Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Breathe in.

David’s chest expands as he draws as much air as possible into his lungs. 

Hold.

His heart thuds dully in his ears as he tunes his body. 

Breathe out.

A warm, liquid calm spreads through his body. It seeps over his shoulders, down his arms as he exhales.

Everybody knows not to knock on the door with the red ‘88’ on it if a session of any kind is about to start. Regardless of team, everyone knows not to knock. And it’s not that the driver in car eighty eight is a primadonna, not at all. He’s the furthest thing from it. 

Race car drivers are particular about the way they do things. Always have been, always will be. David Pastrnak, car 88, for example, needs his pre-session meditation. All he ever asks of his team is that they leave him alone for five minutes before going out to the track. 

They respect it. They leave him alone, leave him to center himself. He’s their best bet to win since Schumacher. Of course they leave him alone for the five minutes he requests. If what he asks of them gets them another win with a margin of 9.287 seconds like in Silverstone they’d all walk on their hands if he wanted them to. 

David opens his eyes as the track playing in his headphones ends. He pulls them out of his ears, still feeling a little floaty. Exactly where he wants to be. 

His bright red helmet, the one with the instantly recognizable Ferrari stallion on the side, stares back at him, visor flicked down, from where it’s sitting on the table. He smiles at it, remembering when that stallion helped him scream back all the way from P14 to P1 to beat Max in the Red Bull in his own race. The hope today was it would bring him that same luck it had brought him in Zandvoort.

He gingerly runs his fingers over the shiny plastic, tracing the stallion. That liquid calm spreads down his back and into his thighs. He sucks another deep breath into his lungs before making his way out to the garage. 

His bay is bustling with activity as his mechanics clear a path for him. Linus, his race engineer, waits for him next to the scarlet red car with a clipboard in his hands. 

“Oversteer is gonna bite you in the ass,” he says right off the bat. David, still covered in that liquid calm, isn’t bothered. He just peers over Linus’ shoulder and nods along as he’s presented the data. Linus repeats the data sets gone over during the brief before the race. Data that David has had stored in the back of his mind for the past several hours. 

“I’ve got it, Ully,” David cuts him off as he starts running down the laundry list of things that are likely to go wrong. “Trust me on this one.” 

“Chanel Zandvoort, yeah?” Linus raises an eyebrow as he adjusts his headphones. David smiles and squeezes his shoulder before accepting his gloves and balaclava from one of his mechanics. He looks up at Linus, winking at his engineer before tossing him a wink. 

“I’ve got it,” he repeats himself. Linus narrows his eyes at him before retreating to the pit wall. David watches him disappear into the throng of red Ferrari polos. 

Everything goes quiet as he pulls his helmet over his head. The black foam padding hugs his face, pressing that liquid calm a little further down his body. 

He knows Pavel, his teammate in the garage bay next to him, is mirroring his actions. Fixing his helmet and gloves, making sure the radio wires are sitting right. 

David sucks in another breath, inhaling the warm Abu Dhabi night air deep into his lungs. He watches as his team brings the cars out to the grid. The garage feels weird empty. He doesn’t like it. 

The din of the grid is much more welcoming. David finds Charlie in his Aston Martin green suit a few places behind him. He’s already going over final checks with his engineer. In the back of his mind he looks forward to the highlights of their banter after the race is over. 

But. 

He has a race to focus on right now. And the other Aston Martin that was lined up just ahead of him. He narrowed his eyes at it from behind his visor. His mechanic pulls him towards the car and away from the Aston. David feels that liquid calm spread over his body again. 

It had been a long season. A long fight. He and the Aston Martin lining up in front of him had been battling throughout the last twenty two races. And it all led up to this. Abu Dhabi, the last race of the season. The World Championship would not be decided until the end of the race. Whoever went across the line under the checkered flag first would take home the championship. 

And David was yearning for it more than he had ever yearned for anything. 

Linus steps up beside him, still with his clipboard. They don't exchange words. David just shakes his hand and steps up onto the foot ladder. One of his mechanics leans down and fastens his seat belts. David fixes his eyes to the night sky, the lights from the stands make the edges of his vision fuzzy. He can feel the energy start to rise. It buzzes in his chest and extends into his fingers. He makes his hands into fists and waits as another mechanic snaps his steering wheel into place. 

“Radio check, David,” Linus’ voice crackles into his ear. 

“Loud and clear,” he responds, watching as the dash on his steering wheel flickers to life. 

“Have a good race,” another voice chimes in. It makes him smile. 

“Thanks, Krej,” he responds, keeping it simple. The voice of Ferrari’s team principal grounds him, brings him right back where he needs to be.  

The grid clears, pit crews scattering to the sides of the track. David keeps his eyes glued on the light board hanging above them. He eases on the gas as the five lights flick green, starting the formation lap. The Aston Martin is right in front of him. He locks onto the blinking red lights on the back of the car. They’re almost taunting him, reminding him that he isn’t starting from pole. 

He blinks, pushing the thoughts out of his brain. He settles back down into his seat with another deep breath and tightens his grip on the wheel. Turn seven creeps up on him. He speeds up a little bit, approaching sector three. 

It’s an attempt at intimidating the car in front of him and nothing more. And, judging from the way the green Aston doesn’t so much as flinch, it hasn’t worked. He backs off as they round turn twelve. He can see Danny’s blue Red Bull just behind him in his mirrors. 

He’s friends with Danny. And he’s friends with Charlie in the other Aston Martin behind. And with Pavel, his teammate, in the second scarlet red Ferrari behind him. But that’s off the track. On the track there are no friends. There are no friendly feelings between friends or teammates. There is just you, your car, and the gap in front. And, according to the words from the great Ayrton Senna that every driver has carved on their ribs, if you no longer go for a gap that exists you are no longer a racing driver.  

The electricity in the air heightens even more as David slots into P2. He spares a glance to the rear right tyre of Lindholm’s Aston Martin in front of him. He narrows his eyes at it, still harboring feelings from Belgium way back in July. 

David closes his eyes and squeezes the steering wheel before opening them again. He fixes his gaze on the light board hanging above the track. The world seems to stand as the first red light turns on. 

Then the second. 

The third. 

The fourth. 

The fifth. 

The scream of the engines of twenty cars snaps everything back. He slams his foot down on the accelerator. Danny’s lunging up, going for the gap that opened between his Ferrari and the Aston Martin just inches ahead of him. They swing over to close it at the same time. 

That same rear right tyre catches David’s front wing. He feels the car shimmy under his grip and, for a split second, he’s convinced he can get it back under control. But then Danny goes for the gap that’s opened up and David is shoved right off the track and right into the wall. He pulls his hands off the wheel and braces for the impact. 

It rattles him enough to not notice that Norris and his papaya McLaren have followed him off the track and into the barrier. His ears are ringing, sounding like church bells blaring in his head. He’s barely able to hear his team asking if he’s okay. 

“I’m fine,” he snaps, popping the steering wheel out of its place and undoing his seat belts. “Lindholm fucking turned in on me again.” 

“We’ll talk about it when you get back,” Linus tells him. David knows he’s trying to keep him calm. This was the exact same voice he used back in Belgium. It made David feel like he was a little kid getting talked down from a tantrum. 

“I’m gonna fucking kick his ass.” 

“David,” Krej’s voice grounds him immediately. “We will talk about it when you get back.” 

David sighs and looks away from the smoking wreckage of his Ferrari. He looks away from Lando having the same dilemma he’s having. He only spares a second to wonder how he ended up in the wall from P6. Unless he tried to lung up the outside like a maniac. 

In the distance he can hear the screams from the cars left in the race. They’ve probably sent the safety car out while the stewards dash over to start clearing wreckage. David looses a string of Czech swears under his breath as he retreats towards the pit lane. 

At least it isn’t a far walk. He doesn’t have that much time to fume over Lindholm turning in on him again. He’ll do that after he gets done with the media circus. 

And maybe after he puts a hole in the wall of his driver’s room. 

This was the second time this season Lindholm had taken him out of the race in that fashion. David knew the race commentary would call it a racing incident, the FIA might even call it a racing incident too. There would likely be no penalties handed down. But that didn’t stop a bee from settling firmly under his bonnet. 

And it was going to stay there. David had never let go of things easily. And he wasn’t about to start now. 

3 Months Later: Bahrain  

Laughter echoes through the Ferrari garage. It’s late in Sakhir, the sun long since having set. But the bright red cooler has only just been opened. David groans, sore from his workout with Pavel that morning as he reaches for another sparkling water. He’s only mildly disappointed that it isn’t filled with alcohol but, upon thinking about it further, he’s really not in the mood to drive hungover tomorrow. 

And judging from the way half of the mechanics are currently trying to leap frog each other, that would be exactly where the evening was headed if they had beers in that cooler instead of San Pellegrino. 

He’s pretty sure they’re the only ones left in the paddock. Most of the teams have since gone back to their hotels to rest up for the race tomorrow. But not Ferrari. Krej always referred to the first late night spent in the paddock as the best way to bond as a team. He would never make anyone stay late, of course. But he wouldn’t have to. Everyone stayed behind of their own volition. 

And if the level of noise they were making was any indicator, it was having the exact effect Krej wanted it to. David leans back in his chair and watches as Linus holds one end of a pole for an impromptu limbo contest. It’s the first time he’s seen his engineer smile since his last race win. 

Beside him Pavel barks a laugh at something James, his own engineer, has said. David relaxes even more into the comforting din of his team. He feels safe here, like nothing can touch him. It’s just him. Him and Ferrari. The shouted, slightly heat delirious, Italian is more than welcome. And he wishes he could spend every night listening to it.   

“There is way too much happiness coming from here,” the voice coming from the opening to his garage bay breaks his bubble. He looks over his shoulder, only to break into a grin as he sees Charlie walk in with Danny in tow. 

“Chuckles!” he exclaims, jumping to his feet. He walks over and greets them both. “Where’s your idiot teammate?” 

“Pasta,” Charlie warns, playfully narrowing his eyes at him. David holds his hands up in mock surrender before nudging the cooler towards them as a peace offering. “You’re gonna have to play nice with him eventually, you know.” 

“Yeah right,” Danny scoffs as he picks up his own bottle of San Pellegrino. “The day those two get along is the day cats and dogs all live peacefully together. Never gonna happen.” 

“What happened to you, Mr. Positive All The Time?” Charlie asks, digging his elbow into his ribs.

“The day he stops trying to end my career is the day we can play nicely, how about that?” David asks, slinging his arm over Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie just rolls his eyes and leans against the back of Pavel’s chair. 

“Hey, man,” Pavel grins, gently swatting at his arm as he looks up. “Come over to spy on us?” 

“Nah,” Danny shakes his head as he takes the seat David had vacated. “Unless you have anything you wanna share?” 

“Nah,” Pavel and David echo him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see one of the members of the media department reach for his camera. He leans down and wraps his arm around Danny’s neck in a faux chokehold. Charlie gets the hint and grips Pavel’s shoulders tightly. Another round of laughs echo through the garage as the team takes notice of the ridiculous pose the four drivers have gotten themselves into. 

Danny makes a big show of tapping out and sucking in a huge breath as though David were actually choking him. It earns him a light smack on the back of the head. 

“Nothing but camaraderie, eh?” Krej asks, a smile on his face as he walks over to them. “Try not to kill each other before the race tomorrow.” 

“What about after the race?” Charlie chimes in, still messing with Pavel’s head. 

“Oh then everyone’s fair game,” Krej deadpans. David rolls his eyes while the rest of his fellow drivers laugh. Krej’s face hardens a little bit as he says, “But seriously. Get some rest, gentlemen. All of you.” 

Charlie and Danny nod, each shaking Krej’s hand before taking their leave of the Ferrari garage. David watches them go, almost forlorn that this is the last time before the race that they’ll be this relaxed around each other. He and Pavel toss their empty bottles before moving to leave the garage. 

“Pasta, hey,” Krej’s voice stops him in his tracks. He nods for Pavel to head to the car before turning back to his team principal. “It’s in the past, okay? It’s time for you to let it go.” 

“Yes, sir,” David nods. Krej smiles and squeezes his shoulder before letting him go catch up with his teammate. 

The Bahrain hotel is quiet when Pavel and David get back. It had been hours after the rest of the teams sharing this hotel returned. They shared a smile and a fist bump before letting themselves into their respective rooms. 

David only bothers to kick off his shoes and pants and brush his teeth before falling face first onto the mattress. He fell into a dreamless, albeit restful, sleep. He always slept like this before races. And he always woke up refreshed. 

The Bahrain morning sun streams through the crack in the blinds and casts a bright line across his cheek. He stretches his whole body, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them. He rolls over onto his back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyelashes. The clock on the bedside table blinks eight o’clock in red numbers. 

Finally, after three long ass months, it’s race day. 

********

The paddock is much louder this morning when David walks through the scan in point than it was last night. The noise makes him smile. He slides his sunglasses onto his face and stops on his way to the Ferrari motorhome to take some pictures with fans. 

There’s a little girl hiding behind her dad’s legs as he gets a little further in. David turns to his physio, motioning for a pen. Luca fishes a Sharpie out of his breast pocket and passes it over. He takes his hat off his head, scrawls his signature on the inside of the bill, and crouches down. 

“You gonna cheer loud for us?” he asks as he finishes writing a little message. The little girl nods and steps out from behind her dad just a little bit. David smiles before asking, “What’s your name, Beruška?” 

“Nadia,” she answers in a small voice. David smiles and scribbles a ‘for Nadia’ above his little message. 

“Have a fun time, Nadia,” he says as he places the hat on her head. He tugs the bill down a little bit, smiling as she pushes it back up to look at him. “I’ll be listening for you.” 

“This is the only time I’ll be okay with you running late,” Luca comments as they walk further into the paddock to the bright red motorhome. David scoffs and hands him back the Sharpie. 

Pavel is waiting for him, leaning against the wall just outside the briefing room and scrolling through his phone. David smacks the brim of his red Ferrari cap down, getting his attention. Pavel smiles and slides his phone back into his pocket. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, offering his knuckles. David knocks their fists together and nods. The team is just starting to settle into their seats for the brief before the race. David settles his headphones before sliding into his seat. 

He sits still through the briefing, only moving to fiddle with his fingertips. He offers his input when asked, but mostly listens to Krej and the mechanics and the engineers. The meeting ends almost as quickly as it starts, the sun goes down, and it’s almost time to race. 

David’s scarlet red race suit is hanging against the wall. He smiles, running his fingers across the embroidered Czech flag and his last name. For a split second he allows himself to marvel at the fact that he, a kid from a forever Soviet town in the Czech Republic, is racing for Ferrari. Ferrari. Racing royalty. He might just be the next driver in a long line but he’s the best bet this team has had at a championship since Schumacher. He was their best bet last year, he’s their best bet this year, and he’ll be their best bet next year. 

The race suit goes on smoothly over his red fireproofs. He zips it almost all the way up, just leaving the neck undone as he reaches for his phone and his earbuds. It’s those glorious five minutes before he goes out there. Those glorious five minutes he gets to himself. The quiet centers his mind. It brings him right where he needs to be. 

That warm liquid calm seeps over his body beneath his race suit and fireproofs. It’s cool and consuming. He feels floaty again as he opens his eyes. He grabs his helmet, a new design this time. The signature stallion is still there but’s black this time. A black stallion against a black background. The only pop of color is the red of his number on the other side. 

He’d read the stories about his new helmet design. Everyone had nailed the reasoning for its almost all black design. He was out for revenge this season. 2024 had been labeled as his revenge tour. And everyone knew who was at the center of it. 

The green Aston Martin with the number one on it. The one that was supposed to belong to him. It was his mission to get that number one for himself. And if that got him labeled Il cavallo oscuro by the Tifosi then so be it. 

The dark horse.

It wouldn’t be long before Ferrari really leaned into it and gave him an all black suit to race in. Maybe in Monza. That one would be… his career defining race. 

But he needed to focus on Bahrain. He needed to focus on the track in front of him. 

Ully fell into step beside him, chattering at him as he pulled his balaclava and helmet over his head. For once it wasn’t all negatives. The new car, the SF-24, was a beast. All sleek lines, a perfect tailored balance between his driving style and Pavel’s. And they both had it mastered. It was a Ferrari front row lockout to start the race, the first real demonstration of just how dominant they were aiming to be. 

“We should have solved the porpoising issue,” Ully says, still keeping his eyes glued to his clipboard. David looked over his shoulder at the printed data as he let one of the team members thread the comm wire through his suit. 

“Ully,” he interrupts, lowering his clipboard as his engineer starts in on another issue. “I’ve got it, yeah? Trust me?” 

“I trust you,” Linus nods. He tucks his clipboard under his arm and grasps David’s hand. “Make us proud, cavallo.”

David’s lips pull into a smirk from under his helmet as he winks at his engineer. That liquid calm sinks a little deeper into his skin as he climbs into his car and lets his mechanics strap him in. They clear the grid and the green lights flick on. He leads the formation lap away from the grid.

He knows Pavel is right behind him. He knows they have team orders to preserve the one-two. And he knows Pavel, he knows that he won’t hesitate to request to be let through if he feels like he has better pace. David would do- has done the same thing. 

He also knows that Lindholm, stuck in P3 behind him, will do anything to get where he is right now. It’ll be elbows out through the entirety of the race between these two. And Pavel is trapped in the middle. 

Really, their only hope is that Leclerc in his black Mercedes or Danny in his Red Bull can get a better jump off the straight than him. But, as he rolls to a stop on pole position, there’s nothing he can do to get the start he wants aside from getting a good jump off the line. 

That liquid calm seeps all the way down into his toes as the five lights flick on. The world goes quiet, and then they’re out. And he gets the best reaction time of his career. 

In his mirror he can see Pavel shoot up beside him before swinging over to cut off Lindholm in the Aston Martin. David immediately finds the racing line heading into the first turn. The field goes from racing three wide to one wide as the grid settles into its new position. 

“What’s the order?” David asks as he conquers turn three and gains a little bit of space between him and the car behind. 

“Zacha P2, gap four tenths,” Linus answers. 

“Where is Lindholm?” David presses for the information he really wants. He needs to know how much space is between them. 

“Focus on the race,” Linus guides him. David grits his teeth but listens. He knows he needs to focus on driving, focus on building his lead well enough so that he can get a good enough gap that they’ll be able to maintain their position after the pit stops. 

He drives lap after lap, only knowing about Pavel behind him. He’s blind to where Lindholm is, to where Danny and Charlie and Charles are. He knows they all started third, fourth, sixth, and seventh respectively. And he knows Charles especially will not take prisoners. It wouldn’t surprise him if he’d managed to get up into fourth off the jump. 

He shifts his focus back to the track in front of him. They’re four laps in out of fifty seven when his radio crackles to life with a message from Linus, “Stick with plan A.” 

“Copy,” he gasps out as the g-forces in a high speed corner catch him a little off guard. Plan A is the best case scenario for him. Box around lap fourteen, switch to hard tyres, and pit again somewhere around lap forty for softs again and push forward to the finish. He had a certain amount of confidence in the plan, confidence that would only get stronger if his engineer would tell him where the fuck in the order Lindholm was. 

But he stays quiet until he gets the message to come into the pits. It’s only then that Linus informs him he’s going to have to overtake Lindholm who had pitted two laps earlier. David grits his teeth, squeezes his steering wheel so tight his mechanics would kill him, and heads back out onto the track on his new hard tyres. They’re not as speedy as the softs he started the race on and they take a little time to fire up. 

He’s P5, coming out ahead of McAvoy in car seventy three. 

The hards are taking far longer than anybody would like to fire up. He slips down a few places, finding himself in P7. McAvoy and Frederic in the second Red Bull zip past on their already to temperature hard tyres. 

“Can we stretch these tyres to the end?” David asks over the radio, already concerned about how this is going to go. If he finishes near the end of the points after starting on pole he is going to tear down the Ferrari motorhome with his bare hands. 

“Negative,” Linus responds. “Relax, Pasta. It’s lap twenty. We have thirty seven left to go.” 

“I’m just worried that-” 

“Focus on the car,” Ully interrupts him. He grits his teeth again and digs in. 

It takes him two laps to close the distance between him and Frederic. He handily speeds by him in the third drag reduction system zone. Up to P6. By lap twenty four he’s on McAvoy. He gives him a little more of a fight. He overtakes him at turn twelve. It’s a beautiful pass, one that will definitely be up for overtake of the day later. Maybe even overtake of the month. 

But he can’t focus on that right now. He presses on and closes the gap to Charles’ Mercedes. It’s lap thirty two now and the second pit stop window is opening. His tyres are eighteen laps old. He’s got at least fourteen more laps left in them. 

They’re still on pace for plan A. Although it’s starting to get more than a little stressful. 

He fights his way back up to P3 before it’s time to box again. It’s an incredibly quick stop. 2.1 seconds. He only loses one place, coming out in P4 ahead of Leclerc. And he’s not that far behind him. He thanks whatever racing gods there are for his ten second gap before he went into the pits and for the ten second gap between him and Frederic. 

“Push these last laps, David,” Ully says. “Gap to Ricciardo ahead four seconds.” 

“Copy,” he says before channeling all of his focus into closing the gap. It takes him two laps. He overtakes him in the second DRS zone, using the far superior straight line speed of his Ferrari to his advantage. 

Eight laps to go. P3. 

