Chapter Text
Lando breathed in the warm air of the Canary Islands, arm dangling from the rental car, allowing his hand to get buffeted by the wind as he sped along the countryside. He had given Jon the week off and declined the offers from his family to tag along to support him. He wasn’t in the habit of traveling alone, but for reasons he wasn’t comfortable voicing, he didn’t want any outside distractions this weekend. He just wanted to focus on the competition. On one competitor in particular.
Nearly a full year later and somehow the lighthearted exchange on stream had become a reality. Lando still could not believe he was actually back at ROC. If he was being honest, it had as much to do with Liberty Media’s overhaul of the event as it did with his own efforts. The media giant had an interest in getting as many current F1 drivers to participate as possible. Even so, he’d still not found a spot for himself as both members of the 2022 Team Great Britain had expressed interest in returning. He was on the verge of asking George or Alex if they would enter a second British team with him when David Coulthard announced out of the blue that he would rather attend as a spectator-mentor this year, his spot partnering Jamie Chadwick opening up for Lando to seize.
And seize it he did, although he still had some doubts about how competitive he could be. This year’s event would take place on a dirt course, even less in his wheelhouse than the stadium circuit he’d competed in during the 2018 ROC. But his misgivings could not prevent him from showing up at the event when there were so many reasons to go. For one, Carlos would be there.
For two, he would get to spend the whole week with Carlos.
His efforts to get the Spaniard to do ROC had been an investment in his future happiness; during the season, he had ample opportunity to see Carlos on race weekends, so he took special care to make sure he had enough off-season Carlos encounters to keep him until the start of the 2023 season.
He tried not to be annoyed when Carlos encouraged Charles to enter Team Monaco. It wasn’t that he was jealous, per se. He knew his bond with Carlos was tighter than Carlos’s with his current teammate. But a part of him that Lando recognized was a bit immature thought it unfair that Charles, who got to see Carlos all the time, would be taking up any of his time with the Spaniard this weekend.
He shook his head to clear the direction of his thoughts. He was grateful to have this weekend at all. The drivers would be staying in the same resort next to the track, meaning he would get to be with Carlos nearly round the clock. More than that, they would get to drive together. He had missed getting to witness Carlos up close in race mode. His thousand-mile stare while his brain worked as fast as his car, analyzing every minute detail of his lap. His fingers flexing on the steering wheel as he confidently flicked through the settings. His jaw working as he concentrated, full lips eternally parted-
Gah, enough. Lando ran his hand through his hair and blew out the breath he was holding as he pulled off the main road onto the drive leading to the track. He needed to focus. Irrespective of Carlos’s presence, or perhaps even because of it, he intended to prove himself at ROC this year. After all, if there was one thing he liked as much as being around Carlos, it was beating him.
--
Lando skimmed the entry list as he collected his badge and room key from hospitality.
ROC Nation Teams:
Team Australia – Will Power & Oscar Piastri
Team Belgium – Thierry Neuville & Max Verstappen
Team Brazil – Hélio Castroneves & Felipe Nasr
Team Finland – Mika Häkkinen & Emma Kimiläinen
Team France – Loïc Duval & Pierre Gasly*
Team Germany – Sebastian Vettel & Mick Schumacher
Team Great Britain – Jamie Chadwick & Lando Norris*
Team Japan – Takuma Sato & Yuki Tsunoda
Team Mexico – Patricio O’Ward & Benito Guerra Jr
Team Monaco – Charles Leclerc & Arthur Leclerc
Team Nordic – Tom Kristensen & Johan Kristoffersson
Team Norway – Petter Solberg & Oliver Solberg
Team Spain – Carlos Sainz Sr & Carlos Sainz Jr
Team Sweden – Mattias Ekström & Timmy Hansen
Team USA – Jimmie Johnson & Colton Herta
Team eROC – Jarno Opmeer & Lucas Blakely
*Gasly replacing Sébastien Loeb for the sake of sporting fairness, after he was too quick in practice
*Norris replacing David Coulthard after the latter declared he would rather watch from the bar
He smirked at the late additions that someone had written into the margins. Loeb had sustained a minor injury a few weeks prior, making him unable to defend his 2022 ROC win. The cheeky note on DC might not be far from the truth, though.
