.
The way he felt as though a part of him was missing when Charles wasn’t around.
How he looked for him in any crowded room.
How he missed him when they spent longer than a few days apart.
How something inside him settled whenever the back of his hand brushed with his.
The fluttering inside his tummy when he smiled wide enough to reveal that enchanting pair of dimples, eyes crinkling with mirth.
Just like that (and just like Fred, Arthur and Sebastian predicted he would), Lewis finally figured it out.
Now he just had to give a little, tiny push to confirm it.
“Alright let’s pretend you’re right for a second.” Lewis started, tentative, fighting off an amused smirk at the pout Charles probably didn’t realise he was giving. “I still don’t get why you’re so against it. I mean, Franco is a good-looking guy.”
With the glare he gave him in response, one would think Lewis had grievously insulted him and his entire bloodline.
Lewis yelped as Charles backed him up until his lower back was pressed against the stone railing, both arms coming up to bracket his waist and successfully cage him in.
The flash of heat that shot up his body made him dizzy.
“If anyone’s going to be your controversially young boyfriend,” Charles nearly hissed, flexing his arms so he could further crowd into his space, “it’s going to be me.”
And with that, he captured his mouth in a hungry, heated, desperate, earth-shattering kiss.
Lewis completely melted into it, letting out a soft gasp as Charles moved a hand to his waist and the other to the back of his neck, tilting his head up just a bit so he had better access to his mouth.
At his big age, Lewis had kissed more than his fair share of people before, but he was now realising it had been a long time since he had been properly kissed.
Charles kissed him like a starving man, as if he was determined to steal the breath right out of his lungs.
The grip he had on his waist kept drifting lower and lower until his hand was right over his hipbone, and Lewis would bet that he’d have finger-shaped bruises on his skin come morning.
He found that the thought didn’t bother him in the slightest, but he did wonder for how long Charles had been on the border of snapping, and he somewhat wished he’d given into his desire sooner.
The longer they kissed the less frantic they were, lips moving together languidly as if they had all the time in the world.
As if there wasn’t a myriad of their colleagues and strangers just a few feet away from where they stood.
(What they didn’t know, of course, was that Angela had taken it upon herself to close the curtains over the balcony’s glass doors, inconspicuously standing guard to make sure no one bothered the two men.)
When they finally came up for air Charles kept his forehead resting against his, and Lewis shivered when he felt those infuriatingly long lashes that haunted his dreams tickling over his cheeks.
Lewis felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes fluttered open, coming face to face with dark green irises that seemed to shine even with his pupils blown wide.
He smiled, giving into the urge to lean forward and press a last, tender kiss to Charles’s kiss-swollen lips.
And now that his mind wasn’t caught up in a haze, he realised there were some pressing matters to attend to.
“So,” he started, bringing his arms to circle the younger man’s waist to prevent him from potentially running away, “controversially young boyfriend huh?”
The way his entire face instantly flushed red made him honest to God giggle, entirely too amused at how all his earlier bravado had apparently disappeared after kissing him stupid.
“I-I mean, only if you want to of course, I wouldn’t presume…” Charles trailed off as noticed the amusement dancing in his eyes, his own lips twitching up into a smile even as he playfully swatted at his chest, “oh shut up.”
“I’ll have to take you out on a proper date first though, can’t let you do all the wooing.” Lewis teased, noting that Charles’s blush was quickly becoming one of his favourite shades of red. “Though for the record, I don’t think a thirteen year age gap is that controversial, if it was Ollie then it’d be a whole different story.”
Apparently, Lewis still had his work cut out for him in the jealousy department, because Charles’s grip tightened around his waist and his face set into a deep, deep scowl at the reminder of one of his young mortal enemies.
“If I see any of those kids flirting with you again I swear I’ll tackle them.”
Lewis chuckled, cupping his face with both hands and immensely enjoying how it made his breath hitch.
“Charlie you have absolutely nothing to worry about with the rookies, even if it took me a while to realise it, I really do only have eyes for you.”
Now it was Charles who melted into his touch, shoulders relaxing at his words, pressing his body impossibly closer as if trying to merge their two bodies into one.
The monegasque leaned forward to press a warm kiss to the side of his neck, right on top of the stretched wing of his Eagle tattoo.
“Good.” He whispered, the hot breath that blew over his bare skin making gooseflesh rise all over his body. “Because I -“ kiss “don’t -“ kiss “share.”
Lewis exhaled a shaky breath, and if they didn’t get out of there in the next five minutes they’d risk getting arrested for public indecency.