It’s only another second ahead to Zacha when team orders come through the radio, “You have better pace. Zacha has been told to let you through,” Ully informs him. David makes a mental note to buy him all the drinks he wants when they go out to the clubs after this is all over. 

Six laps. P2. 

He refuses to settle for the second step. 

Lindholm and his ugly ass Aston Martin are a second and a half ahead of him. He has clean air for the three laps it takes him to get within DRS. To his credit, Lindholm defends beautifully for a lap and a half. But David is right there, pushing and pushing and pushing and going for every gap that opens regardless of how small it is. 

Lindholm manages to keep him behind him until the start of the final lap. But that straight line speed of the Ferrari is lethal. And with DRS? He had no choice coming into the second DRS zone. David slips past him, braking late into turn nine. He has the lead, but Lindholm is on his ass. And he’s not backing down. 

They swap the lead in turns eleven and twelve. But David takes it back at turn thirteen. Lindholm is in his DRS but the Aston Martin can’t operate in dirty air. He’s forced off the racing line to get cool air into his tyre ducts. It takes him out of the slipstream. 

David pulls away from him, that straight line speed playing directly into his back pocket. He zips through turns fourteen and fifteen, glancing in his mirrors the entire time. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t breathe until the fireworks go off. Lindholm is so close to him he can see the reflection of the stadium lights in his visor. 

“P1, David, P1!” Ully all but yells into the radio. David can finally breathe again. He lets a rush of air out of his lungs and throws up a fist. 

“Woo hoo!” he yells, excitement and exhilaration and adrenaline all bubbling in his veins. 

It’s almost scripted, the way the race ends. The two drivers that were fighting bloody for the championship last season resuming that fight with just as much ferocity in the first race of the year. 

David doesn’t realize how close it really was until he’s sitting in the cool down room, Pavel on his left as they watch the highlights from the race. He comments on them to his teammate but does not pay any attention to Lindholm leaning against the wall. On the podium he aims his oversized bottle of champagne at his teammate and his team principal. 

It’s a calculated decision not to point it at the driver in green. And he knows the way he ignores Lindholm on the podium is going to be brought up within five minutes of him sitting down to take questions from the media. He’s still sticky from the spray of champagne as he sits down on the couch, adjusting his Pirelli victory cap. And he’s not at all in the mood to filter himself. 

“Okay, we can go ahead and get started,” the moderator says as she takes her seat off to the side of the stage. Immediately thirteen hands go up in the air. 

“My question is for David,” the first reporter says as she stands up. “On the final lap you overtook Hampus in turn thirteen. Do you think it was the straight line speed that helped you take the win?” 

“Absolutely,” David answers, nodding. “It was one of the things we worked the most on during the winter break. Straight line speed has always been a strength of ours and I think we made it even better this year.” 

He hears Lindholm scoff and mumble something under his breath. He ignores it, knowing there are at least three cameras on him. 

“I have a question for David and Hampus,” a second reporter stands up. David can feel Pavel tense beside him. “We watched you two have an incredible fight throughout the course of last season and it seemed like it was continuing today into the last few laps. Do you both anticipate that fight continuing through the rest of the season as well?” 

“Absolutely,” Hampus cuts David off before he can answer. He grits his teeth and plasters a tight lipped smile on his face. “We’ve been fighting each other the entire time we’ve been in F1, I don’t see that stopping now.” 

“Yeah,” David agrees no matter how much he wants to scream that there will be no competition, that he is going to dominate the entire year. “I don’t see there being a race the entire time we’re in F1 together that we don’t fight each other.” 

“Can you tell us a little bit about how you feel about each other?” the reporter presses. Pavel clears his throat and catches David’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He slightly shakes his head. Pasta ignores it and smirks as he raises his microphone to his mouth. 

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he says, taking advantage of the sudden stunned silence of the room. “He took me out of two races last year and I remember that. I’m never going to forget it.” 

“Fucking hell,” Pavel swears under his breath. 

Hampus clears his throat and doesn’t offer a response. It’s not the first time the media room has been witness to spats between Pastrnak and Lindholm. And it definitely isn’t going to be the last. 

Chapter Text

Hampus’ hands are so sore he can barely hold his water bottle long enough to take a sip from it. The grip strength training is all completely necessary and crucial if he wants to take back the top step. Jeddah is one of the most turn heavy circuits on the calendar and after last week’s handful of lockups he’s determined not to let it happen again. 

“Lindy, dude,” Jeremy, his physio, scoffs as he lunges forward to catch the water bottle his driver is dropping. “Will you take a fucking break? If you keep going you’re not going to have any hands to drive with.” 

“Just one more session,” Hampus responds. He shakes his hands out and goes to put them back on the wheel. Jeremy, extraordinarily shitty at arguing, just sighs and reaches down to start another session on the simulator. Hampus can feel the eyes of all the mechanics in the sim room on him. He knows they have more than enough data to take into the weekend but this stopped being for them an hour ago. 

Hampus is about to press his foot down on the accelerator when the screen in front of him goes black. He blinks twice, the brain fog hitting twice as hard with the sudden change. He looks up to see Brad standing above him, a scowl on his face. 

“My office,” he grumbles before walking away, letting the sim room door slam hard behind him. Hampus gulps and looks up at Jeremy who shrugs and gives him a look as if to say ‘You’re on your own with this one’. 

Hampus climbs out of the simulator and makes his way to Brad’s office on shaking legs. Patrice, his husband, is sitting at a table outside with papers strewn across its surface. He looks up from them, red pen pausing in the middle of writing a correction, and smiles at him. The smile immediately turns into a frown and a borderline heartbreaking disappointed glance when he realizes how physically exhausted Hampus is. 

Hampus just shakes his head and pulls open the door to Brad’s office. He’s standing next to the desk, looking out over the still dead brown grass from the winter. It’s the first week of March and winter hasn’t yet cleared out of England. 

Lindy stands in front of the desk, shaking hands awkwardly folded in front of himself. Brad silently turns around and sits down in his chair. He shuffles through a few papers before looking up at his driver and sighing heavily.  

“What the fuck were you doing?” he asks point blank. Hampus bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at his feet. “Hampus.” 

“Hm?” he hums, looking back up at his team principal. Brad doesn’t look anywhere near amused. He swallows thickly and says, “I was just doing some grip strength training. Jeddah is all turns and I need to win.” 

“Hampus, it’s the second race,” Brad sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You- we don’t have any chance at winning if you can’t even hold the fucking steering wheel.” 

Hampus doesn’t offer a response. He just looks back down at his feet and nods. The back of his mind, though, is screaming at him to get back into the sim. Despite the fact that he knows he’s going to need to ask Charlie for a ride home once he escapes Brad’s wrath. 

“Lindy look at me,” he demands. Hampus looks back up at him feeling a little like a kid who’s been called to the principal’s office. In a way… he kind of is. “I refuse to let you fall into this downward spiral again. Patrice and I have kids now and the team can’t afford to have you sleep on the couch. If your back gets fucked up, Lindy, we’re done.” 

He laughs at that one. He knows Brad is right, he knows the lockups weren’t his fault. And he knows that it’s only the beginning of a very long, very grueling season. They’ll be going until the end of November, racing everywhere between Saudi Arabia and Japan and Monaco and Canada and Mexico and Las Vegas. This is only the second race. 

“Go get some rest,” Brad says, standing up. He guides Hampus towards the door with a hand on his back. “I’ll see you on the flight tomorrow, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Hampus nods, still shaking hand on the door. He gives Brad a weak smile and walks out. Patrice is still sitting at the table outside the office. His arms are folded across his chest now and he’s just glaring at him. “Patrice, please. Not tonight.” 

“Not tonight,” Patrice agrees, shaking his head. “But you’re just going to have to live for the weekend knowing I’m disappointed in you.” 

That was worse than a goddamn death sentence. 

Hampus swallowed hard and scurried off in search of his teammate. He found Charlie lounging in one of the arm chairs in the lobby scrolling through his phone, AirPods in, and blissfully unaware of the tour group that was about to walk right past him. Lindy stepped into a small alcove, pretending to fiddle with the water fountain and waited for them to go past. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like connecting with fans. He loved it. He loved pausing for selfies and autographs on his way into the paddock. It’s just that, after getting borderline reamed out by his team principal, he’s not really in the mood for those selfies and autographs right now. 

He listens as Charlie gets quite possibly the warmest reception ever and waits until the din of the tour group has disappeared further down the corridor. He steps out of the alcove and walks up to his teammate. 

“Marchy said you need to give me a ride home,” he says, stepping up beside him. His hands are still shaking like leaves. Charlie looks down at them and frowns, his brows furrowing together. Hampus moves to stick them into his pockets but it’s too late. 

“Did you spend way too much time in the sim again?” Charlie asks him point blank. Hampus just sighs and toes at the seam between two granite tiles in the floor. “Lindy, you have got to stop that. You’re not going to have any hands left by the time you’re twenty seven.” 

“I know,” Hampus sighs as he leans into the front door to open it. He burrows down a little deeper into his team jacket before tossing a longing glance at his Aston Martin DB11 in its designated parking space on the other side of Charlie’s. He wants nothing more than to go for a drive and shake all the cobwebbed thoughts out of his mind. But the odds of him being able to grip the steering wheel were slim to none at this point. 

Opening the passenger side door causes him to wince aggressively. Charlie shoots him a look over the top of the car. Hampus pointedly ignores him and keeps his eyes fixed at a stationary point in front of him. 

Charlie is silent on the ride to their apartment building. Hampus is grateful, just this once, that they live down the hall from each other. He and Charlie are friends, they really are, but there are only so many times he can hear one sided gaming sessions between him and Frederic before he goes off the cliffs of insanity. 

“Get some fucking rest, will you?” Charlie sighs heavily as he unlocks Hampus’ door for him. “If you don’t I'll knock you out and force you to sleep the entire way to Saudi Arabia. I’ll sit on you, Hampus, you know I’m not exaggerating.” 

Charlie is absolutely not exaggerating at all. 

“I’ll rest,” Hampus nods, holding the door open with his foot. Charlie narrows his eyes at him before continuing down the hall. 

His apartment is quiet and dark. Something he sorely needs after spending all day in the factory listening to the mechanics make modifications to the car and sitting in front of screens in the simulator. 

His hands are feeling better as he slowly strips himself from his Aston Martin team kit and changes into a pair of warm team sweatpants. His bed is warm and welcoming and it immediately pulls him into a restless sleep. 

His apartment is decorated with decades worth of racing memorabilia. His family had been involved with the sport since the British Grand Prix in 1950. His great grandfather had driven for Maserati then, being the one to blaze to the way for the Lindholm name in Formula One. 

Hampus is the fourth Lindholm to take the grid. There had only been a total of ten years across the course of the history of the sport where there wasn’t a Lindholm lining up for a race. Hampus had generations of racing history to his name. 

******** 

It’s pleasantly warm when the car pulls up outside the paddock. The beginning of March isn’t too hot yet and it’s a nice break from the chill still lingering in the air in England. He slips his sunglasses onto his face, pointedly not a pair of Ray-Bans, and walks towards the gate. Charlie is right on his heels, yammering away about something he watched on the flight as they press their badges against the scanning port. 

“And it’s like, are you kidding me?” he’s still going as they walk into the Aston Martin motorhome. Hampus doesn’t spare so much as a glance towards the red motorhome across from it as he walks up the steps. “It was such a plot twist. You gotta watch it, man, I swear.” 

“Yeah with what free time,” Lindy scoffs, nodding his greeting to the PR team before making his way back towards his driver’s room. 

“On the plane!” Charlie exclaims, thumping his shoulder before pausing in the hallway to look at his phone. “Hey, wanna go get lunch with Danny? He just got here.” 

“You go ahead,” Hampus shakes his head. “I’ll catch up with you before the panel.” 

Hampus has never been fond of media day. He likes the panels with the fans, enjoys hearing their cheers whenever he and Charlie bicker about something. It’s nice, really, to remember a reason why he races. 

His driver’s room is quiet when he walks in. He sighs heavily and sits down on the green couch, letting his head fall back against the cushions. The quiet was necessary before going out to the loud crowds. The loud crowd that he enjoys, but the loud crowd that also gives him headaches. So his moments of quiet, even if they were just five minutes, are needed if he was going to survive the rest of the weekend. 

“Hampus!” Jeremy calls as he knocks on his door. “It’s time to go, bud.” 

“Coming!” Hampus calls back. He grabs his Aston Martin ball cap and opens the door and follows him out to the stage. Charlie is already waiting for him at the stage entrance, still munching on what’s left of the lunch he got with Danny. 

“Hey,” he smiles, tossing the wrapper in a nearby trash can. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” Lindy nods as he accepts a microphone from one of the attendants before letting himself get ushered on stage. The fans gathered in the front scream and wave homemade signs as he and Charlie wave to them. They entertain some of the sillier questions before the topic of the race two weekends ago gets brought up. 

“Hampus, we witnessed a battle to the very end between you and David Pastrnak in Bahrain,” the moderator says as she glances down at her notecards. Hampus tightens his grip on his microphone just enough for his knuckles to turn white. The moderator continues, “Do you think we can expect another close battle between the two of you this weekend?” 

“I wouldn’t say a close battle but there will probably be a battle,” Hampus answers, letting the carefully crafted PR answer slip away from him a little bit. “We’ve always done better than Ferrari here so I’m not that worried.” 

The crowd ‘oooh’s at his words. Hampus winks and smirks at them. He knows he’s probably going to get a slap on the wrist from his PR team but Netflix will love it. Especially if this season ends up being the battle between him and the Ferrari that everyone thinks it’s going to be. 

Charlie is shaking his head at him when they get off the stage though there’s a smile on his face, “You’re fucked if this weekend doesn’t go your way, mate.” 

“You’re an American,” Hampus shudders at his teammate’s use of ‘mate’. “That sounds weird coming out of your mouth.” 

“Sargeant, Beecher, and Frederic all use it!” Charlie defends himself as they make their way through the paddock and back to the Aston motorhome. “What’s wrong with me using it?” 

“It doesn’t sound right when any of you use it,” Hampus argues back, pulling the door open for them. 

Charlie grumbles something under his breath that Hampus ignores. He just claps his teammate on the shoulder and grabs a water before heading back out of the motorhome. He’s in the first driver panel today, Charlie in the second. They’re both glad to be getting them over fast. Especially since Hampus is stuck with Pastrnak. 

The Ferrari driver has gotten under his skin since they both debuted in Formula One. It’s vice versa, really. Hampus will have a fantastic race and finish on the top step and the next thing he knows it’s David there the following weekend. It’s entertaining for the fans, to have two drivers battling each other hard all through the season. And Hampus does enjoy it for the most part. 

It’s just. 

When he has to do interviews with David and he’s lounging there on the couch looking like he owns the grid as he chats with Charles. It’s obscene and it’s obnoxious and Hampus hates everything about it. 

“Hey, Lindy,” Trent greets him as he takes his spot on the end of the couch. “How was your fan appearance this morning?” 

“It was good,” Hampus responds as he accepts a microphone. “I always forget how crazy fans in Jeddah can be.” 

“No, seriously,” Trent agreed enthusiastically. His Red Bull cap is in danger of bopping straight off his head if he keeps nodding like that. “They don’t give a shit that they’re in the middle of the desert. It’s crazy.” 

“Never underestimate Formula One fans,” Lindy sighs as the moderator takes his seat. 

Hampus can see David out of the corner of his eye. He’s still laughing with Charles. Hampus is grateful he has Trent and Yuki between the two of them. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat as the moderator gets the panel started. 

He half listens, the vast majority of the questions directed at David. He supposes it makes sense, he had an incredible race two weeks ago. Despite the fact that it pains Hampus to admit it, he earned the top spot. He knows the next time he wins all the questions will be directed at him in the same manner. So, like, he’s not complaining. But he does think that he deserves at least a little attention for how entertaining he made the last lap. 

“Hampus,” an interviewer says as they stand up. Finally. Hampus shifts in his seat again and turns his full attention to them. “I know you’ve been asked about it before, but you and David had quite the battle at the end of the race two weeks ago. Do you anticipate that type of energy continuing through the season?” 

“I do,” Hampus nods as he speaks into his microphone. He elects to give a more tailored PR answer this time. “He has always been a great competitor and I look forward to racing him this weekend.” 

“Racing Hampus has been a highlight of my career,” David cuts in. Hampus clenches his fist beside him. “I don’t doubt that we’ll bring some more exciting laps as the year goes on.” 

Hampus’ mind is not on the rest of the press conference. He’s half paying attention and spewing the standard PR responses. Maybe he’s trying to make up for what he pulled during the fan panel. But if he is then so what? Does it really matter? He gave Drive to Survive what it wanted, he gave the journalists what they needed. 

That said, he was purposefully avoiding the Aston Martin PR team as he strategically picked his way through the paddock to get back to the car. It’s waiting for him just outside the gates. He scans his badge and barely waits for Charlie to catch up with him before he’s climbing in. 

“You running from PR?” he asks although he already knows the answer. Hampus just tosses him a look. It does nothing to wipe the smirk off his face. 

“And what if I am,” Hampus retorts as he looks out the window. It’s a near barren drive back to the hotel. 

“I dunno,” Charlie shrugs as he fiddles with his phone. “Marina hunts you down and attempts to murder you in your sleep?” 

“Yeah right,” Hampus scoffs. “You can’t drag this team to another Constructors championship by yourself.” 

“I think you underestimate me,” Charlie sighs, shrugging as he finally puts his phone down. “I could definitely, single handedly, beat both the Ferraris this season. Maybe even Mercedes and Red Bull if they decide to make a winning car.” 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Hampus laughs. He knows his teammate is being sarcastic, trying to get a reaction out of him. 

As the weekend progresses after media day, Hampus is neck and neck with Pastrnak at the end of the practice sessions and two rounds of qualifying. They’re only separated by five tenths of a second and Hampus is on the wrong side of it. He glares at the leaderboard still displayed on one of the many screens in the garage before he climbs into his car for the start of the third and final round. 

He knows his frustration has turned outward when Jeremy fixes him with a glare. He contemplates sending it right back before he thinks better of it and pulls his balaclava over his head. 

The cockpit of his car feels like home as he settles into his seat. His display in front of him flashes all sorts of data as his mechanics strap him in and click his wheel into place. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the F1TV cameras. He knows he’ll be seeing compilation posts of all the drivers’ eyes when he opens his phone once he gets back to the hotel. 

But for now he focuses on the first round of qualifying. The engine of the car screams under his hands as he leaves the pit lane. He’s the third car out onto the track, behind Charlie and Sainz. It’s not going to take as long for the track to rubber in after the morning’s practice session, but Hampus still takes his time getting the proper temperature into his tyres. 

He goes around three times before picking up his speed again. A little over half the grid is on the track now, and there’s a traffic jam at the pit lane exit. Hampus curses the track designers before weaving around his teammate and an Alfa Romeo. 

Martin, his race engineer, pops onto the radio to deliver an instruction, “You’re free to start your first fast lap after you finish this lap. Leclerc currently in P1 with one minute thirty three.”

“Copy,” Hampus responds. He can beat that time easily. 

Tsunoda moves off the racing line as Hampus approaches the start for his fast lap. Turn one is sharp and the g-forces press him back into his seat. Turns five through twelve are gentle and Hampus only rides up onto the side of the track once as he tries to get around Norris. He’ll probably get a slap on the wrist for driving too slow but it won’t become anything and it probably only adds two thousandths of a second to Hampus’ time. 

The hairpin at turn thirteen highlights an understeer issue in the car Hampus thought he had sorted in practice. He grits his teeth and pushes the car a little more. The engine screams again at him. 

His DRS opens at turn nineteen and he picks up so much speed it becomes hard to lift his foot off the accelerator when he heads into turn twenty two. It closes and reopens again on the other side of turn twenty four. He barely skims past Tsunoda, in the final DRS zone and crosses the finish after taking turn twenty seven a wee bit too fast. The back end of his car spins out a little and his heart jumps up into his throat but he gets it back under control. 

“Fantastic lap!” Martin exclaims. “One minute twenty nine! You’re on provisional pole with two minutes left in the session.” 

“Should we stay out?” Hampus asks, still focused on the track in front of him. 

“Up to you,” Martin answers. “But take a minute to celebrate! One of the fastest laps this track has ever seen. Come on, man. Live a little.” 

“I’ll celebrate when we win,” Hampus responds. He knows it’s arrogant, he knows Drive to Survive is going to love it when they get to the Saudi Arabia episode. Especially if- when he ends up on the top step after what is most likely going to be another big battle. 

His radio goes quiet and he stays out for a little while longer. At the last minute (literally, there’s two seconds left in the session when he crosses the line) he decides to go for another flying lap. He’s still on provisional pole, but the margin between him and his teammate is a little closer than he would like and Charlie performs incredibly well under pressure like this. 

He feels a little slower this lap, dealing with more traffic in some of the higher speed turns. And he knows he’s not technically racing the other cars on the track passing one of the scarlet Ferraris feels good. Even though he doesn’t know which Ferrari driver it belongs to. 

He has his little moment of victory and presses on. He lets the breath out of his lungs as he crosses the line and waits for Martin to chime back over the radio. 

“Shaved off three tenths,” he says. Hampus can hear the excitement in his voice. “You, my friend, are on pole.” 