“Landoooooo! What’s up? You ready for this weekend?” Lando turned to see Pato O’Ward, the McLaren IndyCar driver, approaching with his own access badge.
“Pato! Not in the slightest. Do you know where the rooms are? I need to drop my stuff off.”
“Me too, I’ll go with you. I saw Carlos is competing, too. Old McLaren reunion, huh?”
“Ha, yeah, the good ‘ol days.” He knew the older competitors would scoff at the notion that 2020 was in any way ‘old days,’ but he did feel nostalgic remembering the first time the F1 and IndyCar drivers had met up.
“He does a bit of rallying, no?”
“Eh, only for fun. But he’s racing with his dad, so he’s got a pretty great coach.”
“Hey, mine’s no joke either.”
“Yeah, true! Mine on the other hand…”
“What are you talking about? Jamie’s insane at this stuff.”
“No, I know. I meant DC. Apparently, he’s here to mentor us or something.”
“Ah, so debriefs over beers then?”
They had exited the main building and arrived at a narrow lane running along the side of the complex. Along the walk were a bunch of small, standalone units, almost like cabins, with fire pits and other amenities scattered between them. String lights ran along the walk to the end of the path. Lando glanced down and saw the number 10 on his key, 14 on Pato’s.
On the way to their apartments, they came across Team Monaco huddled in front of the door to room 9.
“Boys!” Lando shouted, and Arthur waved while Charles groaned to the sky. “What’s the problem?”
“I cannot get the door open,” Charles grumbled, dropping to his knee, attempting again to turn the key in the door.
“Let me see.” Lando took the key and tried it in the knob, before studying it closely.
“Um, did you try room 6?”
“What? What?”
“Well, it kind of looks like a 6 to me.”
Charles clapped a hand to his forehead, looking at Lando with wide eyes. Arthur made eye contact with Pato and smothered a laugh.
“Right, well when you’re done being a dunce, come find me in room 10 and we can explore together. Have you seen Carlos yet?”
“Of course. We flew together from Maranello.” Lando nodded, swallowing down the green monster that reared its head at ‘of course.’ “He is walking down by the track with his father and a few of the other drivers.”
“Gotcha. Yeah, okay, I guess we better go check out the track, too. Once we drop our stuff off.” Lando shrugged as he stepped toward his quarters.
“Yeah, I suppose we should.” And Lando, with his back to Charles as he worked on his own lock, missed Charles waggling his eyebrows at a very confused Pato.
--
Lando, the Leclerc brothers, and Pato met with Colton Herta on the way down to the track and Pato made the introductions between the American and European drivers. They arrived trackside to find a large portion of their competitors already there, some pointing out features of the track, others just hanging out, leaning against the makeshift gates. Lando spotted Carlos immediately in one of the groups relaxing trackside. He was surrounded by drivers, some Lando didn’t know and some he recognized, including Carlos Senior, DC, Mika Häkkinen, Emma Kimiläinen, and Lando’s teammate, Jamie Chadwick.
Carlos leaned back against the fence, one foot propped up on the bars behind him and elbows resting on the rails, showing off the lean muscles of his arms. Lando sighed, enjoying the view from afar but a bit intimidated to interrupt the circle, until DC noticed him and threw his arms in the air, hollering, “thank god my replacement has arrived!”
Lando blushed and rolled his eyes, approaching as DC waved him over. Pato and the others were already heading off in the other direction where Lando could see Max, Pierre and Yuki hailing them from one corner of the track. Carlos grinned and immediately slid over along the fence, leaving a gap between himself and his father that he obviously intended for Lando to fill. Lando complied automatically, moving to stand next to Carlos who draped an arm around his shoulders in greeting, causing Lando’s face to redden further.