Silvia might actually murder them if they did, but God, what a way to go.
“Never imagined you did.” he replied, gently pushing him away but giving a quick kiss to the underside of his jaw so he wouldn’t misunderstand. “Now, what do you say we get out of here and I can show you the benefits of dating an old man?”
Charles actually moaned at his words, and they were still close enough that Lewis could feel how interested in his proposition he really was. “Yes please.”
Soon enough, Lewis thought, he’d have him begging for entirely different reasons.
The two of them sneaked out of their own party as best as they could, partly thanks to how Fred followed them all the way to the exit and glared at anyone who dared step too close to his two oh-so-cherished drivers.
(He also accepted the rental’s keys with no complaint, though he did scrunch up his nose at the Mercedes logo, muttering something in French that had Charles’s eyebrows rising up to his hairline)
Lewis didn’t know how he felt at the entirely too knowing wink he gave them as they practically ran off into the night, but the anticipation to get back to their hotel was strong enough that he couldn’t bring himself to care.
They giggled like teenagers as they made their way through the winding streets, ducking into alleys whenever they spotted a tourist with a Ferrari cap and making good use of any shadowy corner to steal kisses from the other.
Risky? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.
Lewis hadn’t felt this alive in years.
They garnered some bemused looks from the front desk staff as they stumbled into the lobby, practically vibrating from the rush of adrenaline and probably looking like two drunk fools as they booked it to his villa, but Lewis trusted that their loyalty to Ferrari (and their extensive pay check) would be enough to keep them from tattling to the press.
Once inside the spacious living room Lewis wasted no time before pressing Charles against the wall, returning the favour from earlier and ravishing his mouth, neck, collarbones and every bit of bare skin he could sink his teeth into.
It turned out that Charles was very vocal when they weren’t running the risk of getting caught, and every tiny noise that left his spit-slick lips went straight to his groin.
“L-Lewis,” he breathed out, tilting his head back as far as it could go to grant him better access to his neck, “if you don’t take me to the bed right now this will be over embarrassingly quick.”
And while the promise of making Charles come undone while barely touching him at all did things to him, that was something he could explore later.
They did have all the time in the world after all, and many nights to be spent side by side.
With barely any effort Lewis lifted Charles so that he could wrap his legs around him, and if he thought his eyes had darkened before it was nothing compared to how pitch black they appeared after that show of strength.
“Not bad for an old man huh?” Lewis smirked, smugness dripping from his voice.
Charles rolled his eyes, but the way his hips thrust forwards chasing any kind of friction gave him away.
“Just take off your clothes.”
“If you insist.”
Hours later (hours very well spent), they were both lying in bed with the curtains firmly drawn, Lewis feeling close to purring like a cat as Charles gently caressed his scalp while he laid on his stomach, resting his head on his bare chest.
There was a pleasant ache on his forearms from holding up his body weight, and a light sting across his back from where Charles’s nails had decided to use it as a canvas.
The cool, early morning breeze felt heavenly against their sweaty skin, and Lewis knew that they’d have to get up soon to take a shower before their stickiness got to be too much, but neither driver was in any rush to do so.
Lewis had been periodically dozing off, and the way Charles’s ministrations stopped for minutes at a time told him he wasn’t the only one.
If anyone took a picture of this exact moment, he knew they’d look the definition of content.
And of course, that was when a phone started ringing.
He didn’t bother to open his eyes as he felt Charles reach towards the bedside table, though he did press a kiss between his ribs in a silent thanks.
“Bonjour?” Charles greeted, the slight hoarseness of his voice making him smirk.
The voice on the other line took a second to answer, and Lewis finally cracked one eye open as he recognised who was the caller.
“… Charles?”
“Oh, hey Seb.” He replied, much more upbeat than he’d been a second earlier.
Sebastian took another second to answer, and Lewis craned his neck in time to see Charles frown in confusion.
Maybe the cell reception wasn’t the best.
“Charles…” Sebastian repeated, apprehension and a just hint of amusement colouring his voice, “you realise you just picked up Lewis’s phone, right?”
Or maybe not.
Lewis fully sat up, unable to mask his snort at the alarm in Charles’s widened eyes.
“Uhhhh, he accidentally left it in my room and I’m keeping it safe?”
He fully laughed at his shitty excuse, unbothered by the monegasque’s glare and laughing even harder at Sebastian’s muffled cackle.
Charles huffed, holding the phone away from his ear and putting it on speaker.
“It’s unbelievable to me that you manage to keep any secrets at all.”