“Yes!” Hampus exclaims, showing the first sign of true excitement all weekend. He thumps his fist against his wheel and relaxes, coming into the pits behind an Alfa Romeo. His mechanics give him a round of applause as he comes in. It continues well after they get him into his garage bay. 

He shakes it off and focuses on peeling away his race suit. He lets it dangle at his waist as he locks onto the starting grid for tomorrow night. His name is in first and right below him is Pastrnak. Only a hundredth of a second separates them. 

Tomorrow is going to be a battle to the very finish.   

********

David Pastrnak has, admittedly, been taking up a little too much space in Hampus’ mind. He’s pouring over the memories he has of racing him when they were young. How they always pushed each other in karting. 

How they always traded top steps. 

How this season was likely to mirror the ones they grew up with. 

It’s early, far earlier than he should be awake. They’ll be racing in a matter of ten hours and he should still be asleep. His alarm is going to go off in a few minutes and yet he’s staring at the ceiling of his Saudi hotel room. He squeezes his eyes shut, cringing a bit at how dry and irritated they are. It’s gonna suck to drive with later. 

It’s not early, the sun has been up for at least a few hours. Hampus spent hours at the circuit after qualifying yesterday jumping through the hoops of post session media. It had seemed like every other question had been about David. 

Hampus groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He wants desperately to go back to sleep. His limbs are aching with exhaustion and he just wants to rest. But he’s awake now and he’s no good to anyone just laying around in bed. No matter how loud his joints are screaming at him he drags himself to his feet and slips into his running shoes. 

The gym is relatively quiet when he walks in. There’s a middle aged man on the treadmills and someone on the bench press in the back corner. Hampus slips his headphones on and starts his warmup. 

For him, working out has always been the best way to clear his mind. He can channel his pent up energy into doing something constructive. He turns up his music a little bit as he feels his brain quiet. 

He starts with simple weight lifting, working his biceps and triceps. They’ve always been his favorite exercises for whatever reason, he’s not really sure why. A sports therapist he went to a long time ago said that it has something to do with the repetition. Which he gets. He’s always liked things like that, especially driving. The repeated process of something soothing his mind into a state where he can just go.

Sweat has started to drip down the back of his shirt by the time he’s on his last set. He puts the weights back on their rack with a huff and reaches for his water bottle. His hands are shaking a bit as he pulls it out of his bag. He probably should have been taking longer breaks. He’ll adjust and make up for it later. 

The man on the treadmill is gone now. Hampus could go for a quick jog after he’s done with his last two sets but he needs to do something about his core. He woke up feeling less than strong and if he doesn’t fix it before the race tonight he’s going to put his car into the wall. And he refuses to do anything like that at any point in the near future. 

He grabs his back and moves over to the stupid vertical knee thing. He hates this machine. But he’s also good at it. And the worst thing is that shit works. He narrows his eyes at it before placing his bag down on the floor beside it, swallowing one last gulp of water. 

To his left the other man is still at the bench press. He’s lifting a lot of weight and Hampus is left to wonder how his arms haven’t fallen off yet. If he’s still here by the time he’s done torturing himself he’ll ask what kind of pre-workout he uses. 

The thin cushions on the machine for his forearms are cold when he jumps up. He has half a mind to hop back down, grab his bag, and just go to the track early. But Jeremy will actually kill him, he's pretty sure. So he presses on and starts his first set of fifteen reps. By the tenth his abs are burning. He sucks in a deep breath and powers through the last five. 

His legs are shaking as he takes his break between sets. He reaches for his water bottle and looks up, freezing as he looks up in the general direction of the bench presses. 

The man who he’d been planning on getting pre-workout recommendations from is the last person he expected to see in the (slightly shitty) hotel gym. But he would know those stupid fucking blond curls anywhere. And the red t-shirt with the obnoxious Ferrari logo plastered on the chest labels him immediately. 

“David,” Hampus says before he can stop himself. 

“Hampus,” David responds, grabbing his towel from his bag on the floor. Hampus watches, mouth suddenly dry as his rival wipes the towel over his sweaty curls. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks before cringing hard. It’s a hotel gym, David has as much right to use it as he does. 

He scoffs, “Working out. Same as you.” 

“Right,” Hampus says, still frozen in place. David rolls his eyes and stands up, grabbing his bag. Hampus closely watches his every move.  

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too much,” he says as he walks past. Hampus watches as he pauses at the door, hand on the handle. He turns and looks at him over his shoulder and smirks, “Or do, it’ll make my race easier.” 

Hampus opens and closes his mouth like a fish. And just like that David’s gone and he’s firmly in his own head. 

Jeremy notices it the second he climbs into the car, freshly showered and decked out in his Aston Martin team kit. He braces for impact, “What did you do?” 

“Nothing!” he exclaims, immediately defensive. It raises alarms in Jeremy’s eyes and gets Charlie’s attention. He pops out an AirPod and turns to watch the showdown. “I just went to the gym after I woke up.” 

“Something happened there, then,” Jeremy decides. “You’re always borderline catatonic after you go to the gym. What is it?” 

“You really don’t believe me that nothing’s wrong?” Hampus asked, turning to his physio. Jeremy’s lips form a thin line. “I just couldn’t sleep all that well. The Ferraris look good and it had me worried. I was thinking too much.” 

There. That should satisfy him. 

“Whatever you say.” 

Or not. 

He can tell by the look on Charlie’s face that he’s not safe from his teammate either. He swallows hard and ducks his head, determined to stay as far under the radar as he possibly can throughout the course of the night. 

His pre-race routine is the same as it’s been since he started racing. He has an apple, stretches his body out with Jeremy (pointedly ignores any questions about how his workout in the hotel gym went), and then goes to speak with Brad. 

The Aston Martin team principle is over by the pit wall when Hampus walks out to find him. He steps up and squeezes his shoulder. Brad smiles and slips his headphones off as he turns to face his driver. 

“Feeling good?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard above the din of mechanics fastening tyres onto cars up and down the pit lane. 

“Feeling great,” Hampus responds, smiling as he nods. “How are we looking?” 

“No rain,” Brad says then laughs. Hampus smiles and shakes his head. “Wind is looking like it’s going to pick up about halfway through. But you need to let us worry about that, Lindy.” 

“Always do,” Hampus nods. 

“Have a good race, Hampus,” Brad says as he shakes his hand. “Bring us back.” 

Lindy lets his words echo in his head as he follows his crew out to the grid. He walks past the Ferrari lined up in P2 and lowers himself into his car. Martin chimes into his radio as he lets his mechanics fasten his seatbelts and his steering wheel. 

“How are we feeling?” he asks.  

“Ready to go,” Hampus responds. He tightens his gloves and balls his hands into fists. 

“We’re starting on mediums,” Martin says. “Get a good start and then go into preservation mode. Pastrnak behind you is on mediums as well.” 

“He’s going to attack for the first few laps,” Hampus says as the mechanics start to clear from the grid. 

“We are aware,” Martin replies. “Just defend. You’re the best defender on the grid, Hampus. Use it to your advantage.” 

He bites back the sarcastic quip he has locked and loaded and focuses on the light board hanging above the track instead. They flick green and he eases on the accelerator for the formation lap. He’s always hated the formation lap. He knows it’s good to get some temperature into the tyres, he knows it serves a purpose. But he still hates how it spikes his anxiety for the two minutes until he gets back onto the grid. 

The red Ferrari is taunting him in his mirror. This all feels incredibly similar to Abu Dhabi from last year. And he’s not a fan. Not a fan of having car eighty eight behind him, but he knows he needs to trust in both himself and in Charlie in P3 who’s starting on softs to get the jump. 

All the lights come on, everything goes quiet, and then they’re out. The engine screams under his foot as he presses his foot down on the accelerator. He pushes over, cutting off Pastrnak before he can make his lunge. He’s firmly on the racing line going into turn one. 

In his mirrors he can see the Ferrari behind him. He spares about three tenths of a second to rue the fact that Charlie didn’t get the jump the team needed before he moves on. Pastrnak is on his ass as they go through turns one and two. He pulls away the more turns they take but he’s still too close for his liking. The straight line speed of the Ferrari is useless in the winding beginning of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. 

The entire grid is bunched up until after turn thirteen. Hampus takes advantage of his car’s abilities and pulls away from the car behind him. At the end of the first lap Pastrnak is eight tenths of a second behind him and he’s happy it isn’t yet time for DRS to be enabled. Especially as he comes back into that first straight. 

However his Aston Martin handles just better enough than the Ferrari does for him to lengthen the gap between them to a second by the time the third lap has started. He’s thankful for the one stop strategy as he settles into his rhythm, to pit any sooner than the thirty three lap window would throw him irreversibly off course. 

Pastrnak comes close to overtaking him a handful of times after DRS is enabled, the second zone giving Hampus the most trouble. It’s not a straight line, but David does have the advantage of the slipstream. He manages to slip past him at turn twenty five. Hampus grits his teeth and goes to work. The speed trap before turn twenty seven catches him by surprise and he’s caught with a tremendous amount of oversteer going into the sharp turn.

The Ferrari only has the lead for a few turns before Hampus uses his car’s advantage again. He retakes the lead and gets a hearty ‘well done’ from Martin. He presses on. 

Lap thirty two comes and he gets the instruction to come into the pits on the next lap. David follows him in. Hampus’ heart starts to pound against his ribs as he eases down the pit lane towards his bay. The Aston Martin team is ready and waiting for him. And they complete what has to be the quickest pit stop in recent Formula One history. He comes out of the box faster than he probably should, and cuts David off. 

They’re set up for a redo of how the race started when they come to the pit exit. The second he’s across the line Hampus slams his foot down on the accelerator. He pulls away but Pastrnak sticks with him. They swap places a few times, David takes the lead for the entirety of the forty first lap. 

But from there it’s all Hampus. He overtakes him in twenty of lap forty two and sails the rest of the way. He finishes the race a full second and a half before Pastrnak does. He returns to the hotel after media sticky and covered in champagne poured down his suit by Charles. Charles who was single handedly keeping the peace on the podium despite the fact that he was on the third step. 

Still, though, as Hampus stands for the picture, the decision to hold the oversized champagne bottle in his right hand, the side David is standing on, is a calculated one. And he definitely doesn’t think about the bench press in the hotel gym.   

Chapter Text

David can say, with confidence, that Daniel Ricciardo is the loudest person he has ever met. He can hear him from the other side of the club that was not quiet to begin with. Especially after the insanity that was the Australian Grand Prix. Danny didn’t quite make it on the podium, but that wasn’t stopping him from standing on a table doing a shoey in the middle of the club. 

Pavel snorted from his seat in the booth beside David and leaned back against the cushions. David raises an eyebrow and looks over at him. They’re celebrating a one-two, it makes sense that Pavel is a little tipsy two hours into their night. David has known Pavel since they were eight years old, he knows he only snorts like that when he’s really wasted. 

“What?” Pavel asks, accent thick. He reaches forward for another shot. David has half a mind to snatch it from him but this was their first one-two of the season. He could let his teammate celebrate a little while longer. 

“Nothing,” David shakes his head and turns his gaze back to the crowd. Pavel doesn’t have time to answer before one of the Mercedes drivers is sliding into their booth. David nudges him a shot. 

“You guys have been sitting here alone for far too long,” Carlos chides them. He finished fifth after starting from sixteenth, he’s entitled to another shot. He downs the first one and the second one in quick succession. “One-two! Come on, come dance with us.” 

“If Pavel starts dancing I am confident the world will end,” David says, sparing a glance to his teammate who’s starting to hiccup. He nudges the few remaining shot glasses a little further out of reach and ignores Pavel’s pout. 

“You won today, mate,” Carlos frowns. “You have to come out for at least one song.”

David sighs, sparing a glance at Pavel. He’s downing another shot and slipping out of the booth before David can even react. He sighs again and shifts his attention back to Carlos. He’s already looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Fine,” David sighs. Carlos grins and David lets him drag him to the middle of the dancefloor. Danny is just coming down from the table when he arrives in between Carlos and Charles. 

“You’ve finally joined the party!” Charles exclaims as he claps David on the shoulder. “Our winner!” 

“You’ve all won before,” David shakes his head at the circle of drivers. 

“Yeah,” Charles shrugs. “But this… second time you’ve clinched a win in the last lap this season alone. And we’re three races in.” 

David shrugs, trying to stay as nonchalant as he possibly can. But it’s hard when he has both Mercedes drivers and one of the Red Bull drivers lauding over him. He smiles and shakes his head and takes another sip of the drink Danny puts into his hand. At least it isn’t in a shoe. 

“You’re gonna be a monster this season, mate,” Charles is shaking his head. He’d been driving car number two years ago when David won his first race. He instantly took him under his wing and they’d been friends ever since. 

“Any of us will be lucky to get on the top step,” Carlos adds, making a face as he downs another shot. David scoffs and shakes his head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says. “You guys need to have some more faith in yourselves.” 

“Mm,” Danny shakes his head, interrupting the conversation. He replaces the drink in David’s hand with a shot. He tosses his friend a look but his grin makes him toss it back anyway. His face screws up on instinct as it burns the back of his throat. He groans and thrusts the empty glass back into Danny’s hand. 

“I’m going back to the hotel,” he says, turning on his heel to leave. At least two sets of hands grab him and spin him back around. He’s greeted with the overexcited faces of both Danny and Charles. Carlos is in the background cackling at the sight in front of him. David sighs, “Guys.” 

“You didn’t party after Bahrain-” 

“I partied!” David interjects, defending himself. 

“You didn’t party the right way after Bahrain,” Danny amends himself. “You gotta let loose tonight.” 

“Danny I don’t want to let loose,” David responds. “I want to go to bed. I’m exhausted.” 

The lights of the club are starting to give him a headache. And he’s still so incredibly sore from the race despite the massage he got from Luca after everything was wrapped up at the paddock. He’s just drained, he has no energy left for drinks or dancing or listening to Danny try and find him some girl to take back to the hotel with him. 

“Just one more song,” Danny pleads with him. “You won’t have to drink anything else. But just one more song.” 

“Fine,” David sighs as Charlie comes over and joins the group. David’s relieved to see that Hampus isn’t with him. 

“Congrats on the finish today, man,” Charlie smiles as he claps their hands together.  “Another crazy race.” 

“Yeah,” David agrees, yelling to be heard above the music. “It’s gonna be a fight to the finish between us and you guys isn’t it?” 

“You said it,” Charlie laughs as he accepts a shot from Carlos. He downs it without so much as making a face. David is grateful for his sudden appearance, his ability to take a shot of tequila as if it was water takes the spotlight off him for the first time since the beginning of the weekend. “Hey, when are y’all flying out?” 

“Y’all?” Charles repeats, wheezing. “I thought you were from New York, not Texas.” 

“I’m gonna need you to shut up,” Charlie says, shoving him a little bit. David’s forced to catch him and help him regain his balance before he falls into one of the many high top tables they’re surrounded by. 

“Pavel and I are flying out on Tuesday,” David answers as he rights Charles. “Why, do you need a ride? Don’t wanna spend ten and a half hours on a plane with your teammate?” 

Charles tries to slap his arm but misses entirely in his drunken stupor and clips Danny’s shoulder instead. He’s not dissuaded as he chides, “Be nice.” 

“Why should I?” he asks. Normally he would back away from the subject. But he had just enough to drink to not be all that shy about the topic anymore. He sets his jaw as he reaches over for one of the shots on the high stop behind Danny. The other driver’s eyes widen and he lets out a whistle as David downs it. 

“Are we finally gonna find out about Belgium?” Danny gasps. He gently slaps Charlie’s shoulder as he sits down. “Come on, children gather ‘round. It’s story time.” 

“No it’s just…” David cuts himself off with a sigh. Charlie, Carlos, and Charles all scramble to take a seat. He pauses to look around at them, all four sitting with their chins resting on their fists. He laughs and shakes his head before making the ultimate decision to launch into the story. 

“Come on,” Danny encourages. “Story time!” 

“We’re in the middle of a club,” David says, looking around. The music is still causing his chest to thump loudly and the lights are still giving him a headache. But he’s got four drunk and very excited drivers sitting in front of him who want this story time more than they want a race win. Well, at the present moment. 

“Come on,” Carlos whines. He reaches out and drags Pasta towards the table and all but shoves him into a seat. He sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. 

“He just pushed me off the track,” he starts. “It was pouring, you were all there. You know how bad it was. He pushed me off and I went flying into the barrier. I was in the hospital for two weeks. I lost the fucking championship because of him.” 

Carlos, Charles, and Danny are enraptured and Charlie looks like he wants to die. He keeps going, “And did he apologize in the media? Did he ask if I was okay? No. No he fucking didn’t. He just said that I should have looked in my mirrors. Looked in my mirrors! He was the one that ran me off the track and I should have looked in my mirror. Fuckin’ asshole.”  

“That’s it?” Charles asks overdramatically. David rolls his eyes. 

“The fuck you mean ‘that’s it’?” David exclaims. “I was in the hospital with fucking pins in my leg and all he said was ‘he should have checked his mirrors’. He got a ten second penalty for that shit and he didn’t even apologize. He knew he was in the wrong, he fucking knew that if it had been any worse I wouldn’t have finished out that season. Oh! And are we forgetting that he fucking took out Max too? Max isn’t fucking driving this season because of that.” 

The table was quiet. The Mercedes boys look between each other almost in fear. No one has seen David get this animated about something like this before. And with just enough alcohol in his system to make him even a little bit reckless nobody really knows how this could end. 

“God Max’s crash,” Danny’s the first to mumble. He drops his head to his hand and squeezes both temples. “We never should have raced that day.” 

“It wasn’t that,” David shakes his head. “It was Lindholm being the reckless fuck he always is. He doesn’t fucking deserve to be racing this year.” 

The table is silent. Charles and Carlos are looking between each other, Charlie is staring at the table and picking at his fingernails, and Danny’s just staring at him with his jaw hanging. David swallows at the heaviness that’s now hanging in the air and silently excuses himself. 

He feels as though he’s suffocating as he walks out of the club. It’s a warm night in Australia and he’s not sure if he would prefer the cold. It’s late enough that all the fans crowded around the entrance have gone home. 

“Do you need me to call a car, sir?” one of the employees outside the club asks. David startles at it a little bit, forgetting that they were at a rather upscale club. 

“Oh, no thank you,” he answers, shaking his head. He worries that he should have gone to find Pavel before storming out. He glances over his shoulder back at the neon sign hanging above the door. He won the race, the bouncers will likely let him back in if he explains who he was and what he’d done that day. Yesterday? He didn’t even know what time it was anymore. 

“David!” someone shouting his name snaps him out of his daze before he can fully get into it. He looks down from the sign to see Pavel stumbling towards him. “Are you coming back inside? Jus’ getting started!” 

“I think it’s time to go to bed,” David sighs as he ducks under Pavel’s arm. He ignores his teammate’s groans of protest and hauls him down the street towards their hotel. It’s a bit of a longer walk than he’d like but it gives him time to get out of his own head. Especially as he worries about keeping Pavel from running into the road. 

“Daveyyyy,” Pavel slurs, putting more weight onto him as he tries to fish his keycard out of his pocket. 

“Yes?” he asks, struggling to shift his weight and unlock the door at the same time. 

“Why you so angry?” Pavel asks. David grits his teeth. His teammate isn’t making it any easier to get him into bed. 

“I’m not angry,” he responds with a heavy sigh as he lets the door slam shut behind them. He dumps Pavel on the bed and moves to grab him some water before he digs his finger into his ribs. “What was that for?” 

“You need to stop- hic, you need to stop letting Lindy get in your head,” Pavel tells him as he closes his eyes and rolls onto his side.   

“Pavel, what are you on about?” David asks as he reaches into the mini fridge for a water bottle.

“You’re only angry like this when you think ‘bout him,” Pavel says as he sits up, hiccuping again. David rolls his eyes and hands him the water. 

“I’m not only angry like this when I think about him,” David says as he watches his teammate take a sip. “And I’m not thinking about him!” 

“Sure,” Pavel nods as he closes his eyes and lets himself flop back to the pillows. He’s snoring within seconds. David rolls his eyes and slips out of the room. 

His own room across the hall is nice and quiet. And he’s not quite sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he is sure that he’s tired and that bed is screaming his full government name.  

********

Sprint weekends are actually the creation of the devil. Only getting one practice session on a track as tough as Suzuka should be illegal. Especially when this is only the fourth race of the year. 

Nobody is in a good mood when David walks into the paddock on Saturday. The shootout is looming large over everyone’s heads. He falls into step beside Danny as they step through the scan in point. For the first time all season Danny isn’t smiling. 

“Hey,” he says, gently nudging him. “Are you okay?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Danny nods, plastering a smile on his face. “Just a sprint weekend.” 

“Yeah,” David nods in agreement. They haven’t spoken since that night in the club in Australia. David hasn’t spoken to anyone sitting at that table since then, come to think of it. He glances over at his fellow drover before opening his mouth again, “Hey, we’re good right?” 

“What?” Danny asks, alarmed, as he looks at him in surprise. “Of course we are. Where is this coming from?” 

“I dunno,” David sighs with a shrug as he looks down at his feet. “Haven’t talked to anyone since then. Feels weird.” 

“We were all pretty wasted,” Danny shrugs. David looks up when he elbows him and points across the paddock to where Charlie is walking up to them with Carlos in tow. “You’re about to find out, though.” 