“He was getting worried he’d have to sober up after all,” Carlos murmured, and Lando was saved from hiding any further reaction to the sound of Carlos’s voice by the outbreak of laughter.
“I still might have to if the kid’s not up to scratch!” interjected DC, winking at Lando. “You’re not going to let Chadwick here carry the flag for Great Britain on her own, are you?”
Lando smiled through his nerves at the question, but Carlos Senior cut in: “You may be surprised, he’s had a good teacher.”
Lando’s smile relaxed and he elbowed Carlos hard in the ribs. “Yeah, blame my teacher if I’m not any good.” He had taken Carlos up on the original offer and visited the Sainz family over the 2022 season summer break on the promise that Carlos would give him track time to practice driving on dirt. Of course, much of the week had been spent on non-racing activities: family meals on the Sainz family’s large outdoor patio, visits to the coast with Carlos’s sisters to relax by the water, late nights spent playing Fifa and any other game Lando could think to introduce Carlos to and watch him master. But Lando’s favorite moments were spent on track, riding along with Carlos as he tore around his home track, sideways as much as he was forward, throwing up walls of sand and dust.
“He’s getting there,” Carlos allowed, dropping his arm to poke Lando in the side, causing Lando to yelp and pull away. “Need to loosen up the cornering a bit.”
Lando stuck his tongue out at his old teammate, his shyness dissolving at the slight to his performance.
“Like you did when you sent it into that bush?”
“Hey, cabrón, that was one time. I was showing you the limit.”
“Ah, of course, you crashed as a teachable moment, yeah?”
The assembled group laughed, and attention turned away from the boys as Mika began to tell a baffling story about a similar shunt caused by a bird that had gotten trapped in his car. As Lando leaned back against the fence, he felt Carlos’s hand still at his back, grasping the bar there. Carlos poked him again, once, and smiled at the younger driver. Lando leaned back in retaliation, and remained there with Carlos’s hand at his back as he too turned his attention to the Finn.
--
“Woah woah woah!” Lando held the overhead strap with one hand, other hand braced on the frame of the Polaris as Carlos rounded the final turn of the Gran Canaria track, launching it over the bumps on the final straight as he careened across the finish. Lando checked the message that appeared on the dash. “59.0, damn son!” He whooped, and he heard Carlos’s answering cackle on the other side of the mesh separating them.
“How about that, eh?” Carlos was buzzing; it was the quickest time he’d managed in the session so far, and one of the quickest of the day, up with the full-time rally drivers who had completed their practice sessions the day prior. Friday was reserved for the so-called circuit drivers to have a chance to practice on the track as close to the actual race day as possible. The drivers each had a chance to drive at least two of the cars that would be run during the races. Each required a co-driver to offset the weight and balance of the car; on the day of the race, family, friends, or other drivers not in their own heat would take turns sitting passenger for the competitors, but for the practice day, nearly all of the passengers were other drivers attempting to get as much track time as possible. Naturally, Carlos found a very willing co-driver in Lando. “Damn, I wanted to break 59, but that is close.”
“Yeah, it was your turn 3, bit too wide.”
“Yeah, 3 and 7, I didn’t get proper turn-in there.”
“Amateur stuff, Sainz.”
Instantly, Carlos’s arm was across the divider to where Lando was confined to his seat, his gloved hand pinching Lando’s stomach. Lando grabbed his hand to stop him, and at that moment Carlos broke hard, holding him in place as he yanked the wheel to the left to do a few donuts. Lando laughed, only realizing he was still holding Carlos’s hand when he came to a stop.
Lando reluctantly released him, wiping his sweaty palms on the legs of his race suit. He was shaking with adrenaline as always happened when he rode passenger on a hot lap. Like any self-respecting racer, he preferred to be in control of the car than the helpless passenger, but riding along with Carlos when he was driving freely like that, whooping when he hit the brakes just on the limit…well, sometimes it felt kind of nice to be out of control.