“That’s why Fred doesn’t let him give interviews without Silvia present.” Lewis added, yelping when Charles pinched his waist in protest.
“You’re one to talk Lewis,” Sebastian said, and they could hear his grin through the phone, “the only reason you don’t spill any secrets is because everyone else finds out before you do.”
Charles laughed as the tables turned, and Lewis felt his cheeks warm at the unfortunate truth behind their german friend’s words.
“Yeah, yeah laugh it up. What matters is that I got there in the end, right?”
“Only because I literally led you to it.” Charles argued, and Lewis could already foresee this becoming a regular argument in their relationship. “Truth be told, if Franco hadn’t gotten so bold we’d still be dancing around each other.”
“Oh?” Sebastian wondered, his curiosity definitely spiked.
Lewis rolled his eyes. “Charlie here got very jealous when he saw Franco trying to “seduce me” with his latin dance moves. He marched over to us looking all menacing and basically stole me away. It was all very dramatic.”
The aforementioned man smirked, giving him a slow once over that made his dick twitch valiantly.
Lewis wasn’t twenty anymore okay? There was only so many rounds he could take, no matter how hot and bothered he got.
“And I would do it again.”
Sebastian cleared his throat, evidently noticing how Charles’s voice had dropped an octave.
“Please keep it in your pants until I hang up.”
“Bold of you to assume we’re wearing pants Sebby.” Lewis taunted, both men sharing an amused glance at his responding, long suffering groan. “But while we’re on the topic, why did you even call?”
“Ah yes. It’s actually funny you said that Charles, because you might need to do it again sooner than you think.” Seb half-explained, his crypticness making Charles regard the phone in suspicion.
“… what do you mean?”
“Oh nothing. I just got a text from Franco last night asking me for Lewis’s address so he could send him a congratulatory gift. Mentioned something about vegan chocolate and roses.”
The two men froze, Lewis’s eyebrows shooting up at Franco’s audacity.
And even though Charles did look incensed last night, he thought actual smoke would come out of his ears at any second after that.
“Charlie -“
“That little shit better hope he never gets back on the grid.” He bit out, eyes narrowing into slits. “Because if he does I’ll put him in the wall every. Single. Race.”
Sebastian actually guffawed.
“How did he even get your number?” Lewis asked in an effort to take Charles’s mind off murder-inclined thoughts, though he made a mental note to send an anonymous email to Flavio and strongly suggest he had a talk with Franco before he actually got himself smacked.
“Fernando gave it to him. Apparently he did it out of “hispanic solidarity”, but if you ask me he probably wanted to drive you both insane.”
And yeah, that sounded like Fernando.
“Please leave Nando out of this baby,” Lewis pleaded, Charles’s glare softening at the term of endearment, “I’ve been at war with him before and I really don’t want to go through it again.”
While Charles didn’t look particularly convinced, he thankfully relented. “Fine. But if I hear another word from Franco it’s on sight.”
And well, he was man enough to admit that Charles’s jealous streak managed to have him all worked up and ready to go against all odds.
Lewis angled his body towards Charles so his thigh was pressing right against his dick, tearing a strangled moan right from his throat that felt like music to his ears.
“Arthur did mention you were very territorial… and while you’re very hot when you go all possessive on me, please remember I was literally inside you an hour ago.”
“Right!” Sebastian loudly interrupted, the sudden noise making them both spring apart, having completely forgotten he was still listening in. “That’s my cue to leave. I’m happy for you two absolute freaks, but remind me to send the entire Ferrari PR team fruit baskets, you’ll be a fucking nightmare to deal with.”
Lewis and Charles burst out laughing as the line went dead, completely uncaring that they had probably traumatised poor Sebastian for life.
“He’s right you know?” Charles leered, pressing himself even closer so that he was practically straddling his lap. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you now that I don’t have to.”
Lewis hummed in response, flipping them over with a quick manoeuvre so that he was once again on top of Charles, a place that had cracked his top three places to be in a single night.
Specially when Charles looked oh-so-pretty when he put himself completely at his mercy.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time baby.”
And if several rookies dropped to their knees when they saw Charles sneakily cop a feel of Lewis’s ass during the next driver’s parade, well, they had no one but themselves to blame.
He didn’t mind the jeers from the older drivers, the merciless teasing from the team, or how Silvia absolutely tore him a new one when the team had to pay a small fortune to keep a lucky photographer from releasing the footage.
After all, Charles had just won the greatest trophy around, and he was not willing to share.