“Hey guys,” Charlie smiles as he stops in front of them, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head. “Pasta, you look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” 

“He’s terrified we’re all mad at him for ranting last weekend,” Danny answers for him, nudging him again. David gives him a look but nods and shrugs. 

“Mad?” Carlos raises an eyebrow before shaking his head, “Nah, we’re not mad. Just a little scared to get on your bad side.” 

“Dude,” Charlie says, whacking the back of his head. Carlos glares at him as he presses his hand to the point of contact. “No, we’re not mad at you. We were just incredibly hungover and miserable and now it’s a sprint weekend so we’re even more miserable.” 

David’s relieved. He smiles and nods, accepting their fist bumps as Charles comes bounding over, Pavel not far behind him. 

“Hi, sorry,” he pants, setting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Traffic. We’re here now. What’s up?” 

“David thought we were mad at him for ranting,” Carlos answers. Charles’ eyebrows shoot so far up his forehead they’re in danger of getting lost in his hairline. David looks down at his shoes and digs his toe into the pavement. 

“Dude,” he scoffs, making him look back up. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember much after Danny climbed up on the table.” 

David breathes a sigh of relief and hopes it goes unnoticed. He’s grateful when their physios drag them away to their respective team motorhomes. David glances at Charlie over his shoulder as he walks over to Aston Martin. The sun glances off that stupid head of platinum blond hair. He frowns and turns back to the red building in front of him. 

“Jesus,” Pavel shudders beside him. 

“What?” David asks, turning his attention to his teammate. 

“He lives rent free in your head. You gotta let it go or else he’s gonna fuck up your whole season,” Pavel tells him as they walk in. The door slides shut and closes them off from the paddock beyond. “You just took the lead in the standings from him. Don’t let it slip away from you again.” 

David just nods. He knows his teammate is right. But he just can’t let go of Belgium. His leg would still hurt when there was gross weather coming in. He vividly remembered watching Max crutch his way into the paddock before the last race of the season. He should be racing with them at the front of the pack this season. It should be a three way fight for P1 in the driver’s championship instead of a two way fight. 

But no. Max was only halfway through his recovery and he wouldn’t get back into a car until the winter. All because of fucking Belgium. David shakes it out of his head and pulls on his race suit. His meditation doesn’t have the desired effect, his brain too swamped with thoughts. He still manages to put the car on pole for the sprint race that afternoon, though. 

Carlos is right behind him and Pavel in P3. It’s only after the session is over and everyone is out of their cars that David sees the rest of the starting order. The smile that crosses his face at seeing Lindholm’s name next to P7 is probably a little bigger than it should be. But then again, he stole the championship from him. So taking a little bit of pleasure in his misery doesn’t make him feel guilty. 

“What’s got you all happy?” Carlos asks as he strolls straight into the Ferrari motorhome like he belongs there.  

“The starting grid for the sprint race,” David answers as he nods towards one of the screens in the main room. Carlos reaches for a small cup to make himself an espresso as his eyes scan the starting grid. He smiles a little at seeing the front row. David watches his reaction closely, “You see it right?” 

“Yeah I see it,” Carlos nods. “You’re a little too happy about that, mate.” 

“Oh come on!” David exclaims as he takes his plate of Italian pastries (he has not paid attention to which ones he’s grabbed) and sits down at one of the few tables in the main room. “He’s been making snide comments since Bahrain. I’m allowed to gloat just a little bit.” 

“Just as long as you don’t say anything stupid,” Carlos sighs, taking a sip of his espresso. “God, I miss having unlimited access to this thing.” 

“You’re a championship winner, Sainz,” Pasta sighs, lightly kicking his shin. Carlos yelps overdramatically and returns it just a little bit harder. “You’re allowed to steal Ferrari espresso whenever you want it.”

“Right,” Carlos scoffs into his cup. “I didn’t win with Ferrari.” 

“And?” David counters as Luca sits down at their table. “You still won. That’s more than me.” 

“Hey!” Luca exclaims as he actually hauls off and kicks him under the table. “What did I say about being self-deprecating in the motorhome? Idiota.”

“Ouch,” David pouts as he rubs his now throbbing shin. “That was uncalled for.” 

“It most certainly was not,” Luca counters firmly. “You have an hour and a half before you need to be in the car again, go get ready.” 

“But Carlos-” 

“Carlos also has a race to get ready for,” Luca interrupts, fixing both drivers with a look. It’s not dissimilar to how a teacher would put two unruly students back in line. David slinks back to his driver’s room, taking his plate with him, as Carlos retreats back to Mercedes.  

Luca buzzes around, getting things ready for him as he finishes his pastries. They’re the one thing he likes about sprint weekends. It’s a superstition he’s had for years. A little sugar before a race and he usually fairs pretty well. 

However the sweet taste on his tongue does nothing to take away the annoyance at having to race on a Saturday. He changes into his fireproofs and race suit and Luca takes the plate on his way as he slips out of the room. David relaxes into his meditation and he climbs into his car covered in the familiar liquid calm. 

“Twenty laps,” Linus says as he leans down to speak to him through the halo. “You gotta make the softs last, Pasta.” 

“I’ll do my best,” he responds. “You know this track likes to kill tires.” 

“I know,” Ully nods. “But you have to. We need a good weekend if we wanna get the jump on Aston Martin.” 

David only nods in agreement. He knows that if he opens his mouth, especially when the radios are running, he’s going to say something that Netflix is going to absolutely love him for. So he fixes his eyes on the lightboard hanging above the grid instead. He leads the formation lap, glancing at Carlos in his mirrors. 

He’s more than happy to have a Mercedes behind him. He knows he’ll get a better jump when the lights go out. 

Racing without pitstops is always weird. He’s used to being able to change tires when he feels them go. Like when he starts dragging the car around the track in the final few laps. Carlos is still defending against Pavel and the two Aston Martins behind him. 

“Two laps to go,” Ully chimes in over the radio. 

“Copy,” David gasps as he goes through a high speed corner. He grits his teeth as his tires give out on him a little more. “What’s the gap to Sainz?” 

“Two seconds,” Linus answers. “Degradation is a little more than we’d like.” 

“No shit,” David responds. 

“Easy,” Ully gently reprimands him. 

Carlos manages to close the game to nine tenths of a second as they come into the second to last turn. David coaxes every last ounce of power he can get out of the car as he lunges across the line beneath the checkered flag. 

The fanfare for winning a sprint race is aggressively calmer than it is for winning a race. David is okay with it. He holds his silver plaque with the number 1 on it and loops his arm around Carlos. Pavel, coming home in P3, is on his other side. The cameras in front of them snap away. 

“Minister of defense,” David says as he pats Carlos’ back. The Mercedes driver just laughs and shakes his head. “No seriously!” 

“Yeah right,” Carlos shrugs him off. 

“I watched you drive single handedly while also holding me off,” Pavel chimes in as he pulls his Ferrari cap down over his head and tucks his hair behind his ears. “You gave me DRS to keep Charlie and Hampus behind. You’re the minister of fucking defense.” 

Carlos is quiet for a second before saying, “I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say in a row.” 

David’s laugh echoes through the paddock as they walk towards the press pen. He shakes his head and claps Carlos’ shoulder. 

“The fact that you’re right makes it even funnier,” he says, still laughing. He’s hoping that the lightheartedness carries through the rest of the weekend. 

Once again Ferrari personnel are the last ones to leave the paddock. David stifles a yawn as he walks towards the scan point. He’s so tired he barely notices the lights in the Aston Martin garage are on. He glances over, thinking that maybe it’ll be Charlie and he can wish him luck before the craziness of the race. 

He feels his stomach sink so much it stops him in his tracks. Hampus is in the middle of an intense argument with his physio. He recognizes that look on Jeremy’s face. He’s been on the receiving end of that kind of yelling before. Hampus is not a pleasant person to be around when he’s angry like this. 

A memory from Zandvoort comes back to him. They’d fought for that top step the entire way up until the second to last lap when the rain had begun to come down in sheets. David had lunged for a gap that opened up and Hampus lost his grip. It had been two things that happened at the same time and Hampus saw it as a personal attack. 

David remembered the look on his face as he tore into him in the hallway before they walked into the cooldown room. He had been downright dangerous. But David, in his post-race delirium, didn’t care about that. He had yelled right back. And, if Charles hadn’t been right behind them and put himself between them, he’s still sure it would have come to blows. Netflix would have loved it. Everyone else, though, not so much. 

In the Aston garage Hampus has stopped yelling at his physio. Jeremy’s trying to diffuse the situation but, by the looks of things, Hampus isn’t having it. David watches as he shakes his head and jabs his finger into Jeremy’s chest. Jeremy says something to him before turning on his heel and walking away. 

David’s attention is fully grabbed at this point. He’s still staring at the garage bay when Hampus turns to face the paddock. David swears his heart stops as their eyes lock. He swallows hard and tightens the grip he has on his backpack strap before scurrying the rest of the way to the scan point. 

He can’t shake the feeling of Lindholm’s eyes on him even as he goes through his routine before bed. It distracts him enough that he lays awake staring at the ceiling when he should be peacefully asleep and getting rest for the race tomorrow. 

It gets bad enough that he climbs out of bed and pops open the bottle of melatonin he keeps stashed in his toiletries bag. It’s his absolute last resort, his ‘break glass in case of emergency’. It always gives him weird dreams and he wakes up feeling more than groggy. But starting his morning groggy is better than racing after having not slept for over twenty four hours. 

It does the job, and he’s knocked out within half an hour. And he wakes up groggy just like he thought he would. He’s a zombie by the time he’s standing in front of the espresso machine in Ferrari hospitality. He doesn’t remember the ride to the track, he doesn’t even remember getting himself dressed that morning. 

But he’s wearing his team polo and sipping at his espresso as he tries to remember how to be alive for the day. Pavel guides him through their pre-race briefing and sticks him into his driver’s room before anyone can ask him anything. David’s silently grateful to him for it and he promises himself to do his best to buy him a drink after the race. 

His meditation wakes him up a little bit but not near enough. He needs to be on it today. He hadn’t had a good qualifying and was starting P3. He had Hampus and Charles in front of him, Carlos and Pavel just behind him. 

“Focus on managing the tires for the first few laps,” Linus instructs over the radio as Pasta follows Hampus through the formation lap. “Everyone behind you is on softs, Lindholm is on mediums.” 

“Copy,” David responds. He doesn’t have time to wonder why Lindholm is starting on mediums before the lights go out. He slams his foot down on the accelerator and goes for the gap. Charles swings over to close it, but David has gotten a better jump than Lindholm has. They switch spaces going into the first turns down the hill. 

David stays close to the back end of Charles’ Mercedes. The field spreads out a little as they get deeper into the first lap. He’s still right behind Charles, but Pavel has passed Carlos and has now tucked himself right into his slipstream. 

It’s the best start to the race their strategists had hoped for. It’s a rather tame start to the race compared to the midfield clusterfuck that last year’s race in Japan had brought. The order at the front of the grid doesn’t change that much. Hampus got his medium tires fired up and was now all over the back of Carlos. 

“Don’t ask me about Lindholm one more time,” Linus threatens after the third time David requests to know where Hampus is in the order. 

“You want another entertaining race, you tell me where Lindholm is,” David snips back. “You don’t want Netflix to have their entertainment value for the season?” 

“Drive the fucking car, David,” Linus says. David smiles to himself as he starts lap thirteen. 

Linus calls him into the box two laps later and they successfully double stack. Both Ferraris manage to come out of the pit lane on hard tires and ahead of Norris. David starts the second stint behind one of the Aston Martins. From where is in his car he can’t make out which one it is. He treats them both the same and flies past. 

The field has spread out considerably since the race started. It’s a six second gap between him and Beecher ahead. Alpine has had absolutely horrendous performance all weekend. David spares half a second to marvel at how Beecher, a driver in his second year, has gotten himself and his tractor up to P6. He passes him handily after spending nearly eight laps to close the distance. 

Pavel stays right behind him, riding in his slipstream all the way up to P2 and P3. Hampus is in the lead when David gets called back to the pits again. He follows the Aston Martin in, becoming increasingly more annoyed that winning a championship gives you the preferred box in the pit lane. 

But his pit crew is just slightly faster than Hampus’ and they have the added benefit of not needing to replace a front wing. Pasta beats him to the pit exit by a healthy four tenths of a second and takes off on his new tires. Charles has retaken the lead and David comes out right in his slipstream. He doesn’t attack and instead focuses on warming up his tires. 

It only takes four laps for Ully to ask him how the tires are feeling, “How’s the car?” 

“Fine,” David answers. “What’s the gap to Charles?” 

“Two point three,” Ully answers. “Do you feel like you can attack?” 

“With six laps left?” David starts. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Alright, push push,” Linus instructs. 

David coaxes as much from the car as he possibly can. He comes within Charles’ DRS but he ultimately can’t get the overtake done as he passes beneath the checkered flag. He’s happy with the P2, especially as he realizes it wasn’t his teammate behind him. 

He’s chatting with Charles, pointing out some of the highlight worthy overtakes that play on the screen, when Hampus walks in. David spares him a glance, stopping mid sentence. Charles clears his throat and discretely elbows him in the side. 

The look on his face is more than enough to tell Charles everything he needs to know. He purses his lips and looks down, knowing he’s going to have some explaining to do tonight when they make their way to the clubs. Hampus, thankfully, doesn’t notice it and sits down hard on Charles’ other side. 

David stares at the screen again. His overtake on Carlos after the second round of pit stops is playing. It’s a good one, but the only thing he can seem to focus on is what he saw in the Aston Martin garage last night.   

Chapter Text

“Look, we’re on the jumbotron,” Charlie says as he elbows Hampus in the ribs. “Wave!” 

Hampus laughs as he pushes his sunglasses a little further up his nose and waves in the direction he’s pretty sure the camera is in. He glances back at the massive screen in right field. Under his and Charlie’s picture is a banner, labeling them as Aston Martin drivers. 

The Red Sox had graciously reached out and asked if they wanted to come to a game. Charlie was a Yankees fan, and had griped the whole car ride over. Hampus had been about two seconds away from pushing him out of the car and onto the highway. 

“See, aren’t you glad I told you not to wear the Yankees hat?” Hampus asks as the footage cuts to the batter at the plate. Charlie just rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his beer. Hampus knows his teammate is a die hard Yankees fan. But he also knows that he loves baseball and will never pass up an opportunity to go to a game. Even if his beloved Yankees aren’t playing. Even if the game is at Fenway Park. 

“I’ll turn you into a Yankees fan,” Charlie promises. “Just you wait.” 

“I dunno, Charlie,” Hampus shrugs, using his teammate’s nickname. “Fenway’s pretty nice.” Charlie narrows his eyes at him. Hampus just smirks. He knows Charlie can’t argue with that one. 

The inaugural New England Grand Prix has booted Miami from the calendar. It’s much cooler in Massachusetts than it is in Florida. And, while Hampus hadn’t been too jazzed about another street circuit, he was content with not sweating to death and having to take an ice bath after every session just to remain a functional human being. 

Hampus cheers along with the fans in attendance as the Red Sox batter sends the ball flying clear over the Green Monster. He’s enjoyed his time in Boston so far. The fans he’s encountered have been some of his favorites of his career. He always enjoys when he can get into some lighthearted banter with them and the people in Boston are not backing down from the challenge. 

He can’t go one block without getting chirped by someone and he’s loving it. Boston is quickly turning into one of his favorite cities to race in. Aside from the fact that the track is probably going to be an absolute mess. Especially the pit lane. But that will be a problem when they come to it. 

The cheer from the crowd brings Hampus back to Earth. He watches as the second Red Sox batter sends the ball flying way out to centerfield. It lands somewhere in the crowd, Hampus lost it in the sun but he can tell where it lands from the cheer that erupts from the bleachers. He cheers along with the fans in attendance. 

“Hot dogs!” Danny announces as he walks back into their row. Trent is right behind him, also carrying two paper wrapped hot dogs. “Gotta say, Chuckie, these ones look a lot better than the ones you force fed me at Yankee Stadium.” 

“Bullshit!” Charlie shouts but accepts the food from Trent anyway. Hampus can tell from the expression on his face when he takes a bite that Danny is right but he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“See that face?” he asks, looking over his shoulder to the Red Bull drivers. “That’s the face he makes when he knows we’re right but can’t say anything about it or else he will be acknowledging that he’s wrong.” 

“Is not,” Charlie grumbles around his mouthful of food. 

“Sure it is,” Danny hums as he turns his attention back to the game. “Wait, so explain innings to me again.” 

“Once the pitcher gets three outs-” 

“The sides will change and the team that’s batting now-” 

“It switches so the players in the dugout will now be in the field-” 

“Oh my fucking god,” Hampus interrupts, leaning forward onto his knees and pressing his hands to his ears. “Will you two shut the fuck up? You’re confusing me and I didn’t even ask the question. 

Danny just laughs and slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing tight, “You gotta let loose, mate. Just enjoy it.” 

“I’d be enjoying it more if I didn’t have you three yapping directly in my ear,” Hampus retorts. 

“Game’s ending anyway,” Charlie says as he motions back towards the field. “One more inning. The Sox’ll win.” 

“Try not to sound too depressed about it, Chuck,” Trent laughs as he leans across Danny to look at his fellow driver. Hampus laughs and looks over at his teammate. 

“Hey, when the Red Sox win somewhere a kitten dies,” Charlies says. It only takes Danny about half a second to smack the back of his head in response. 

“When you miss the podium this week I’m going to pinpoint this exact moment,” he says as they file out of their seats. 

Charlie just scoffs and rolls his eyes. He walks back to the hotel in silence, listening and only laughing along to the conversation going on around him. It’s late when they finally get back and Hampus crashes almost immediately. 

He always sleeps like this after being out in large crowds for an extended period of time. And when he wakes up and walks into the paddock the following morning it’s quali day. 

He’s never really been fond of temporary paddocks and tracks, but even he has to admit the set up in Boston isn’t that bad. Especially considering it’s a city laid out to be driven with horses and buggies not cars of any kind. 

The practice sessions yesterday and this morning went well. And he’s still riding a high coming off a win in China. He’s been at the top of the time sheet all weekend. David, of course, right behind him. But he’s got three qualifying sessions and a sixty lap race ahead of him to prove that this circuit is built for his car. 

Everyone in the Formula One media circles have been speculating who’s going to fare the best in Boston. It’s most similar to Baku in Azerbaijan and even then it has its own quirks that aren’t like anything already on the calendar. So far he’s handled everything that’s been thrown at him but he only has a razor’s edge over the Ferraris who are both right on his tail. Because of course they are, where else would they be. 

“Good morning, good morning,” Jeremy greets him as he walks into his driver’s room. “I’ve got the massage table all set up for you if you just wanna jump right in.” 

“God, you’re a legend,” Hampus sighs as he shimmies out of his team shirt. 

“Charlie told me you were at Fenway yesterday,” Jeremy says as he finishes organizing his oils. “Those seats never do anything good for your back regardless of where you’re sitting.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hampus agrees with a sigh as he settles on his stomach. “I still feel bad for snapping at you in Japan.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Jeremy says as he starts working on a particularly tight knot in Hampus’ lower back. “We were both on edge, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Yeah- ow, but I feel bad,” Hampus responds. 

“Try to relax,” Jeremy instructs as he continues working on the knot. “It’s fine, Hampus, really. And you apologized so that’s really all that matters.” 

“You’re right,” Lindy says. He closes his eyes and does his best to melt into the massage table as much as he possibly can. “Still, I’m sorry again.” 

“And I’m sorry again,” Jeremy echoes. 

Silence falls over them as Jeremy works the stiffness out of his back. He feels soft and limber and ready to drive by the time Jeremy’s gone. He’s in a good mood as he climbs into his car and peels out of the garage. 

As he sets off for his out lap he decides he’s thrilled this isn’t a night race. There’s no way he could navigate these streets in the dark even if he wasn’t in an F1 car. 

The car responds to him well as he speeds up and takes his first fast lap. There’s almost no elevation in this circuit which is something he’s monumentally grateful for. His car, or Charlie’s for that matter, doesn’t do very well climbing hills. It was a miracle he landed on the podium in Japan. He already knows he’s fucked for Austin if the issues don’t get fixed. 

Hampus always gets a bit thrown off by how slow Q1 goes compared to the other two rounds of qualifying. He’s firmly in the top five at the end of the first session, edged out only by Norris and, of course, Pastrnak. He charges through Q2 and Q3 takes pole position. This is round six and he’s still not tired of the garage celebrations when he manages to charge to pole. He jumps into the arms of his engineers and gives his pit crew a little extra attention. 

“There we go everyone!” he calls as he makes his way through the garage. He can see the Aston Martin photographer crouched in the corner snapping away. He gives her lens a bright smile and a thumbs up. 

He’s in an irreversibly good mood. He grabs his hat, the one with the number one in clear view, before he runs back out of the garage and back towards the FIA backdrop. Out of nowhere, an FIA steward appears at his elbow. 

“Mr. Lindholm,” she says, making him jump slightly. “Mr. Coyle will be presenting you with the pole position award.” 

“Right,” Hampus says, turning his attention towards the man standing in front of the backdrop. He smiles and extends his hand, “Hampus Lindholm. Nice to meet you.” 

“Charlie Coyle,” the man responds with a smile. He’s wearing a Bruins jersey, a C embroidered on his chest. Hampus enjoyed watching hockey growing up in Sweden but he hasn’t been paying as much attention to it as he’d like as of late. In his defense, he’s been pretty busy. 