They pulled back into the garage, and mechanics stepped forward to help them out of their straps.
“Alright my turn.” Lando rounded the car and stepped eagerly toward the driver’s side. “Prepare to be blown away.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Carlos was running his hands through his hair to smooth it out of the way for his helmet, and Lando found himself running his tongue over his lips as he watched. Before he could internally scold himself, Carlos Senior called his son’s name. They both turned as the older man approached, clapping Lando on the shoulder fondly as he turned to his son.
“They want us for our interviews ahead of the Nations Cup tomorrow.”
“Aye, right now? I was just going to co-drive with Lando.”
“Yes, right now.” Carlos groaned and Carlos Senior lifted an eyebrow at him before turning his imperious stare at Lando. Lando blushed, and tried his best to hide his disappointment from the older man’s gaze. “Considering you’ve been driving together all morning, surely I can steal my son for the afternoon?”
“Of- of course, yeah.” Lando recovered himself. “Go on, Carlos, enough fraternizing with the enemy. He’s already showed me too much, I reckon I’ll be quicker than both of you tomorrow.”
Carlos Senior’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “Is that so?” he challenged, and Lando’s bravado, however facetious, faded away.
“I mean, no, of course not, but I’m hoping we can at least make it out of the first round. And that’s more to Jamie than me.”
“You can definitely do it, mate, you’ve learned from the best, eh?” Carlos elbowed him, and Lando relaxed a bit, rolling his eyes.
“I look forward to watching it.” Sainz Senior smiled at the exchange. “It should be a very good head-to-head.”
“Wait,” both younger drivers spun to look at Carlos Senior, “Have they posted the draw?”
“Sí, yes. Great Britain is facing Belgium in the first round.”
“Max,” Lando breathed, processing that information.
“And Thierry, who I think will be the bigger challenge. But Chadwick’s been looking quick. Should be a good battle.”
“Who are we against, Papá?”
Carlos Senior schooled his face into a mask of perfect neutrality. “Team Monaco.”
“What? What?” Charles had just approached the group, and Carlos burst out laughing, tossing an arm around his confounded teammate.
“It’s you against me in the first round tomorrow.” Carlos could barely contain his glee. Carlos Senior quirked his lip but gave his son a look that sobered him up a bit.
“Pride before the fall, Carlos. Arthur was looking like a bit of a natural earlier.”
“How is this fair?” Charles continued, still under Carlos’s arm as he stared at the older Spaniard.
Carlos Senior shrugged. “If you expect to win, you would have to race us eventually, or race someone who beat us. What difference is it?”
Charles looked chagrined at this, but the irritation had not completely left his face. Carlos squeezed him once in consolation, and Lando crossed his arms impatiently.
“Mate, if you want extra track time, you can ride with Lando on his practice runs now. I have to go interview.” He shoved Charles in Lando’s direction and winked at them both before following his father off in the direction of the media pen. Charles and Lando both watched on with grumpy expressions on their faces. Finally, Lando, turned to Charles.
“Well, do you want to come along? I was kind of hoping for someone who could give me pointers but at least you can’t laugh when I put it in the sand bank.”
Charles smiled slyly at that. “Sure I can!” He responded cheerfully, grabbing his helmet and slipping it over his head as he rounded the car to his side. “But I have other things to laugh at you for first.”
“What’s the supposed to mean?” Lando slid into the driver’s side and began to fasten himself in, one of the mechanics checking his straps. He took the radio offered to him and fastened it to his helmet, checking it was on. “Radio check.”
“Check check. What I mean, Lando, is I’ve never seen you that out of breath after a Formula 1 race. Or that red in the face. Something to share?” Lando could hear his smirk through the radio, and quickly glanced over to see if anyone had overheard, but Charles’s door was already closed, and the message was transmitted only to his headset.
The mechanic motioned that they were clear, and Lando hit the gas harder than was necessary, screeching the tires as he pealed out of the garage toward the track.