“Are you enjoying the weekend so far?” Hampus asks as the photographers get themselves organized. 

“Oh absolutely,” Coyle responds. “A few of the boys and I are here, it’s crazy. Enjoyable, but crazy.” 

“Gentlemen, when you’re ready,” the same steward says from the side just off camera. Hampus shakes Coyle’s hand again and they both reach for the miniature Pirelli tire. He loves claiming pole, but this has got to be his least favorite thing about it. It’s always so awkward. At least when he does it. He’s watched David’s award ceremonies and he always seemed so smooth in them. 

“Have a good race tomorrow, man,” Coyle says as he scrawls his signature on the tire. “We’ll be rooting for you.” 

“Thank you,” Hampus says, accepting the pen and tire from him. “I hope you enjoy it. Pop by hospitality before it starts, I’ll see if I can hook something up for you.” 

“Hey, thanks man!” Coyl exclaims, shaking his hand again. “Good luck again.” 

Before he can blink Hampus is getting pulled into an interview. He rattles off his notebook of PR answers, criticizes the car’s flaws that the track highlights, and promises to do the best he possibly can the following day. 

Across the media pen a flash of red catches his eye. He stumbles over his words a little but quickly clears his throat and falls right back into his interview. Still, though, the driver with the stupid fucking blind curls and red baseball cap stays right in the corner of his eye. 

He walks past on his way back to the Aston Martin garage, a snippet of the interview becoming clear, “...he’s a fantastic competitor. I’m honored to share the track with Lindholm, of course, but he’s in my way. I want to win just as much as he does.” 

Hampus’ step falters a bit. He does his best to make it look like he tripped on a rock instead of being caught so off guard by the words coming out of the driver who was supposed to be his biggest rival. 

“Ah! Here he is!” the interviewer David is talking to exclaims as he notices him looking down at the imaginary rock. “Hampus!” 

There are too many cameras around for him to ignore it. He plasters a smile on his face and walks over, taking care to leave at least three inches between the two of them. He gives David a good natured handshake and tries not to think too much about how he looks like he’s about to cause even more drama for Netflix. 

“We were just talking about you,” he says nonetheless. 

“Oh?” Hampus raises an eyebrow, acting like he hadn’t heard half of David’s most recent answer. 

“My question to David was about how he felt about starting from P2,” the interviewer says, attention now turned to Hampus. “Do you have anything to add?” 

“About him starting P2?” he asks and is answered with a nod. “Well he’s a good driver. Not as good as me but he’s a good driver.” 

Hampus can almost hear the stitching of David’s race suit pop with how tight he’s gripping the sleeve. He grits out a laugh and the nudge he gives him isn’t as playful as it looks. 

“I enjoy racing him. We’ve had some pretty good battles so far this year,” Hampus continues. “I hope we can still bring some entertaining battles to everyone watching this season.” 

“Thank you both,” the interviewer nods before Lando steps over to take their spot. They walk away together, shoulders bumping as they cross the rough cobblestones. Only in Boston would the paddock be half pavement half cobblestones that have been here since the American Civil War at the very least.  

“You know,” David starts once they’re safely in the thick of the paddock and away from the ears of any reporters. “You’re my only real competitor this season.”

“That so?” Hampus raises an eyebrow at him. “I still think your teammate is a better driver than you are.” 

“You’re gonna eat your fucking words, Lindholm,” David growls, jabbing a finger in his chest. “That number one you’ve been parading around with belongs with me. You fucking asshole. It’s mine.”  

Hampus is rooted to the ground. Those words had just been for the cameras. He really should have realized that when he heard them the first time. And, as he watches David disappear into the throngs of people, he realizes he’s in for a fight a lot bigger than he was expecting. 

******** 

“You look like you’re contemplating waging war,” Charlie says as he slips into the empty seat beside his teammate. Hampus looks up at him and offers a smile. 

“Sorry,” he says, pushing away the data sheets he’d been going over before the start of the race. “In my own world, I guess.” 

“You’ve been in your own world since dinner last night,” Charlie says, taking a sip of his water. “Is everything okay?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Hampus nods. “Just been trying to figure out exactly how this circuit is going to race.” 

“Yeah,” Charlie sighs as he looks up at the tall buildings surrounding them. “It’s gonna be interesting for sure. It’s so similar to Baku and so different at the same time.” 

“That’s what I was thinking about,” Hampus agrees. “I couldn’t think of another street circuit that’s this tight in areas aside from Baku.” 

“Monaco in places but it’s not like this,” Charlie shakes his head. “I couldn’t drive in this city on a normal day. No chance in hell.” 

“I was thinking that too. Like, how crazy is it that we’re racing on streets that were built for fuckin’ horse and buggies,” Hampus says, shaking his head. “Not everyone is gonna finish the race today, that much I know.”

“Probably,” Charlie sighs. Silence settles over them for a second before Charlie speaks again. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you? I heard you had a bit of an… incident with Pastrnak in the paddock yesterday afternoon.” 

“Ricciardo?” Hampus asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Who else would tell me,” Charlie chuckles. Hampus shrugs, he has to give that one to him. 

“It was nothing, really,” Hampus sighs. He fiddles a bit with the data sheets in front of him. “I got pulled into his interview and we were civil.” 

“That’s not what Danny said,” Charlie says as he shakes his head again. Hampus gives him a look. “Danny said he saw David absolutely rip you a new one.” 

“He did not rip me a new one,” he replies. “He said I was his only competition and then I said I thought Pavel was a better driver than him and then he called me an asshole.” 

Charlie’s silence calls his attention. He looks up from his data sheets to see him already staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face, “What?” 

“And you just had to have this little spat in the middle of the paddock?” he asks. “Lindy, you know how much attention this race is getting. It’s the first time we’re racing here. And I swear to god if you say that Netflix will love it one more time, I’m actually going to punch you.”  

“Alright,” Hampus holds his hands up in mock surrender. “They will, though.” 

“Hampus!” Charlie exclaims. 

“Sorry.” 

“You need to get your shit together before we go out there,” Charlie tells him. “I’m serious, Hampus. I’m starting P13. You need to be the one to get the points for us.” 

“You’re one of the best overtakers on the grid,” Hampus counters. “You’ll storm your way up. You always do.” 

“Maybe on a normal track,” Charlie throws the argument right back at him. “I figure I’ll end up just out of the points. But you are not going to change the subject on me, Lindholm! I’m serious. You need to pull your head out of your ass and focus on the race. You’re starting from pole, you need to preserve it.” 

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Hampus says, engaging in the argument. “And the pit lane is almost as bad as it is in Vegas. This city is not meant for an F1 race.” 

“This city isn’t meant for normal cars!” Charlie exclaims. “Just tell me you’re going to pull it together and I’ll leave you alone, okay?” 

“I am going to pull it together,” he repeats. His teammate purses his lips at him as he stands. 

Hampus sighs heavily as he walks away. The data on the sheets in front of him has started to resemble Elvish more than anything in any language he speaks. He pushes it away and looks at the city around him. The paddock has been set up nestled between the tall buildings. It makes him a little bit curious about how the aerial coverage is going to go over. 

But he doesn’t have to worry about that. His only job description today is getting in his car and driving.  

The Aston garage is buzzing as he walks through to get back to his driver’s room. Martin nods at him before going back to talking to his lead mechanic about something. His driver’s room is nice and quiet, exactly the way he likes it. On the other side he can barely hear Charlie getting ready for his own race but it just joins the ambient noise. 

He sits down on the couch and holds his helmet in his hands, just studying the design. It’s a new one for the inaugural Boston Grand Prix. For the first time it’s a different color. He’s gone as close to Green Monster green that he can get. The artwork of the wall itself is beautiful. Instead of depicting the score of a game the board is his name and number. 

He’s not the only one that’s gone with a unique design for the race. Zhou over at Alfa Romeo has done something Freedom Trail related and Zacha has a hockey rink on his. Hampus never realized just how much of a hockey town this really is until he got here. Everywhere he looks there are people decked out in Bruins gear or little kids running around representing their own teams. It’s impressive, really, just how passionate the people in Boston are about their sports. 

This crowd is sure to be something. 

“Ready to go?” Martin asks as Lindholm walks out to the grid, still fastening his helmet on. 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding as he lets one of his mechanics pull him over to the car. “What do you have for me?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” Martin sighs. “We’re still not totally sure how the car is going to respond to the track. It could go really well for us, or we could have the worst race of your career.” 

Hampus pauses and blinks at him a few times before climbing into his car, “That’s incredibly assuring, Martin. Thank you for your input.” 

“Any time,” Martin smiles and pats his shoulder before retreating to the pit wall. Hampus rolls his eyes one more time and lowers himself into the seat. The world quiets the second his mechanics have him buckled in and his steering wheel snapped into place. 

He purposely doesn’t pay attention to the red Ferrari in his mirrors on the formation lap. He pays attention to the track in front of him. He pays attention to the sun glaring off the high rise buildings. He pays attention to the feel of the car beneath his hands. He pays attention to the sounds of the fans and the engines. He’s in his element. The only thing he needs to do now is win. 

The world goes quiet around him as he lines back up on the grid. The only thing he can hear now is the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. He fixes his eyes on the lightboard hanging above them. The lights flick on one by one, the world stands still, and then they all go out. He slams on the accelerator and the car takes off. 

The first turn in the new track is an annoying one. It’s a left turn at a sharp angle, taking them off Beacon Street and towards Boylston, wrapping them around the Public Garden. His mirrors are full of the Ferrari and a Mercedes as they take turn four. 

It’s a gentle series of turns before another sharp right onto Court Street and past the Old State House. The historical buildings mixed with the new ones whizz past as Hampus takes the sharp left of turn nine onto Congress Street. 

Hampus ignores them, though, and keeps going. His mirrors are still full. He’s lucky DRS hasn’t been enabled yet, that much he’s sure of. 

Turn ten is another annoying sharp right followed by another sharp left. His car slides a little bit and he can see the Ferrari behind go for the gap. He swings way over and aggressively takes the near hairpin turn onto Causeway Street. There are two more sharp right and left turns to get back on to Beacon. And just like that, the first lap of the Boston Grand Prix is done. 

The Boston circuit is far less strenuous than Japan or Singapore. It has a few low speed, tight corners mixed with fast straights and gentle curves. Hampus finishes the first lap feeling confident. Confident in his car, in the track, in the strategy, in himself. 

Everyone aside from Tsunoda and DeBrusk are starting on mediums. It’s a sixty lap race, and no one really knows how good or how bad tire degradation is going to be yet. Hampus checks in with his team after the first lap, “How are we looking?” 

“Tires are fine so far, just defend,” Martin responds, his voice crackling a little bit. 

“Copy,” Hampus says. He’s quiet for a moment, focusing on turns one and two before asking, “What’s the gap?” 

“Six tenths to Pastrnak,” Martin responds. “Let us worry about the car, you focus on defending.” 

Hampus puts his head down and pressed onward. David’s Ferrari stays in his mirrors for the next three laps. It’s only on turn seven, the second sharp right of the circuit, that he disappears. For a moment Hampus is concerned that he’s crashed and the race will get red flagged. He’d watched one of the Haas cars crash out during the second practice session in this exact spot. Hell, he’d almost lost it himself in qualifying. 

“Gap to Pastrnak?” he asks, glancing in his mirrors again. 

“One second,” Martin replies. “He’s out of DRS.” 

“Copy,” Hampus replies. 

Sweat starts to drip down the side of his face by lap thirteen. It’s the beginning of May in the city and a comfortable sixty degrees. He’s used to racing in near hundred degree conditions, this is a nice change. And it’s more the exertion from driving than the heat. 

The car starts rattling around as he pulls more out of it. He knows it can last, he’s seen it go through more difficult circuits than this one. They can last a few more laps. 

“Alright, Hampus,” Martin chimes in over the radio. “Pastrnak is back within your DRS. How do the tires feel?” 

“They’re starting to fall off,” Hampus responds. He’s not necessarily exaggerating. They’re still attached to the car, yes. But they’re starting to feel like if he goes any longer on them he’ll be driving on rims. 

“Okay,” Martin says. “Box next lap.” 

The pit lane in Boston is, admittedly, a shit show. He’s a little nervous as he comes in, completely unused to pitting in the middle of a bustling city like this. But his team gives time a 2.1 second pitstop and he comes back out onto the track in P7 just behind his own teammate. It only takes about half a lap for him to get his new soft tires fired up and for the team orders to come through. Charlie lets him pass in the Boylston Street DRS zone. 

He gains a few more places as the pit stop window closes. By lap forty four he’s sitting comfortable in P2. Only Pastrnak is ahead of him. The Causeway Street DRS zone is small, but it’s enough for him to close the gap from nine tenths to five tenths by turn fifteen. 

There’s no real opportunity for him to overtake but he stays on Pastrnak’s tail until turn twenty when they round back onto Beacon Street. He goes for it. They’re wheel to wheel but Pastrnak pulls ahead. Lindholm is forced to back off coming around to turns one and two. They’re far too sharp for him to even attempt an overtake. 

“Safety car,” Martin’s voice chimes over the radio. Hampus grumbles a series of Swedish profanities under his breath. “Safety car out. Crash in turn eighteen.” 

“Who?” Hampus asks, hoping deep down that it isn’t Charlie or Danny. 

“Hulkenberg and Tsunoda,” Martin responds. “Everyone is okay.” 

“Should we pit?” he asks. He’s only been on these soft tyres for twelve laps, but everyone knows the best time to pit is under a safety car. It almost cuts the time spent in the pitlane in half. 

Martin is quiet for a moment before he answers, “Box, box.” 

Hampus swings hard into the pits. In his mirrors he can see Norris behind him and a string of other cars. Aston Martin has the best pit position. It allows him to get in for his stop, another 2.1, and get right back out behind Pastrnak where he left. 

“Did Pastrnak pit?” he asks as he tries to figure out whether or not he’s still on soft tires. 

“Not yet,” Martin answers. “The marshalls are still cleaning up. It’ll be a few more laps.” 

Hampus glances at the screen on his wheel. There are now twelve laps to go. He grits his teeth and tightens the grip he has on the wheel. If the safety car doesn’t come in soon he’s going to have a hell of a job in front of him if he wants to take the first win in Boston. 

Two laps pass and Martin’s voice crackles over the radio again, “Safety car retiring next lap. Attack the second you’re able.” 

“Copy,” Hampus responds. 

He knows Pastrnak is going to hold out for as long as he can before restarting the race. It’s exactly what he would do if he was holding up the lead. He holds out as long as he possibly can. They round turn four and he guns it. 

Hampus stays with him and comes close to making the overtake a handful of times. He takes the lead for about half a second coming out of turn seventeen but David takes it right back in eighteen. 

Four more laps go by with David staying just ahead. On lap fifty five Hampus finally makes it stick. He pushes him off the racing line in turn twenty and shoots down Beacon Street like his ass is on fire. 

His mirrors are still full of David’s Ferrari on Boylston Street and through to turn seven. He knows Ferrari has a straight line advantage over them so there must be something wrong with the car when David fails to take the place back. It becomes especially evident when he slips well out of DRS with a two second gap. 

It was a hard fought overtake, but Hampus crosses beneath the checkered flag with ease. Pastrnak finishes second three seconds later and Pavel follows closely behind him. 

“Good race, Hampus,” Brad’s voice comes over the radio. He smiles a little at how proud his team principal sounds. “Hard fought, well earned. Bring her back.” 

“Good job everybody,” Hampus says as he relaxes for the first time in two hours. He flips up his visor and gives a wave to the crowd before pulling his car back into the pit. His face and name are displayed on every possible screen. It makes him smile under his helmet. 

“Hampus!” a faceless reporter calls over to him. He knows who it is, but his brain has liquified with the intensity of the last few laps. He’ll remember after he showers off the champagne. “Yet another good battle between you and Pastrnak. Did you expect it to go on longer or did everything go according to plan?” 

“I honestly expected a bit more of a fight,” Hampus replies as he pushes some sweaty hair away from his forehead. “I think there must have been something wrong with the car in the last few laps but, yeah. Another good battle. He never makes it easy.” 

The reporter asks him a slew of questions after that. He doesn’t remember any of them. He rattles off his carefully crafted PR answers, thanks his team a few more times, and makes his way to the cooldown room. Pavel is already there, chugging down half a water bottle. He offers him a smile and a handshake. 

Which is much more than can be said for David who marches in, drinks some water, and pulls his hat down low over his eyes. And just like every other time they’ve shared a podium this season they don’t aim their champagne bottles at each other. And Pavel is, once again, acting as a mediator. 

Hampus doesn’t miss the look he throws at his teammate. It’s one that Charlie has given him on multiple occasions. And he knows he’s gonna get it the second he’s back in the garage. 

Chapter Text

There’s just something about being able to sleep in your own bed the night before a race that works wonders. Making coffee in your own kitchen, at your own pace. Eating breakfast without needing to put down your fork for every fan that wants a picture. 

David loves the support, he really does. But there are times where he just wants to shower in his own bathroom with his own hair products and root around in his own fridge for the cream cheese. He’s really enjoying sitting on his own balcony eating his bagel in his pajamas instead of a stuffy hotel crawling with fans and reporters who don’t seem to know just how sacred a man’s morning bagel can be. 

Monaco is buzzing from the second David rolls out of bed. It’s race day and everyone is excited. His apartment building houses four other drivers and he can practically feel their energy as he goes about his morning routine. The group chat they have together is dinging constantly as he gets ready. 

He spares a glance at it as he fixes his hair. He’d just gotten it cut yesterday, paying a visit to Charles’ mother’s salon. She took his curls a little shorter than they usually are but they still lick his ears the way he likes. He fiddles with it, trying to get them to lay just right as he leans over and taps his phone screen. 

Pavel and Lando are chirping at each other about something and Danny is offering unhelpful advice. He’s really just trying to stir the pot like usual. David laughs and shakes his head at them. 

He slips his shoes on, grabs his wallet and sunglasses, and heads out the door incredibly grateful for the fact that he’s going to be able to sleep in his own bed after the race too. 

Carlos is the only one waiting in the lobby when David steps off the elevator. He looks up and slips his phone into his pocket when he hears him coming, “Morning.”

“Are we the only ones that managed to have our shit together?” David asks as he sits down in one of the chairs next to him. 

“Apparently,” Carlos sighs as he sits down beside him. “How are you feeling for the race?” 

“It’s Monaco,” David replies with a light laugh. “It doesn’t really matter how I feel, it’ll do what it wants regardless.” 

“That’s true,” Carlos shrugs as Lando and Pavel step off the elevator, still clearly continuing their bicker in the group chat. Pasta looks at Carlos, sharing an already exhausted look. They stand up and greet their fellow drivers. 

“No, no,” Lando’s shaking his head. “That’s not it all, dude, it’s like you’ve never played Fortnite before.” 

“Yeah! Because I’m not a fucking fourteen year old!” Pavel responds animatedly. It takes Carlos about half a second to burst out laughing and need to lean on David to support himself. “I mean come on, Lando. Fortnite? When did you go back to middle school?” 

“I will have you know that streaming is a fantastic way of connecting with the fans, thank you very much,” Lando spits back. 

“Just fucking go outside if you want to connect with them!” Pavel exclaims. David considers jumping in to mediate but the elevator is beeping again and out strides Danny. 

“They still arguing?” he asks as he comes to stand between them as if they’re not in the middle of a shouting match that’s growing steadily worse. 

“When aren’t they?” David asks. Carlos finally stands up on his own power and dramatically wipes tears from his eyes.  

“As hilarious as this is,” he says, still giggling a bit. “Our car is waiting for us outside.” 

Lando and Pavel continue their spat long into the ride to the paddock, Danny egging them on. Carlos sits next to David in the car, scrolling through his phone. He occasionally leans over to show Pasta something but for the most part they keep to themselves. 

Pasta gazes out the window as the van picks its way through the busy streets. The sidewalks are cluttered with fans wearing a multitude of different team’s gear. It’s mostly dominated by Ferrari and Mercedes with the occasional papaya shirt mixed in. David elects to ignore the Aston Martin fans he sees until the van pulls up outside the paddock. 

Carlos climbs out ahead of him and smooths his Mercedes polo before going to meet up with Charles as he steps out of his recognizable Ferrari. Pavel falls into step beside David, his argument with Lando clearly forgotten. 

“You and Carlos seem like you’re getting awfully close,” he says, nudging him as they approach the scan in point. 

“What?” David’s voice goes up an octave as he wheels on his teammate, freezing before tapping his badge against the reader. “Me and Carlos?” 

“Mhm,” Pavel nods, smirking behind his sunglasses. “Have I read things wrong?” 

“This is a conversation that I refuse to have in the middle of the paddock,” David says. He grabs Pavel’s sleeve and yanks him into the Ferrari motorhome. He doesn’t stop until they’re safely behind the closed door of his driver’s room. 

Pavel sits down on his couch and gives his teammate a look. 

“What the fuck are you on about?” David asks as he starts to fidget with his gear purely so he doesn’t need to look Pavel in the eye as they talk about this. 

“David come on,” Pavel sighs. “It started in Japan. You two have been super close to each other since then. It’s all laughing and watching TikToks together. And today? He was sitting so close to you in the car.” 