“I don’t like being a co-driver.” He answered finally, turning roughly onto the dirt ramp that led onto the track.
“Sure, yes. And the licking your lips while you checked out my teammate was because you were frightened, yes?”
Lando braked hard, earning a grunt from his passenger as he was thrown into his security belts. Charles rubbed his chest, mumbling a quiet ‘mate’ into the radio, before he pulled the mesh back to smile mischievously at Lando.
For his part, Lando couldn’t muster an even half-neutral expression. He just stared at Charles, mouth slightly open. “I- I wasn’t. Checking him out.”
“Mate.” And the look Charles gave him was unimpressed. “If this was the first time, I might believe you. But it’s not. I am very observant, you see.”
Lando had recovered himself enough to start his sighter lap, but he was too preoccupied turning over Charles’s words to pick his braking points.
“You? Observant?” He countered, grasping wildly for a cover-up. “You spilled half a cup of coffee on Will Power only this morning because you were checking your hair in your phone’s camera.”
“That was intentional sabotage,” Charles replied, evenly. “Don’t change the subject. I have been watching you, and it’s obvious something happened over the summer break. Ever since then, I have seen you staring at Carlos from across the paddock. Don’t worry,” he cut in, reaching over to flick Lando’s knee, and Lando swatted at his hand in reply, “you have not been too obvious. I am just very smart.”
Lando huffed once, considering. Then again. Then he was laughing quietly.
“What is funny?”
“You think I’ve been secretly pining for Carlos since July?”
“Mate, don’t try to pretend. I know-“
“Four years.”
“What?”
The rumbling of the engine and grating of the tires over the rough track surface sounded from outside the car, but inside was silent.
“Um, four years. That’s how long I’ve been, you know...” Lando gestured vaguely with one hand as he turned the wheel with the other. There was no response, so he went on: “I’m not really sure why I’m telling you, but I guess you already know, so at least I can prove I actually did a pretty good job hiding it.”
Lando continued to lap the circuit well below race pace, waiting out the uncomfortable silence. He was surprised to find some relief in his admission, even if it was to Charles Leclerc. Stating his feelings out loud somehow made them feel more valid, more precious.
“Four years!” Charles exclaimed, pulling back the mesh again, and Lando glanced his way, shrugging once before turning his attention back to the track.
“Yeah, pretty much since we became teammates.”
“Oh.” Charles sat in silence for a beat, and Lando felt it was about time he started a proper lap, if for no other reason than to think about something other than this conversation, when Charles spoke up again. “So, are you going to tell him?”
“No!” Lando broke later than he meant, and had to come to a complete stop to prevent putting the car into the wall. “I mean, I can’t Charles. He’s my best friend. If he knew…no, I can’t make things weird between us. And there’s no way he feels the same…you know?”
“I don’t know.” Charles considered. “I mean, I know he likes you better than he likes me because he tells me this all the time.” Lando couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. “But he is very affectionate with a lot of people, you know. That’s why it’s difficult to say. You are only like that with him.”
“Fantastic.” Lando seriously couldn’t believe he’d been transparent enough for Charles to catch him. That had to mean that others in the paddock had a similar suspicion. He shuddered to think how this conversation would go with George. Or Alex. Or, and he actually shuddered at the thought, Daniel.
“So, you don’t want me to try to find out if he feels the same?”
“Charles. If you breathe a word of this to him, I will actually run you into the wall. I’m serious.”
“No no no, I mean subtly, you know?”
Lando closed his eyes for a moment. “I would rather you didn’t.”
“Hmm. Because you don’t trust me, or because you don’t want to know?”
“Uh, both, I think.” Lando was no longer feeling relieved about his confession. “I mean, no offense, but you really aren’t very good at subtlety. And honestly,” well, apparently he couldn’t stop confessing, “I think if I knew for certain he didn’t feel the same, that would hurt. Too much. Not that I think he does, but I don’t know, I’ve gotten used to just, you know, wondering if maybe…” He trailed off, and there was silence in the car. He was back to a slow crawl around the circuit, and really, he was going to need to start a lap or they were going to be kicked out for the next driver.
“Mate.” Lando braced for more teasing, more pestering, more attempts to ‘help’ from the Monegasque, but instead, Charles reached across and patted his knee. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Lando rounded the final corner, and finally floored it.
--
Dinner was held in a large mess hall located near the track. Lando and Charles had been among the last to finish up their interviews and change out of their race clothes, entering an already packed room. The older, more experienced drivers had been given priority on practice slots, and it was clear they had spent the intervening hours getting a head start on their bar tabs. DC had his head thrown back, red in the face from laughter as Mika gesticulated wildly, nearly making contact with Petter Solberg’s face next to him, showing more animation than Lando had yet seen on the Finn. Vettel listened politely, exchanging the occasional look with Mick who sat beside him, both clearly suppressing laughter. Hélio Castroneves snuck up behind Benito Guerra and clapped his hands down on his shoulders so violently that it caused the Mexican driver to slosh half his beer on the table, Jimmie Johnson quickly jumping up to avoid the spill.
Most of the seating was made up of two long tables running parallel to each other that spanned the length of the room, with a handful of smaller round tables to one side. A quick scan of the room, and Lando spotted Carlos sitting with his father and a number of other drivers at the furthest long table. Not spotting an opening near him, he sighed and followed Charles to the other long table where Arthur was already sitting with Colton and Pato. The younger Leclerc had become fast friends with the IndyCar stars, and the group slid aside to allow Lando and Charles to drop onto either side of the bench.
Lando chose the side facing the other long table and found he had a decent view of Carlos passed Charles’s head. Hospitality came by to collect their orders and they shared stories from practice while they waited for their food.
As Lando was listening to Colton, he glanced over at the other table and caught Carlos’s eye, watching him. A small smile slipped onto Carlos’s face, and he waggled his eyebrows at his old teammate in greeting. Lando covered his grin and after glancing to make sure Charles wasn’t paying attention, he waggled his in reply.
Carlos rubbed his hand over his face before flashing a subtle middle finger along the length of his nose, turning his focus intently on those talking around him. Lando laughed with the group at something Pato said, scratching the top of his head before allowing his hand to slip down the side of his face, returning the finger. It wasn’t the smoothest, but he refused to back down from a challenge.
Neither did Carlos, and even from a table away he could see the gears turning behind the Spaniard’s eyes as he contemplated Lando openly. Finally, with a comment to Benito to direct the conversation away, he picked up the spoon perched in his parfait and, making direct eye contact with Lando, proceeded to lick slowly up the length of the spoon, tongue flicking off the tip without looking away.
Lando must have been staring with his mouth open because Charles reached across the table and snapped in front of his face. “Earth to Lando, what are you looking at-“
But as Charles turned, Lando kicked him under the table while apologizing quickly: “Just spacing out.”
Charles rubbed his ankle and glared at Lando, before turning again to see Carlos hiding his laughter as he watched their scuffle. Charles rolled his eyes and gave Carlos a little wave before turning back to Lando.
“Don’t.”
--
Dinner finished, but the drinks continued to flow. Slowly, the company of drivers and their families and friends moved from the mess hall toward the temporary residences, drawn outside by the warmth of the evening. Someone had gone around and lit the various fire pits spread between the apartments, and the string lights illuminated the path, together providing a dome of light in the fast-fading surroundings.
Most of the older drivers had already taken up chairs and benches around the fires, but not everyone was ready to settle in for the night. Luckily, the American team had brought along several sets of Cornhole, and were now setting them up a few meters from the fire pits. The younger drivers among the group jumped at another chance to compete with each other; at one board, Max and Oscar were getting ready to square off against Pato and Colton, while a showdown was already well underway between Emma and Jamie against Yuki and Oliver opposite them.