“Yeah, because we were in a car,” Pasta says, annoyed. 

“I was sitting in between Danny and Lando and I had more room than there was between you and Carlos. And you two had a bench to yourselves,” Pavel tells him as he leans forward. “And he was showing you, like, every other post he scrolled by.” 

“Pavel,” David sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for this today.” 

Pavel holds his hands up and stands, “All I’m saying is you were complaining to me about being single literally last night. He’s obviously attracted to you and I think you should give it a go.” 

“I’ll see you on the track,” David says as he leaves. The door closes behind him and David sits down hard on the couch. The insinuation that he should get with Carlos makes him angry for some reason. He’s not entirely sure why. 

He does his best to push it out of his mind as he gets ready for the driver’s parade. Logan is chatting with Lando as he walks into the holding area. He greets them as he walks past and exhales deeply, coming to stand beside Danny. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, ending his conversation with his teammate. 

“Yeah,” David sighs. He glances over his shoulder to see Pavel deep in discussion with both Mercedes drivers. By the looks of his hand gestures they’re talking about something extremely technical. 

“How come I don’t believe you?” Danny presses a little more as he narrows his eyes. 

“Pavel said something to me before we came out for the parade,” David says, tearing his gaze away from his teammate and Charles and Carlos. 

“About?” Danny presses again. He takes David’s elbows and pulls him towards the back of the room. 

“Carlos,” David sighs. 

“Carlos?” 

“Pavel thinks he likes me,” David says, voice barely above a whisper. He knows Danny is not the best person to be talking to about this. What Danny knows the entire grid will soon know. But he was right there and he asked what was wrong so what was David really to do? Ignore him? 

“Pavel thinks Carlos likes you?” Danny repeats, brows furrowing. David wrings his hands together and nods. “You know, I can kinda see it.” 

“What?” David hisses, pulling them a little further to the side. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“David, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he always manages to wedge himself next to you when we’re all together,” Danny tells him. David must be wearing a blank look on his face because Danny smiles and shakes his head. “When we were at the bar in Australia after your win he dragged you onto the dancefloor and all but gave a death stare to anyone who dared come near you.” 

“He did?” David asks, feeling his stomach do a somersault. 

“Oh yeah,” Danny nods. “He even glared at me before he fully realized who I was. You should chase this one down.” 

“I was hoping you weren’t going to say that,” David sighs into his hands. Danny pats his shoulders and follows the steward that’s come to bring them to the track for the parade. He lingers at the back of the room for as long as he can just staring off into space. 

And it’s just his luck that Carlos is the one that comes to snap him out of it. 

“Cabrón,” he says, nudging him gently. “You good?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” David shakes his head and falls into step beside him as they walk out. “Just lost in thought.” 

“Everything alright?” Carlos asks. “I know you didn’t qualify where you wanted to but you’re still gonna have a good finish.” 

“Thanks, man,” David smiles. Carlos gives him a nod and claps his shoulder before jogging off to join Charles at their care. 

Pasta studies the way they interact as he comes to stand beside Pavel. Carlos stands as close to Charles as he does to David whenever they’re together. And he’s just as touchy with Charles too. David smiles and shakes his head. 

“What?” Pavel asks him before they climb into their car. 

“You were wrong,” David smiles at him. He thumbs over his shoulder to where Charles and Carlos are leaning against each other as they laugh about something. “Carlos wasn’t acting like he liked me. He was just acting Spanish.” 

Pavel hums and plasters an unreadable expression on his face. David shakes his head and brushes past him to climb into the car. A bright red, vintage Ferrari. Because of course. 

“All I’m saying,” Pavel says as the line of vintage cars pull away. He pauses to wave at the fans. “Is that he doesn’t laugh at Charles’ shitty jokes the way he laughs at yours. 

“I don’t have shitty jokes!” David exclaims. 

“Is that seriously what you’re taking out of this?” Pavel asks, dropping his arm. He laughs and shakes his head. “Whatever, man. Just take it to the Mercedes hotel, yeah?” 

David rolls his eyes and drops the subject and the driver’s parade ends without further conflict. 

He’s starting P7 on the grid. Monaco has not been nice to him over the course of his career and it doesn’t appear to be starting now. He lines up in front of Lando and behind Danny. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong on quali day. 

And now he has seventy eight laps in front of him to fight through the midfield. 

The lights go out and he slams his foot on the accelerator. He gets a better jump than Danny does and makes up the space right off the bat. That liquid calm seeps a little deeper into his muscles going into the first turn. He settles in right behind Pavel. He’s happy with his start and relaxes into the first few laps. 

The field spreads out as lap ten starts. He’s one second behind Pavel per team orders and Danny is six tenths behind him. On any other circuit he would be worried about but Monaco only has one DRS zone and it’s not the most conducive track for overtaking. 

David is happy running in P6 for now. Monaco is a marathon and he’s happy to play it safe rather than put his car into the barrier. He still has flashbacks from the race here two years ago when he went spinning and took the entire front of his car off. That was in turn ten and still, two years on, he’s a little weary whenever he approaches it. 

“How’s Pavel’s tires?” he asks over the radio. 

“He’s experiencing minimal degradation,” Linus answers. “Everything on our end says your’s are alright. Do they feel okay?” 

“Everything feels perfect,” David responds as he shifts gears. “I’m happy to stay behind him and defend against Riccardo.” 

“Copy that,” Linus says. “We’re still running with plan A.” 

“Copy,” David replies. 

He puts his head back down and completes the next six laps. The entire grid with the exception of the Williams cars, have started on mediums. The pit window will open in a few laps and Linus has already come over the radio to tell him the plan is to bring Pavel into the pits first with the hope that he can stay out a little longer and give Pavel time to gain a few places after he comes out before they bring him in. 

David eases the car through the hairpin and accelerates away through turn eight. Turn nine always catches him a little off guard with how fast the g forces hit him. His seatbelts dig into his shoulders as he slams the brakes heading into turns ten and eleven. 

He comes into the pits around lap twenty four. It’s a smooth stop, just barely over two seconds. He comes back out in P6 ahead of Lando. Pavel is ahead of him in P5. There are no changes to the grid order until the next round of pit stops. 

He manages to jump up another place after a successful double stack with Pavel and lands in P5. And then the yellow flags come out. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, brow furrowing a bit as he slows way down in turn three. 

“Safety car out,” Linus answers. “For McAvoy. He went into the wall in the hairpin. There are sixteen laps left.” 

“Copy,” David says. “Is McAvoy okay?” 

“Yep, he’s fine,” Linus says. “He got out of the car right away.” 

David lets out a sigh of relief. He’s familiar with how bad crashes in Monaco can be. And, as he passes by the smoking remains of Charlie’s car, he knows it could have been much worse. He shudders in his seat and puts his focus back into Pavel’s car ahead. 

The safety car ends with four laps to go. It doesn’t take long for Linus to chime back in over the radio, “We’re switching the cars.” 

“Why?” David asks as he accelerates 

“He has an issue,” Linus doesn’t offer any more detail. They switch between turns nineteen and one in the DRS zone. The end of the race is fairly anticlimactic. Pavel holds on to P5, barely crossing over the line before Lando catches him. 

David finishes just off the podium in P4 behind Danny. He’s happy with the results of his race, especially when he catches a glimpse of Charles on the top step. He lingers by the podium for the celebration, cheering Charles on along with the rest of the Mercedes crew and the gaggle of people crowding around. 

A few Ferrari personnel who worked with Charles during his time with the team join him. David focuses on his friend’s acknowledgement and cheers him on. He only spares a glance to the blond driver wearing green. 

Hampus had finished second after starting second. From the little snippets David had heard he had a good race. This had been only one of three times this season that they didn’t fight on the track. They hadn’t battled in the sprint race in Japan, and last weekend’s race in Emilia-Romagna ended with Pavel on the top step, David beside him, and Hampus way down the order out of the points. 

He misses the feeling of his heart jumping into his throat as they come wheel to wheel going into tight turns. Not that he would ever admit that. 

******** 

Laughter echoes through the hotel pool. David props himself up on his elbows and lowers his sunglasses to watch as Danny cannonballs into the pool. Charles yelps and ducks under the water to escape the splash. David smiles and shakes his head before relaxing back into his sun lounger. 

The entire grid has a well deserved afternoon off after the Canadian Grand Prix. Weather concerns pushed the time of lights out up to the morning and they finished in the paddock around three instead of starting the race then. 

David didn’t mind the change at all. Especially now as he lounges in the sun with a sprint win and a race win under his belt. He smiles into the sun and folds his arm behind his head. He’s more than relaxed after his post race massage and the background noise of his friends horsing around in the pool together is serving well as another relaxer. 

Another splash followed by a shout that can be quickly identified as Charlie’s makes his chest feel a little lighter. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift a bit. The feeling of the sun on his bare skin tops off an already amazing day. He’s not quite sure how long he’d been laying there by the time someone sits down next to him and nudges his elbow. 

“Hey, Charlie,” he says as he adjusts his sunglasses and sits up. 

“Congrats again on your win, man,” Charlie says, running a towel over his head.  

“Thanks,” David smiles. “You had a pretty good drive yourself P14 all the way up to P5? Not half bad.” 

“Thanks,” Charlie chuckles. He pauses and looks back at the pool, watching as Danny dunks Carlos under the water. David can tell just purely from the look on his face that they’ve given him the perfect lead in to something. “You know, Danny said something interesting to me the other day.” 

“Of course he did,” David sighs, cringing hard internally. “I have a feeling that I know what this is about. Wanna hit the pool bar with me?” 

“Sure,” Charlie nods and stands, following him to the little hut at the far end of the pool. 

“I’ll have whatever’s on tap, please,” he says to the bartender before turning to Charlie. 

“Uhm, same,” he says, smiling. They move to the quieter end of the bar with their drinks before Charlie says anything. 

“Is this about Carlos?” David asks immediately. Charlie nods, making Pasta sigh, “What did Danny tell you?” 

“That Pavel is almost positive he’s got a thing for you,” Charlie says. “And that he agrees.” 

“Do you agree?” David flips the question on him. He watches as Charlie runs his fingers through the condensation on his glass and nods. “Jesus.”

“Listen, after Australia… it really only makes sense,” Charlie defends himself. “You were both drunk but he was all over you on the dance floor. And, like, have you seen the pictures from the podium today?” 

David shakes his head as his mind flashes back to the podium celebrations just three hours earlier. Charlie reaches for his phone where he’d set it on the bar. He pulls up the pictures on Ferrari’s Instagram account and hands it over. 

David swipes through them. There’s nothing out of the ordinary right off the bat. It’s the generic picture of him on the top step with Carlos and Hampus barely in the frame. The third picture in the post is the one Charlie must be talking about. David is standing between Carlos and Hampus and, where Lindholm has left a generous amount of space between them, Carlos is pressed right against his side. 

“We all pose like that together,” David shrugs it off and passes Charlie his phone. 

“You know that’s a lie,” Charlie says, sighing. “I can’t remember a time anyone has stood that close to each other on the podium.” 

“You’re so full of shit,” David scoffs as he takes a sip of his beer. Charlie just gives him a look. “What?” 

“You’re the one that’s full of shit,” Charlie replies. “We’re partying tonight. You’ll see. Stay sober for a little while longer. I promise you you’ll see what we’re all talking about.” 

David’s about to respond before a shout from none other than Carlos himself cuts him off, “Guys! Come on! We’re gonna leave without you!” 

David gives Charlie one last look before following the group back into the hotel. He falls into step beside Pavel and glues his eyes to the ground. He can feel his teammate raise an eyebrow as he stands as far away from Carlos in the elevator as physically possible. 

He and Charles step off a few floors below theirs with Danny and Charlie in tow. The second the doors close Pavel turns on him, “What do you know?” 

“What do I know?” David exclaims, kicking himself off the wall. He narrows his eyes at him, “What do you know?” 

“Nah, nuh uh, you don’t get to flip this one me,” Pavel says, shaking his head. “I saw you talking to Charlie. I know you know something.” 

“All he said to me was exactly what you said to me,” David says as the elevator dings and opens at their floor. Pavel steps out, still looking at him with narrowed eyes. “What!” 

“You’re not gonna do anything about it are you,” Pavel states more than asks. 

“Absolutely not,” David shakes his head before unlocking his door. 

“David!” 

“Pavel, no!” he pushes back. “I’m not gonna hook up with Carlos.” 

“Why not?” Pavel whines. David gives him an incredulous look. “David, you have not gotten laid since the beginning of the season. It’s been three months, dude. You have been more tense than I’ve ever seen you. Will you just please, for the love of god, let loose tonight?” 

David sighs and leans against the doorway. Pavel is right but he doesn’t want to admit that. He stares at his teammate over his hand and narrows his eyes at him. Pavel just raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Fine, but I’m not making the first move,” David says before shutting the door in Pavel’s face. He barely hears his noise of victory. 

He rolls his eyes and slips into the bathroom. His ‘going out outfit’ is simple. His go to jeans and whatever the first shirt he grabs out of his suitcase might be. He barely has time to button up his shirt before someone is knocking at his door. 

“Calmati, sto arrivando. Sto arrivando,” he calls, running his fingers through his hair one last time as he crosses the room to the door. He doesn’t look through the peephole, fully expecting his teammate to be on the other side. He falters, freezing when he sees who is standing there instead. “Carlos.” 

“Hey, David,” Carlos flashes him a smile that is incredibly attractive as David is just now noticing. “You ready to go?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, sliding his phone and wallet into his pocket before stepping out into the hallway with him. “Is everyone else down in the lobby?” 

“They’re not ready yet,” Carlos shakes his head as he starts towards the elevators. “But I wanted to get there a little early. I think Hampus is already there.” 

“You’re sure we don’t need to wait for everyone else?” Pasta asks, reluctantly following his fellow driver towards the elevators. 

“Hampus said he’d buy my shots for the night and I don’t want to fuck that up,” Carlos laughs as the elevator dings at them. David grits his teeth but steps on after him. He doesn’t necessarily want to be one of two other people partying with Lindholm, but he also doesn’t want to wait for Pavel and Charles and everyone to get ready. 

The club is in the middle of Montreal and has a line out the door. Carlos leads them right past it and gets them in with a simple smile at the bouncer. David dutifully follows him in, smiling at the people he passes. He knows they have the attention of everyone both inside and outside. 

“Lindy!” he hears Carlos shout and almost instantly wishes he waited for the rest of their friend group to show up. He turns to the bar and flags down the bartender. The sound of him ordering his own drink catches Carlos’ attention. He grabs his elbow tight and leans over to be heard over the loud music, “Absolutely not! You’re the race winner, you’re not buying your own drinks tonight!” 

“Carlos, come on,” David sighs. He catches Hampus’ eye from the other side of him. Something flickers through his eyes and, for a moment, David thinks it might be jealousy. 

“I’ve got it,” Hampus quickly speaks up. “Are you really an F1 driver if you don’t buy a drink for your rival at least once?” 

“Thanks, man,” David forces the words out along with a smile. 

“Three shots, please!” he exclaims, speaking a little louder so the bartender can hear his order clearly. “You guys want tequila? Let’s do tequila!” 

David doesn’t have time to think about the fact that he’s letting Hampus Lindholm, his sworn enemy, buy him a shot before he’s knocking it back. The alcohol burns the back of his throat as it slides down. This is his benchmark. It’s almost always around this point in the night that he can tell if he’s going to completely let loose or nurse a total of two drinks the entire night before retreating to his hotel. 

There’s a tingling at the base of his skull that tells him Pavel is going to be the one dragging him back to the hotel tonight. He quickly wheels around and orders another round for them before Carlos or Hampus can stop him. 

“Cheers,” he smiles, raising his glass to both of them. He catches Hampus’ eye once again and smiles. It feels… different. He’s so used to glaring at him from behind their helmets. A smile across a bar is unusual. And he doesn’t hate it. He downs his second shot and turns to look out over the crowd. 

“Are we gonna get to see fun loving Pasta again?” Carlos teases him as he elbows him gently. David turns to him and winks before pushing himself off the bar and weaving his way through the throngs of people. 

He has attention from everyone almost immediately. Within seconds he’s got two women, two stereotypically beautiful women attached to his sides. He smiles and drops his hand to one of their hips, allowing the music and alcohol starting to course through his system take over his brain. 

His dancing is messy and uncoordinated, but neither of them seem to care. Before long one of them is putting another drink in his hand. He dances with them for two songs before he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well, well!” Danny is smirking as David turns around. The two girls fall away from him as they lose his attention. 

“Danny Ric!” David exclaims. “It’s about time you all showed up! You’ve got some catching up to do!” 

David takes Danny’s wrist and pulls him over to the bar. Charlie and Pavel are chatting with Charles when he arrives with Danny in tow. Charlie’s face splits into a grin when he sees them, “Pasta! You looked like you were having fun!” 

“Try winning a race and you can have some fun too,” David winks at him before flagging down the bartender. This poor person has their work cut out for them tonight. David leaves a generous tip as their glasses are presented to them. David raises his own, “Cheers, mates! Let’s have some fucking fun tonight!” 

Charlie and Danny laugh and clink their glasses together before taking sips of the liquid within. Carlos appears over Charles’ shoulder and whispers something in his ear. David watches as he points towards the back of the club where there are clusters of high tops. He knows the look that crosses Charles’ face. He’s seen that look on Pavel’s face before when they find each other hookups in clubs. Charles downs another sip and pulls away from the group on his way to the back of the club. 

“We’re gonna go dance,” Danny announces as he peels himself away from David’s side, taking Charlie with him. 

“You gonna go with them?” David asks, turning to his teammate. He watches as Pavel glances at Carlos behind him. It makes his stomach do a somersault. 

“Yeah,” he nods before downing a shot placed by his elbow. “You?” 

David looks over his shoulder. Carlos is leaning against the bar staring out over the club, just observing. The blue, pink, and purple lights flash over his face. David doesn’t have the wherewithal to suppress the thoughts that it makes him look good. He licks his lips and turns back to Pavel. Pavel who is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” he hisses. 

“If I leave, are you gonna make a move?” Pavel responds. David glances over at Carlos to find him already looking at him. He doesn’t respond. Pavel smirks and grabs his glass before going to find Danny and Charlie. 

“Danny said something to me while we were on our way over,” Carlos says before David has a chance to so much as inhale.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, feeling his stomach do another somersault. “What’s that?” 

“Apparently I’m tense,” Carlos chuckled. “Something about the kind of tense that comes with not being laid.” 

David chokes on his drink. 

“He also said something interesting about you,” Carlos continues, shifting a little closer. David feels well drunk now. He can feel how fuzzy and warm everything’s getting. He can feel his brain zero in on the chocolate brown eyes under floppy brown hair in front of him at the same time it blocks everything else out. 

“Oh yeah?” he manages to croak out. He’s taller, thicker than Carlos is. On paper he should be the one pinning Carlos to the bar not the other way around. 

David feels his breath hitch in his throat as Carlos starts to fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt. 

“He said that you were tense too,” Carlos tells him, voice turning in a way that sends chills racing down his spine. “Do you wanna… do you wanna go back to the hotel?” 

David swallows hard before saying, “Mine or yours?” 

Carlos smiles, trapping his lower lip between his teeth before abandoning his glass on the bar and starting towards the door. David rushes to swallow the rest of the liquid in his glass and weaves through the thicket of people to catch up with him. 

It’s a warm night. And David almost wishes Carlos had elected to walk back to the hotel instead of calling Uber. But walking would have probably given him the opportunity to rethink this. And Carlos was looking a little too good standing under the streetlamps for his anxiety to overpower the alcohol in his system. 

The Uber pulls up to the curb and Carlos climbs in first. It’s a small car, and David’s thigh is pressed against the length of Carlos’. He can feel the heat radiating off him. It makes his heart race and his palms sweat. The car stops in front of the Mercedes team hotel. 

David can feel his dick throb against the zipper of his jeans. He follows Carlos through the thankfully empty lobby towards the elevators. The second the doors are closed Carlos is on him, crowding him up against the mirrored wall and attaching his lips to his neck. 

“Carlos,” David gasps as he feels teeth scrape across his Adam’s apple. He tilts his head back and lets the wall take his weight. Carlos presses their hips together, rolling his slightly and making sure David can feel his hard on through their jeans. 

“You’re so hot,” Carlos sighs against his neck. The elevator dings, sending him taking two big steps back. A cursory glance up at the red numbers above the opening doors tell him they’ve reached Carlos’ floor. “One last chance,” he says as he steps off. “You’re sure you wanna do this with me?” 

“Yes,” David nods, scrambling to follow him. “Yes. You- you do too?” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” Carlos agrees. David swallows hard and follows him down the hallway. He lets his hands fall on his hips as Carlos fishes around in his pocket for his keycard. He swears under his breath as David trails his lips across the back of his neck. 

The door swings open and they stumble in. It’s a mess of hands and lips and clothing as they race to be the first one undressed and on the bed. David stops his assault on Carlos’ neck to give him room to get his shirt pushed off. Carlos makes a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of his bare chest and the armful of ink. 

“Dios mío,” he mutters before diving in. David gasps as he feels teeth sink into his chest. He lets it go for a second before remembering that nobody will ever let him hear the end of it if he takes an ice bath next weekend with faded hickies sprawled across his chest. 

“Clothes off,” he says, tugging at Carlos’ black t-shirt with one hand and undoing the fly of his own jeans with the other. Carlos takes half a step back and sheds his clothes, almost getting caught in his pants and boxers as he kicks them off. 

David is quick to push him to sit on the bed and sink to his knees. Carlos’ dick stands at attention, the tip red and leaking. David looks up at him through his eyelashes for confirmation and only takes him into his mouth upon Carlos’ nod. He tastes salty against the back of his throat. He presses his tongue against the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, pulling a lude noise from him. 

“David, joder,” Carlos swears, getting a hand in his curls as he sinks down a little more. David lets him push him, relaxing his throat. He only starts sucking when his nose is brushing against the coarse, dark curls decorating Carlos’ pelvis. 

He hollows his cheeks and swallows. Carlos’ hips buck up into him, the action accompanied by a breathy punched out moan. David knows he’s damn good at blowjobs. He’s well aware, having been praised on his skills on more than one occasion. He doesn’t get a chance to put them on full display, though, before Carlos is pulling him back up. 

“We gotta-” he cuts himself off with a deep breath. “Joder, we gotta talk about this. What- what do you usually do?” 

“Bottom,” David answers breathlessly as he shakes himself out of his jeans and boxers. “You have lube, right? It’s, uh… it’s been a second since I’ve done this.” 

“Yeah,” Carlos nods. He cups David’s cheek and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s tender and soft considering David just had his dick in his mouth after little to no discussion. David makes a noise. He’s not entirely where it comes from, a place deep in his chest. Carlos stands and presses into his mouth with a little more heat as he turns them around. 

“Carlos,” Pasta gasps as his fellow driver pulls out of the kiss and shoves him hard. He bounces against the mattress and looks up at him wide eyed. Carlos smiles and tugs gently at his hair before crossing the floor to his suitcase. 

David watches, admiring the view as he bends over and retrieves a travel bottle of lube and a condom. He gives himself a few lazy strokes only to earn himself a slap on the wrist. 

“I wanna be the one to make you cum tonight,” Carlos tells him, accent a little thicker as David lets his legs fall apart to make room for him. He settles on his knees and coats his fingers in a generous amount of lube. David gasps at the first cold touch to his hole. 

“Carlos,” he whines, circling his hips as he presses his index finger in up to the first knuckle. Carlos rubs soothing circles against his hip, pausing to let David adjust to it. He spares an alcohol and arousal fuzzy thought to acknowledge how considerate Carlos is being when this is supposed to be a hookup to get out some pent up frustrations. 

“Tell me when you’re good,” he says, gently fucking his index finger in and out of his tight hole. 

“Go ahead,” David nods. “Fuck, please.” 

“Love the sounds you’re making,” Carlos hums, pressing his finger in all the way. He slowly pulls it out and returns with his middle finger. David’s body clenches and Carlos stills. He relaxes with a shaky breath. Carlos resumes his ministrations, slowly him on his fingers and scissoring them. The stretch and accompanying burn is delicious. David pushes his hips back as it subsides a little too much for his liking. 

“More please,” he pleads. Carlos drops a kiss to his knee and pauses before pressing back in with his ring finger. David lets out a high pitched moan and presses his hips down, clenching around the fingers in his eyes. 

“You gotta relax,” Carlos tells him. “It’ll be so much better for you if you relax.” 

David nods and does his best to dispel the tension from his muscles with a shaky exhale. Carlos fucks him again. His fingertips just barely graze his prostate. It’s nowhere near enough. 

“Need your dick,” he pants. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Carlos nods, sounding equally gone. He pulls fingers out and David clenches around nothing. “How do you want to be? Do you want me to fuck you or do you want to ride me?” 

“Can’t decide,” David shakes his head as his eyes fall closed. “You choose.” 

“Okay,” Carlos hums. David hears him rip open the condom package followed by the click and squirt of the lube bottle. He lets Carlos push his legs up and back. “Can you open your eyes for me?” Carlos asks. 

David takes in a shaky breath before doing as requested. Carlos is hovering right above him. He presses their lips together in a heated, needy kiss. David moans into his mouth as the tip of his cock breaches his hole. 

“Carlos!” he cries out, digging his nails into his muscular shoulders. “Oh fuck,”  

“You feel so good, shit,” Carlos grunts into his ear. “Not gonna- fuck. Not gonna last with you squeezing me like this. Relax. You gotta relax, David.” 

David whines as he again tries to force the tenseness out of his body. Carlos rolls his hips, punching a moan out of his lungs. He lets David wrap his legs around his waist and pulls him ever closer. He sets a pace and sends the headboard tapping against the wall. 

“Carlos,” David moans loudly as he finds his prostate and waves of pleasure shock his system. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Carlos moans into his ear before sucking a mark into his neck. David is too flooded with arousal to care all that much about the chirps he’s gonna get the next day. 

“Fuck,” David whines. Everything is heightened by the alcohol running through his system. His entire body is lit on fire and it intensifies with every thrust. 

The quick drag of Carlos’ cock against his walls is better than anything he’s felt in a long time. Short only of hearing his national anthem play while he stands on the top step. But he allows himself to get lost in it nonetheless. 

“Oh fuck,” Carlos moans, the sound making David open his eyes. He leans up and sucks a mark of his own into his neck. “Shit, this feels so good.” 

“Touch me, Carlos,” David begs against his sweaty skin. “Please, I need it.” 

He cries out as Carlos wraps a hot hand around his dick. He jumps at the sensation, hips bucking and ass clenching. It rips a moan out of the man above him. David moves his hips to meet each one of his thrusts as the pleasure starts to strangle his lungs. 

“I’m gonna- close,” he chokes out a warning. Carlos doesn’t change a thing. 

He leans down and sucks David’s earlobe into his mouth before grunting his order, “Cum for me.” 

David’s vision whites out as his orgasm grips him. His back arches off the bed and presses his chest against Carlos’. He’s just lucid enough to feel Carlos shudder through his own orgasm. 

They lay boneless together on the mattress as they try to catch their breath. David stands on shaking legs and retreats to the bathroom to clean himself up. When he returns Carlos is fast asleep and snoring. He sighs and gathers his clothes, carefully and quietly slipping back into them. 

He pauses by the door despite the fact that his Uber is almost in front of the hotel. Carlos rolls over and hugs a pillow to his chest. Despite the twitches still striking his thighs and hips he doesn’t feel the pull to stay. He crosses the floor, kisses his fingertips, and gently presses them to Carlos’ shoulder. 

“Where to?” the Uber driver asks him as he slides into the backseat. 

“Uh, the Marriott just down the road, please,” he answers. He watches as the Mercedes team hotel disappears out the back window and Carlos with it. He knows he’ll have the marks to remind him of what he did when he wakes up. And he doesn’t regret it. 

He’s happy he did it, if anything. He feels satisfied and relaxed and a little annoyed that Pavel and Danny were right. But he’s not going to tell them that.   

Chapter Text

The champagne is cold as it hits him in the face. Hampus jumps off the top step, trying to get away from it but Charlie follows him. He wipes it from his eyes and laughs as he shakes his bottle again. He aims it at the red suit beside him, not expecting to catch another spray. He turns his head at the last minute, still laughing as the champagne stream peters out. It drips off the bill of his Pirelli cap as he takes a sip from the oversized bottle. 

“Hell of a race!” Charlie exclaims over the music and crowd noise as he slings his arm around his teammate. Hampus is acutely aware of the second body next to him as a faceless photographer comes up in front of them for the picture. 

It’s starting to feel like deja vu at this point with this podium. Him and Pastrnak and whatever other driver managed to get on the second or third step between them. Not including sprint races, this is the seventh time this season they’ve shared the spotlight. And this is the first time they’ve sprayed champagne at each other. That much Hampus is certain of. 

Still, he’s startled as Charlie leads the way back towards the cool down room and leaves him to walk with David. He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘good fight out there’ but David is speeding up and walking away from him. Hampus sighs to himself and adjusts the grip he has on his trophy as he walks. 

“How are you feeling?” Jeremy asks the second he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Hampus gives him a tired smile and hands off the oversized bottle before shaking his head. 

“I’m tired,” he answers as he pauses outside the media pen. 

“You’re not going out tonight,” Jeremy’s question is phrased more like a statement. Hampus nods and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s fair to say,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. There’s a gaggle of reporters all hungry to talk to him. He turns back to Jeremy and says, “What are the odds I’ll get away with faking a seizure and getting out of media and there being no repercussions for it?” 

“Slim to none,” Jeremy responds with a pat on the shoulder. “Grin and bear it, Hampus. You’ll be through in no time.” 

Lindy gives him one last pleading look before Jeremy is shoving him into the media pen. He manages to get through it without any Netflix worthy moments and is safely back in his driver’s room in almost record time. Jeremy is already there setting up his massage table. 

“Want one?” he asks, reaching for the bag of oils. 

“God yes,” Hampus sighs. He relaxes the second he comes into contact with the table. He would sign an affidavit that stated Jeremy was sent down to him by the gods with how he has the ability to miraculously work every last bit of tension out of his body after a particularly tough race like Spain had been. It’s far from the hardest circuit on the calendar and it’s the start of an intense triple header this week. But there was just something about it today that got him. 

“You’re more tense than usual,” Jeremy says, picking up on it like he always does. “Did something happen?” 

Hampus pauses before answering. He’s not entirely sure anything didn’t happen. He can’t shake the feeling that something’s different, he just can’t put his finger on what exactly that is. 

“Hampus?” Jeremy asks after he falls quiet for a little too long. 

“Sorry,” he sighs and lets his eyes close again. “I don’t know, Jeremy. The podium felt weirder than usual today.” 

“Elaborate.” 

Hampus sighs heavily again, his upper back cracking under the pressure of Jeremy’s hands, “Pastrnak-” 

“I should have known.” 

“Shut it. He- okay. It sounds weird and you’re gonna think I’m crazy-” 

“No more than usual.” 

“But he sprayed me with champagne,” he finally spits out. Jeremy stops his movements and falls silent for a second before opening his mouth. 

“That’s it?” he asks, an unreadable tone in his voice. “Seriously, that’s it? You’re all moody because he sprayed champagne at you?” 

“He never does!” Hampus exclaims as he pushes himself to sit up. “We have been on the podium together seven times this season and this is the first time he’s so much as acknowledged that I exist.” 

“Okay,” Jeremy nods. Hampus can see him stepping into his therapist role. “How did that make you feel?” 

“Don’t give me that, please,” he sighs as he reaches for his shirt. There’s still a lingering ache in his shoulder but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs to get out of the paddock and back to his hotel room before he actually combusts. 

“Hampus you won’t stop feeling this way unless you talk about it,” Jeremy warns. “And if you fall asleep pissy I’m the one that’s gonna have to deal with it.” 

Hampus narrows his eyes at his physio. He knows he’s right. But he also knows that he does not have the energy to argue with him at the present moment. Instead he sighs and slips off the table.  

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, sliding his feet into his shoes as he hopes Jeremy won’t press anymore. He knows it’s coming, but he does not have the wherewithal to deal with it right now.  

“Yeah, sure,” Jeremy nods as he starts packing up. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel. And don’t think for a second you’re getting out of talking about this.” 

Hampus groans overdramatically on his way out of his driver’s room. He knows it’ll be an hour or two before Jeremy leaves to come back to the hotel. He always stays behind late to help with clean up. It’s sweet, and Hampus tried to stay too at the beginning of the season but the fatigue soon caught up with him and he was going back to the hotel at the earliest possible moment upon Brad’s orders. 

Hotel rear entrances were a godsend. Especially after a drive from P13 all the way up to P1. It was, by far, the best race of his season thus far. But it was also the one that knocked him flat on his ass the quickest. Charlie had looked disappointed when he said he wasn’t going to be partying tonight, but Hampus quickly pointed to the marks on his shoulders from where his seatbelts dug in after getting spun out on the first turn by Poitras. It was all just a racing incident, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch.  

Hampus sighs and presses back against the door the second it’s shut behind him. His hotel room is quiet, the only noise coming from the whirring of the air conditioner that’s working overtime in the Spanish summer heat. 

There’s still too much sweat and champagne sticking to his skin for his liking and he;s under the shower stream after definitely not giving it enough time to warm up. The water, no matter the temperature, feels good against his skin. He braces his hands against the wall and ducks his head, allowing it to run over his shoulders and down his back. 

His mind wanders to David. It’s been doing that recently. More and more after he watched him scurry to leave the club after Carlos two weeks ago. He doesn’t really know why he’s still dwelling on it. He had people shoving to get close to him all night yet he didn’t pay attention to any of them. 

He remembered the unfamiliar feeling that settled into his chest. He remembered how much he didn’t like it. It’s all pushed out of his brain, however, when water mixed with soap runs right into his eyes. 

“Ah, fuck,” he swears to himself as he turns the water off and blindly gropes for a towel to try and alleviate some of the sting. He grumbles to himself and pulls on a pair of joggers and one of his Aston Martin t-shirts. 

“You seem to be in a better mood,” Jeremy deadpans as Hampus walks out into the main room. 

“Oh just peachy,” he responds, sighing hard as he sits down in one of the too-hard armchairs. “Why can’t hotels just splurge for nice furniture? It’s obnoxious.” 

“Alright,” Jeremy sighs, standing up and placing his hand on his hip. He’s still in uniform and still has his lanyards hanging around his neck. It makes Hampus sort of feel like he’s about to be lectured into next week. “I’m done with you dodging the topic. So you’re either going to shut the fuck up and eat the dinner that I have so lovingly ordered for you or you’re going to eat the dinner that I lovingly ordered for you and tell me what the fuck your issue with David Pastrnak is.” 

Hampus opens his mouth but Jeremy cuts him off, “The next words out of your mouth better be about Pastrnak.” 

He sighs and reaches for the plastic takeaway bowl full of fresh salad in front of him. And then Jeremy’s sigh goes to his head and he can’t not keep his mouth shut, “He’s just- he’s so frustrating.” 

“But,” Jeremy pushes him. 

“But,” he exaggerates. “He… he’s been different lately. When we were out partying after Canada he bought me a drink.” 

“He bought you a drink,” Jeremy repeats. “He bought you a drink and you’re losing mind over it two fucking weeks later. Hampus, surely you don’t need me to tell you you’re a fucking idiot.” 

“Hey! I’m pouring my soul out to you and you’re making fun of me for it,” Hampus exclaims, mildly offended. Jeremy holds his hands up and motions for him to go on. “Thank you, that’s what I thought.” 

Jeremy glances up from his food at the pregnant pause in the room, “Are you gonna keep talking?” 

“Sorry,” Hampus sighs, shaking his head. He stabs a bit of lettuce before continuing, “It’s just… he left the bar in Canada with Carlos. I watched them leave. And they were all giggly in the paddock today and I don’t think they did anything but what if they did.” 

“What’s it to you?” Jeremy asked, shrugging. 

Hampus looked at him, confused, “What?” 

“What’s it to you?” Jeremy repeated himself. “You’re both consenting adults. Why do you care if he hooks up with someone else?” 

“I…” Hampus’ voice trailed off as he thought about it. Jeremy was right. He had a strong point. Why did he care if David went off with someone else? He wasn’t his, he didn’t have a claim over him. Jeremy looked at him expectantly. “I don’t know.” 

“Then why the fuck are you letting this distract you?” Jeremy asked. “Hampus, we are one race into a triple header. You need to keep your mind on the track, not on whatever David Pastrnak is doing with his dick.” 

“Ew,” Hampus shudders. “I never want to hear the words ‘David Pastrnak’s dick’ come out of your mouth ever again.” 

“That much I can promise,” Jeremy smiles. “I’m serious, though. Keep your mind in your car.”   

******** 

“What the fuck is this guy doing?” Hampus spits into his radio as he struggles to get his car back under control. “This is fucking qualifying! He shouldn’t be fucking racing!” 

“The stewards are aware,” Martin says calmly. “You have time for another lap, just relax.” 

“He should be starting from the fucking pit lane,” Hampus shakes his head, still feeling his blood boiling beneath his skin. “This is Q3!” 

“Hampus, you have time. You’re on provisional pole, just take a fucking deep breath,” Martin says a little more firmly this time. Hampus doesn’t respond. He just flexes his hands around the steering wheel and brings the car the rest of the way around the track back to the start line. 

He sees a flash of black and white coming from the flag stand as he crosses the line. He holds his breath until Martin tells him he’s clear with about two seconds on the other side of his car. He drags the car around the circuit to the best of his ability. 

Silverstone  has always been a thorn in Aston Martin’s side. Its partiality to sharp, almost ninety degree corners has never favored Aston’s car. In the three years Hampus has been racing in one, it’s been glaringly obvious to him. He feels like he’s wrestling a tractor around each turn, the g-forces pinning him back into his seat and knocking his knees together. Hard. 

He grits his teeth together hard and drags the car through turn four and eases it into the gentle curve of turn five. The majority of the grid left in Q3 is on their own flying laps behind him. It sort of feels like a race as he whips through turns six, seven, and eight. He knows that if someone behind him is going faster he’s going to be told to move aside. And if he leaves the racing line he’s going to lose pole. Probably to Charles or to David. 

He refuses to lose pole position. 

He crosses the finish line in a minute and five seconds even and claims pole handily. David is right behind him on the front row and Danny is in third. Hampus plays the part, looping his arm around them as photographers snap away at them. 

He can hear Danny chuckle under his breath as the photographers thin out. He turns to him, asking, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Danny shakes his head but holds Hampus back, letting David walk ahead of them. “Just… do you have a minute?” 

“Uh, I have to get back to the garage for debrief,” Hampus answers, glancing down at his watch. “Why? What’s going on?” 

“Just come with me for a second,” Danny says, already leading him away. Hampus glances back at Jeremy who was giving him his best ‘what gives’ look and shrugs. He knows he easily could have ripped away from him, but a little part of his brain is curious to see where this goes. 

“Ricciardo, what the fuck?” he sighs as they come to a stop behind a huge rack of tires outside the Williams garage. 

“You seem like you’ve been close to David recently,” he says, leaning against the wall. “Wanna say anything about that?” 

“Are you interrogating me?” Hampus spits back. “Why do you care so much about whether or not David and I don’t hate each other now?” 

“Do you?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you not hate him anymore?” 

“Why do I feel like I’m being accused of a crime?” Hampus quips, taking half a step back. He knows Danny. He’s known Danny for a long time and this is the first time he’s acted like this towards him. It’s raising alarm bells in his head. 

“Hampus,” Danny sighs. “You know how I am.” 

“And? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I’ve just seen the way you’ve been looking at David recently and I want to know if I get to play matchmaker soon,” Danny lays it all out in front of him. 

Hampus raises his eyebrows so high they’re in danger of getting lost in his hairline, “What the fuck?” 

“Listen!” Danny holds his hands up. “I see you gazing at him longingly across the paddock. I just need to know if I’m going to have time to prepare plans or not.” 

“Danny,” Hampus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do not need to play matchmaker. I saw David leave the bar in Canada with Carlos.” 

“Ah so you do know,” Danny leans back a bit and folds his arms over his chest. Hampus narrows his eyes at him. 

“I didn’t know anything but I think you do,” he says. “What is it, Ricciardo?” 

Danny just smirks before saying, “Pastrnak and Sainz may have had a fun night.” 

Something red flashes through Hampus’ system. David is his own man. He’s free to make his own decisions regarding who he sleeps with. Just like Jeremy said. 

But. 

He cannot shake the feeling that it should have been him in that hotel room in Canada instead of Carlos.

“You okay, Hampus?” Danny checks in after he’s quiet for a beat too long. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice strained. “Fine. Just fine.” 

“So I still get to play matchmaker then?” Danny asks, smiling.

“I’m gonna walk away from you now,” Hampus says sharply. He hears Danny following after him as he steps out and almost immediately runs into Charlie. 

“Lindy, hey,” Charlie smiles, pausing for him to catch up. 

“Start walking,” Hampus says, grabbing his elbow and guiding him back to the Aston Martin garage. 

“Okay,” Charlie says cautiously. “What’s going on?” 

“Danny is trying to play matchmaker with me and Pastrnak,” Hampus says quickly, glancing over his shoulder. “And I am nowhere near drunk enough to be having that conversation right now.” 

“Okay,” Charlie laughs, letting his teammate guide him into the briefing room. “Hey, you wanna get dinner tonight? Or breakfast tomorrow morning?” 

“Breakfast.” Hampus answers, only relaxing when the door shuts behind them and closes Danny out. “Gotta keep with race day tradition, right?” 

Hampus only half pays attention to their debriefing after he gets an affirmative response from Charlie. He nods along and offers input when he’s supposed to but he stays quiet. His mind is way too occupied with thoughts of David. 

David. The man he’s supposed to hate more than anything. The man he all but told the media he hated at the beginning of the season. He didn’t hate him so much anymore. If anything, he liked him. 

His thoughts of David didn’t end when he left the meeting room after the debriefing. They followed him to his hotel room, into the shower, and to bed. He tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable before giving up and staring at the ceiling. The only piece of racing information swirling amongst the ideas of David was the five second impeding penalty handed down to Ocon for the incident in Q3. 

Q3. It seemed so far away now, it seemed like it didn’t really matter. He was starting the race from pole and David was right behind him. As they had started so many times in the first half of the season. 

“Fucking hell,” Hampus groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until bright colors explode behind his lids. David, once again, weasels his way to the front. 