Lando quickly claimed Carlos as a partner before Charles could sweep in on his teammate, dragging him to one of the open boards. Carlos laughed and slipped his arm out of Lando’s, much to the younger’s chagrin, before explaining, “teammates stand on opposite ends, cabrón.”
“Oh,” was Lando’s response, and watched with some regret as Carlos made his way to the other board. Seeing Lando had claimed Carlos, Charles and Pierre paired up and the former made his way to Lando’s board, an all-too-familiar smirk on his face.
“Sorry it’s just me,” he practically sung as he socked Lando’s arm, and Lando gently shoved him back. “You should have picked me as a teammate, then we could have actually beat Carlos at something this weekend.”
“What are you talking about? I’m definitely planning on beating him on track.”
“Sure, mate, sure. You’ve just been sandbagging today, yeah?” He shook one of the bags he was holding, pleased with his little joke.
Lando picked up one of the red bags lying on the board and chucked it at Charles. Before Charles could retaliate, the both of them were pelted with a barrage of blue bags from their teammates opposite.
“You start!” Shouted Pierre. “First to 21. Charles, we’re red.”
“Good.” Charles picked up the first bag, did a couple practice swings as he lined up his shot, and then released. The bag sailed toward the far board, hitting the surface and shooting straight off the back. Charles dropped his arms as Lando snickered. His teasing was short-lived; his first shot flew in a high arch and landed squarely in the grass, short of even touching the board.
“Excellent start by us, mate.” Lando mumbled as Carlos and Pierre jeered at them from the other end. Charles threw his second bag higher like Lando’s, but still with too much force, and the bag slid limply to the end of the board and fell off the edge.
Charles swore. “This is harder than it looks.”
Lando copied the same arch he used in his first shot, and this time, the bag just caught the bottom corner of the board and stayed there. Carlos whooped from the other end, and Lando’s stomach did a somersault.
“Woo! That’s one point for us.” Carlos was prodding Pierre in the side and Pierre slapped his hand away, shouting for Charles to hurry up and knock it off.
Lando turned to watch Charles throw and saw the Monegasque giving him that same devious look. He stuck his tongue out and Charles just laughed, before launching his next shot so wide it missed the board completely and was caught by Carlos, who tossed it up in the air with joy.
In the last toss of the first round, Charles managed to land one on the board, cancelling out Lando’s and putting them back at 0-0.
It was Carlos and Pierre’s turns next, and it quickly became clear where the talent was on each team. Both Pierre and Carlos’s first shots landed on the board, and Pierre got one in the hole on his second, earning a whoop from Charles and an ‘aye, Gasly, what the hell’ from Carlos. Carlos managed to land two more on the board and Pierre one more by the end of the round, putting Pierre and Charles ahead at 2-0.
And so it continued, their competitive sides ramping up as the game progressed, and gathering a small audience from those sitting by the fire. The teams were well-matched, Carlos and Pierre landing the majority of the shots and canceling each other out, Charles and Lando managing to pick up the odd point here and there.
At 20-19, Charles’s team was ahead by one point and it was Lando and Charles’s turn to throw. Carlos had taken to standing behind the board and waving his arms, calling out to his Ferrari teammate in an effort to distract him. As the last team to score, Charles went first and landed his shot on the board. Carlos and Lando both swore loudly.
“C’mon Lando!” hollered Carlos from the other end as he knelt behind the board. “You have to cancel him out or they win.”
“I know! Get away from the board, you’re distracting me!” He shouted back, and Carlos quickly scrambled to the side, still kneeling close to the board to watch. Lando’s first shot hit the back of the board and nearly hung on before falling off. Carlos clapped his hands over his face and Lando clenched his fist. He wasn’t even thinking about Carlos now, his every thought was focused on the game at hand.
Charles’s second toss sailed wide, and as Lando launched his response, he knew it was good. It dropped into the hole, barely even brushing the edges of the board, and Carlos leapt to his feet, punching the air and nearly tackling Pierre.
Lando beamed at him and turned to Charles, who had his hand clapped to his forehead. “That’s 21-20, mate. Feeling the pressure?”
Charles shot him a look and wound up for his next shot, once again sailing off the back of the board. Lando’s followed, leaving them with one bag each. Charles took his time, lining up his shot. Carlos was running his mouth at the other end, and Pierre jumped on his back and clamped a hand around his mouth to quiet him. Lando let his attention divert for a moment, wishing it was him hanging on the Spaniard.
Then Charles’s shot was released, and they all watched it arch through the air and land just on the bottom corner of the board…
…before sliding off onto the ground. Carlos and Lando both whooped in triumph, and Lando tossed his last bag intentionally short so as not to disturb their points on the board.
“Good game, mate.” He shook hands with Charles who rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. Lando turned back to their teammates just in time to grab Carlos as he swept him up and spun him around, dropping him back to the ground, flushed and smiling.
“What a shot. Lando Norris finishes it off with a beauty.” Carlos mussed his hair before turning to Charles and nearly tackling him. Lando laughed, still a little breathless, as Charles fought off his teammate and grumpily shook his hand.
--
Lando’s overwhelming feeling was warmth. It could have something to do with the blazing fire at the center of the loose circle of drivers and company he had joined at last. It definitely had something to do with Carlos squashed up against his side on the narrow bench. The younger drivers had finally decided they'd had enough competition for the day, and when they moved to join the others by the fire, his old teammate had automatically dropped into the spot next to him. Charles sat on Carlos’s other side, talking animatedly to Mick on his right. Lando was perched on the very edge of the bench, but when he’d complained that he might fall off, Carlos had told him nonsense and let his arm drape around his back to keep him there and really, what was Lando to say after that?
Hélio had offered them beers when they joined the group; Carlos accepted, but Lando declined, gratefully receiving the thermos of hot chocolate Jamie passed his way instead. Though the fire was warm on his feet, the Spanish evening had chilled considerably and the liquid warmed him from within. Carlos Senior seemed to recognize this, and on his way to turn in for the night, offered Carlos and Lando his blanket. Now, sipping his drink, tucked into Carlos’s side, Carlos’s arm around his shoulders and the blanket across their legs, gazing across the fire at their company, Lando couldn’t remember ever feeling so at peace.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Do you want to go to your room?” Carlos murmured beside him, and Lando turned to look at him, before turning back forward. Carlos’s face was far too close for Lando to maintain his cool while looking at him directly, so he focused on the licking flames, letting their heat explain the color suffusing his cheeks.
“Mm, just comfortable. Why, you trying to get rid of me so you can have the blanket to yourself?”
“No,” asserted Carlos, and Lando almost imitated the ‘no’ like he had on so many other occasions, but in that moment, he just wasn’t feeling particularly combative. “I will be cold if you go. I just wanted to make sure I am not keeping you here.” He flexed the arm around Lando as a reminder—as if Lando could forget.
“Trust me,” and Lando squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment as he heard his voice crack. He cleared his throat. “Trust me, I can get away if I want to.”
“Is that so,” but Carlos’s voice was not combative either. It sounded almost melodic, soothing, and Lando felt his eyes blinking more slowly as he continued to stare at the fire. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Hm? Why is that,” Lando yawned and leaned in a little closer to Carlos, trying to do so without making it too obvious. Carlos’s arm tightened around Lando in response.
“Because,” Carlos continued in his soft murmur, and now Lando was really fighting to keep his eyes open. “Because, that means you want to stay here.”
Lando should have reacted to Carlos’s words, they should have stirred something in him, connected some dots, caused him to start and ask questions. But Lando was too far gone, and he felt rather than heard Carlos’s response as he allowed the muscles in his neck to relax and his eyes to drift the rest of the way closed. All that remained to his conscious mind was the wavering warmth of the fire on his face, the low drone of voices around the circle, and the enveloping presence of Carlos beside him. And really, what could be more blissful?