Hampus has no idea where along the line he fell. He knows he did, he just can’t remember when. If it was in the bar in Canada or when he sprayed champagne at him on the podium for the first time. Or even today in qualifying when he went out of his way to make sure he moved off the racing line so Hampus could go through on a fast lap in the first session. 

It was all normal things drivers did on an everyday basis during a race weekend. But there was something different about it this time. Different about David being the one doing it. He hated the fact that it was keeping him awake. And he absolutely despised the fact that he didn’t hate him as much as he had in Saudi Arabia. In a lot of ways he wished he could go back. The beginning of the season was so much easier. 

Sleep eventually caught up with him. It was nowhere as near peaceful as he wanted it to be but he woke up rested enough to race. He also woke up to gray clouds hovering in the sky and a weather report that looked less than savory. 

“What are we thinking?” he asked as he leaned against Brad’s chair on the pit wall. Everyone was staring at the radar displayed on one of the screens. 

“We’re gonna be racing on wet tires today at some point,” Brad sighed. “It’s just a question of whether or not we start on them or take the risk and start on softs.” 

“Charlie?” Hampus asked, looking over at him. “What do you think?” 

“I want to start on softs,” he says. “But then again, I’m not starting from pole so whatever I do probably won’t be the best option for you.” 

“That’s true,” Hampus sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. He’s never liked having to make tire decisions.  “Alright, uhm. It probably won’t do us any good to see what Ferrari is starting on, right?” 

“No,” Brad and Martin sigh, shaking their heads at the same time. 

“And the rain is supposed to be here around lap what?” he asks. 

“Thirteen,” Martin answers. 

“I say start on softs,” Hampus says. “That’s the beginning of the pit window anyway, and if it’s as bad as it looks the odds of the safety car are pretty high.” 

“Softs it is,” Brad decides. “For both of you.” 

Charlie follows Hampus back to the garage across the pit lane. He spares a glance towards Ferrari as though he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of what tires they’ve decided to use. All they’re greeted with is a busy swarm of red polo shirts. 

“I don’t have a great feeling about this one,” Charlie sighs to him as they reach for their helmets. 

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Hampus says and leans against the workbench. “Be careful out there, yeah?” 

“You too, man,” Charlie gives him a smile before pulling his helmet over his head. His voice is muffled when he speaks again, “See you on the other side.” 

Hampus feels comfortable and safe in his car as he always does despite the looming apocalypse clouds in the distance. He has no feeling of dread settling in his chest like he thought he would as the lights flick out for the formation lap. He leads, his mirrors full of scarlet red.  

The clouds above them are getting more and more ominous as Hampus brings the grid back to the start. He takes his hands off the wheel as he starts and cracks his knuckles together before putting them on his thighs and squeezing once. He drew in a deep breath and fixed his eyes to the lightboard. 

They came on one by one and blinked out. Hampus slammed his foot down on the accelerator and tore away from the line. He didn’t see David lunge up the outside until it was too late. He tried to swing over to preserve his lead, but it wasn’t enough. Pastrnak was ahead of him and Danny was behind. 

The third turn was the first tight one. He lunged up, trying to get past going in but Pastrnak slammed the door shut in his face. He clenched his jaw and pressed on. He still had Danny behind him that he needed to worry about. 

If he wanted to get his position back from Pastrnak it was going to need to be in the straight between turns five and six. DRS hadn’t been enabled yet, he was going to need to do it the old fashioned way. He abandoned his fight with Danny and poured every ounce of focus into getting back into first. 

He was too far back to make any form of a move. He was forced to quickly divert his attention back to staving Danny off. Hampus hated defending. He was good at it, but he hated it. It was too stressful and always sent his stress levels into the stratosphere. But he did it, he pushed Danny back enough to no longer be gripping the wheel as if he were trying to choke the life out of it. 

The longer he stayed behind Pastrnak’s Ferrari the more he hated his life. This was his least favorite spot to be. He tried to close the gap and get within a second but Danny was firmly in his slipstream and didn’t seem to have any plans on moving out of it any time soon. 

Lap one turned into lap four, lap four turned into lap seven, and he still hadn’t made the move even though DRS had been enabled since lap five. He was starting to get annoyed and Martin could tell even through the empty radio channel, “Stay calm, Hampus. You have time.”

“If I overtake him now we will have a better position for pitting,” Hampus responds as the g forces pin him to his seat going into the esses. 

“Rain expected in four laps,” Martin says. “We will be pitting in three.” 

“That has nothing to do with my overtaking,” Hampus spits back. 

“If you think you can safely go for it then do it.” Martin replies through obvious annoyance. “But safely, Hampus. Do not be fucking stupid.” 

“Copy,” Hampus says and turns off the radio. He grits his teeth and goes to work. 

There’s a speed trap ahead of turn fifteen, but he knows he’ll have room to make the pass going into sixteen. DRS brings him within four tenths of a second and he cuts to the inside, lunging for the gap. He’s not quite sure what happens with Pastrnak’s car but it wiggles a little more than usual and Hampus shoves him off the racing line. 

It feels good to be back in first, but he knows he needs to build his lead. The Ferraris are quick, both of them are, but having David be in the one behind him a disadvantage to him in particular. They’ve spent so much time in this position in the first half of the season so far that he knows exactly what to expect. He’s able to anticipate exactly what David’s move to get back into first will be. 

It’s just as Hampus builds enough up that Martin calls him into the pits. He only had the taste of the lead for what felt like two seconds. However he can’t complain about it as the skies open and dump water on top of the track. 

He had never seen rain like this during a race. And he was nowhere near religious, but the timing of their pitstops makes him send up a quick prayer. Especially as he swings back out onto the track and one of the Williams almost immediately goes flying into the barrier, still on softs from the start of the race. 

“Is he okay?” Hampus asks as he carefully rejoins the race. Far more carefully than he would have if he was coming back out on dry conditions. 

“We don’t know yet,” Martin replies. “Be cautious.” 

“Copy.” 

He’s behind Danny and Trent with only Pastrnak ahead, the rain triggering a series of pit stops. Both Red Bulls go in one lap after another and Hampus is right back where he started the race. Looking at the back of a Ferrari still on soft tires. 

“What is Ferrari thinking?” Hampus exclaims over the radio. “Leaving him out there on softs? They’re gonna get him killed.” 

“We don’t know,” Martin replies, as cool and professional as ever. “Just focus.” 

Hampus shakes his head to himself but presses on. He’s getting spray from David’s car and he can’t see all that well but he does his job. He gets closer and closer and closer until he’s well within DRS. 

But he doesn’t go for it. He can’t explain why, but there’s a little voice in the back of his head telling him to stay where he is. That if he goes for the gap he’s going to put both his Aston Martin and Pastrnak’s Ferrari into the wall. Or worse. 

“Why are you hesitating?” Martin roars over the radio. “Make the pass!” 

“It’s too dangerous,” Hampus responds, shaking his head even though he knows Martin can’t see it. “Too wet. He’s still on softs. I’ll get past him eventually. Safely.” 

“Hampus, we’re bound to have a safety car. If you don’t pass him now we’re going to lose our chance,” Martin presses. “Get the fuck past him.” 

“No!” Hampus shouts. “Just wait it out! He has to pit eventually, it’ll happen on its own.” 

“Fine,” Martin says forcefully. “If you lose, don't come complaining to me about it.” 

Hampus turns off the radio before he spits out an angry, “Bastard.” 

He knows he’s right, though. He knows he can’t pass him. But he also knows that, if this were two months ago, he would have taken advantage of it in a heartbeat and pushed him right off the track. 

But they’re tied in the standings. He needs to finish ahead of David if he has any hopes at continuing his fight for a second World Driver’s Championship. But, then again, they’re still a few races away from summer break. It doesn’t have to be right now. 

The rain doesn’t let up. It pours down on them in sheets, making it almost impossible to see. Pastrnak still has the lead a few laps later, coming to the end of his pit window. Hampus has both the Red Bulls behind him, Ricciardo in the closer one. 

And then both Alpine cars take each other out. Hampus can hear the crowd’s reaction to it, even over the noise of his car. It sounds bad, if the collective gasp and then complete silence from the spectators is anything to say about it. He immediately goes back to Zhou’s crash a few years ago. He can still so clearly see the way he flipped over and over and over before flying into the wire fencing behind the tire barriers. 

It wasn’t in the rain, and it wasn’t caused by slick conditions. It was caused by another driver and it was bad. Silverstone had seen its fair share of bad crashes in the past, and this one seems to be near the top of the list.  

Another lap goes by, they’re getting closer to the midpoint of the race. Hampus spares a thought that maybe he should give another run at overtaking the Ferrari in front of him. 

And then he sees every driver’s worst fear play out in front of him. David, still on softs, loses entire control of the car. His front tires go first, and it looks for a moment that he’s going to be able to regain control of it. And then they hit turns sixteen and seventeen, two harsh left and right turns. The car gives up on him. 

Hampus feels his heart jump into his throat as the car goes spinning off the track and into the wall in a glorious spray of water and gravel. Through the rain he can’t see very well, but he swears he sees the car flip at least once. 

Almost immediately Martin is back over the radio, “Safety car out. Safety car out for Pastrnak.” 

“Is he okay?” Hampus asks, his voice wavering so much he can’t control it. “Fuck, Martin. Tell me he’s okay.”   

There’s a pregnant pause, the radio playing nothing but static. 

"We can't see him."

Chapter Text

All David can hear is the distant wailing of sirens. His vision is blurry and he’s not exactly sure but he might be upside down. He tries to wiggle free but is immediately rendered immobile when a sharp pain shoots up his right side. 

“Fuck,” he swears to himself and closes his eyes. He tries to take his deep breaths, get that liquid calm back into his body. It doesn’t work. He can feel his throat start to constrict with panic just as someone starts grabbing at him. He’s not in his own head, or in his own body. He feels himself start to slip into the fuzzy darkness. 

The sirens have gotten closer now, the volume bringing him back into his body. His face screws up in pain and for a second he wants the darkness back. He forces his eyes open, though, and is met with at least five faces peering down at him. 

A fuzzy voice is saying his name, “David. David, can you hear me? David I need you to blink if you can hear me.” 

He forces his eyes open and closed and open again. There are more voices but they’re rushed, and David’s head hurts too much to try and decipher what they’re saying. He closes his eyes, feeling the cool raindrops hit his face through his open visor. 

Orders are being barked above him, he can tell that much. And then there are more hands on him and he’s being moved off the safe firmness of the ground to something that feels like a bed. The sirens start up again, and everything goes black. 

He’s floating in this vast blackness and doesn’t feel anything. Everything is warm and soft and he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay here forever and never see light again. He’s satisfied with what he’s done in life, he can stay here. 

But with that incessant, rhythmic beeping in his ear he can’t stay here. He can feel the softness and warmth of the darkness melt away from him just as quickly as it came and when he opens his eyes he’s greeted with the exact bright lights he wanted to escape just seconds prior. He blinks at them, everything going blurry. 

As his vision focuses he sees a horde of people in blue masks swarming around him. The pain in his right side isn’t as bad anymore but it still registers high on his scale of pain tolerance. He closes his eyes again and presses his head back. It only makes the pain worse and then that blackness is back again. 

It’s warm and welcoming and it invites him to stay. He wants to. He wants to take its hand and let it pull him down and down and down a little further. He reaches out, his fingers grazing against the soft, velvety black. It grabs hold of him and pulls. It’s a nice floaty feeling again, and he doesn’t fight it this time. He lets it take him. 

It wraps his whole body up. It seeps into his muscles and forces out any tension until the only thing he can feel is the warmth and the pleasantness of it all. He can feel it all. He has no plans to leave this time. He’s away from the noise, away from the lights, away from the pain. It’s nice. It’s that warmth that has him feeling safe and surrounded and held and protected. 

He melts right into it, lets it mold around his body. He lets it suck him down, further into the abyss. He likes it here. 

But the hand grabbing the back of his neck and yanking him upwards doesn’t let him wallow in it for much longer. He surfaces with a gasping breath. His eyes fling open and he’s surrounded by unfamiliar faces. The darkness loses its grip on him and slips out of reach no matter how much he grasps to have it back. 

The first face his eyes fix on is one he never expected to see by his bedside. Worried blue-gray eyes beneath platinum blond hair half hidden by a green Aston Martin hat. He opens his mouth to say something before feeling his throat constrict around something. 

He tries to cough and it hurts enough to bring tears to his eyes. The inability to inhale for himself has his heart starting to race, the beeping coming from the machine beside him going up with it. He grasps for purchase on the sheets beside him as he tries to blink the tears from his eyes. 

“Hey, Mr. Pastrnak, hey,” a woman with a kind voice swims into his vision. She plants a hand on his shoulder and one on his face, fixing his gaze to her. “Do your best to relax, okay? I’m going to extubate you.” 

He does his best to nod and closes his eyes, letting himself rest back against the pillows behind him. The feeling is all around bad. He follows his nurse’s instructions, taking a deep breath and coughing when she tells him to. His eyes water and his throat burns but the tube is out and he’s breathing on his own again. 

He draws in a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the uncomfortably thin pillow behind him. His mind is blank, not one thought circulating aside from not ever wanting to do anything like that again. 

“David,” that same sweet voice is in his ear again. “David, honey, I need you to sit up for me if you can.” 

“What happened?” he croaks through the pain as she helps him up and fluffs the pillows behind him. 

She doesn’t answer until she has him settled back down, “Don’t talk, love. Just let me put this cannula on and I’ll answer, alright?” 

David Pastrnak has never in his life listened to orders without questioning them. Until right now. He stays perfectly still as she affixes the oxygen tubes to his face and gets them settled. She takes his hand and sits on the edge of the bed and, just as she’s about to open her mouth, the door flies open. 

“David,” it’s his team principal. Krej looks relieved to see his driver sitting upright and breathing on his own. The nice nurse pats his hand and quietly slips out of the room as a minor army of Ferrari personnel walk through the door. 

Pasta goes to open his mouth to say something before Krejci cuts him off, “Don’t talk. Just listen?” 

David nods. Krejci looks serious. It scares him, this rarely seen look on his face. He glances around at the rest of the Ferrari polo shirts. They all have similar expressions on their faces. Relief, he decides upon. 

“You crashed out of the race,” Krejci says seriously. “Your tires gave up on you and you flipped. The track was slippery, it was raining, there was nothing you could have done.” 

“Was-” David tries to talk but his throat is still raw and sore. Krejci reaches for a glass of water on the table beside the bed and hands it to him. He takes a grateful sip, cringing as it stings the back of his throat. He tries talking again, “Was I on wet tires?” 

Everyone in the room wearing red diverts their gaze from him. He looks around at them all and feels something bubble in his chest. Anger, he quickly identifies it as. 

“Was I on wet tires?” he repeats himself. 

“No,” Krejci answers. “Our pit window hadn’t-” 

“Bullshit!” someone barks from the back of the room. Pavel shoves his way to the front of the group standing at the foot of his bed. “I got put on wet tires the second the rain started. He wasn’t. Be fucking honest with him.” 

Krejci looks at his other driver, an unrecognizable emotion in his eye. He turns back to David and says, “You were in the lead. We needed the points.” 

David pauses. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at his team principal as he tries to decide what he’s going to say. There’s a mix of emotions in his chest and he can’t single one out to feel first. 

Instead he just growls, “Out. Pavel stays.” 

Krejci gives him a look filled with betrayal but David doesn’t have the energy in him to care that much about it. Pavel steps to the side and watches as everyone else files out, heads hanging. The room is left awkwardly quiet when the door clicks shut. David looks at Pavel before closing his eyes and letting his head fall back again. 

“You look good,” Pavel says. “You know, for flipping twice and then landing upside down.” 

“You know when-” he cuts himself off with a cough. Pavel hands him the water glass again. He nods to him in thanks as he takes a sip. “Do you know when I’m going to be able to get back in the car?” 

“David,” Pavel freezes. “Has your doctor not told you anything?” 

“He only just woke up,” another voice says from the door. Both Pavel and David look towards it, seeing the nice nurse back with a gray haired woman in a white coat. “Glad to see you’re up and talking. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a car,” David answers. Pavel chuckles under his breath and shakes his head slightly. 

“Well you weren’t far off,” his doctor smiles as he checks some things on his bedside monitor. The silence she leaves between her next words makes David squirm. She sighs and turns her gaze back to him, “I heard you ask when you’re going to be able to drive next. David, you stopped breathing in the ambulance.” 

David feels his body take a screenshot. Beside him Pavel is resting his chin in his hands, looking as though this is difficult for him to hear. 

The doctor continues, “Miraculously, the only injuries you came away with was a torn ligament in your hip and a minor concussion.” 

“I’m sorry,” David blinks a few times. “You said I stopped breathing. What- what the hell would have caused that.” 

“I’m not entirely sure,” the doctor says as she folds her arms, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “We did extensive exploration when you first came in and we did not find any real damage beyond what I already highlighted. You are a very lucky man, Mr. Pastrnak.” 

“I feel lucky,” David agrees, nodding. 

“We will keep you tonight for observation,” she says as the nice nurse refills his glass of water and drops in a few ice cubes. “You should be good to go back tomorrow.” 

“And driving?” David asks hopefully. 

“You won’t be getting in the car for two weeks at least,” she says seriously. 

David relaxes a bit. It’s exactly two weeks until the next race. He can be back in the car for the Hungarian Grand Prix and everything will be fine. He’ll get through his rehab workouts with Luca and he’ll be back in the car in no time. Of this he’s confident.  

******** 

“Come on, push David. You’ve got this, you’re almost done,” Luca’s talking him through his last reps of his rehab. Sweat drips down his temple as he pushes out one final lunge. He wipes it away and leans hard against the wall. 

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbles but snatches the water bottle from his hand anyway. 

“Love you too,” Luca deadpans. “How are you feeling?” 

“Awful,” David replies, wiping the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his shirt. “My hip still fucking hurts. This sucks.” 

“You might need a little more time before you’re able to race if it still hurts,” Luca sighs. “Why don’t we-” 

“No,” David cuts him off. “No, I need to drive this weekend. We need the points.”

“David, give yourself time,” Luca sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please?” 

“We need the points,” he repeats himself, shaking his head as he limps away. “Hampus swept the triple header, he’s ahead of me now. We can’t catch him with a reserve driver.”

Luca doesn’t respond. It either means David’s right and he doesn’t want to admit it, or he just doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. It’s probably the second one. Either way he’s getting out of the conversation. 

“Just don’t be surprised when I say I told you so,” he sighs, following David into his driver’s room. 

“I’ll see you on the track,” David says before shutting the door in his face. He groans and runs his hand through his hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had done everything right, followed every guideline he could to make sure he was going to be able to drive this weekend. 

But that was the problem with sprint weekends. It threw everything off. Everything. Even his recovery. Which didn’t make sense. He would never not be pissed about it. 

He pushes through the twinges of pain in his hip and gets into his racing suit. He does his meditation, letting the familiar liquid calm sink into his muscles. There’s not the same energy there will be tomorrow as he slides into his car, but he doesn’t mind that too much. 

He knows all the attention this weekend is on him. He saw the replay of the crash. His front tires totally gave up. They locked up and, had it not been raining, had his team not made an extremely poor decision, he probably would have been able to save it coming out of turn seventeen. But soft tires mixed with wet conditions was a recipe for disaster and he lost it in magnificent fashion. The car twisted and careened off the track and caught a rather harsh divot in the gravel. It sent the car flipping twice through the air before landing half on the chain link fence and suspending David upside down. 

Every time David closes his eyes all he can see and all he can feel is his car flipping through the air and slamming back into the fence. It stays with him as he picks his way around the track for the sprint. Hampus is in front of him the entire time, and he really can’t bring himself to care. 

Several windows for him to make a pass open, but he doesn’t pull the trigger on any of them. For thirty one laps he stays right where he started in P4. The Williams of Alex Albon is ten seconds behind him wrapped up in a fight of his own the entire time. There’s no threat to him on that front. 

He keeps a healthy two second gap between him and Lindholm’s green Aston Martin, maintaining sight with him almost the entire time. He’s happy with his fourth place finish. Pavel finishes first with Lando between him and Hampus. 

David stands to the side, watching and trying to keep weight off his right side as he waits for his teammate. He never likes to do media by himself, always preferring Pavel to be behind him. At the very least within his line of sight. 

“Hey,” Pavel greets him as David hands him his Ferrari branded hat, the one with his ‘18’ embroidered on the bill. “How’s your hip doing?” 

“It hurts,” David sighs, trying to hide his limp as much as he can as they trek towards the media pen. 

“Hampus said you didn’t attack him. Like, at all,” Pavel says as they hesitate before walking in. “Were you in pain during the race?” 

“A little bit,” Pasta admits with a shrug. There’s still green Aston Martin flashing across his brain. But the middle of the paddock is not the place he wants to be having that conversation with Pavel. “Do you mind coming to my room when we’re done here? I just… I need to talk about a few things.” 

“Absolutely,” Pavel nods almost instantly and pats his shoulder.  

David’s sitting on the end of his bed trying to clean a wine stain out of the only button up shirt he brought when Pavel knocks on the door. He sighs and caps his stain remover pen and crosses the floor to answer the door. 

Pavel smiles and holds up two bottles of beer, “I thought we might need alcohol.” 

David laughs and shakes his head as he closes the door. He lucked out with his teammate, that much he knows. He sighs and sits down hard on the bed as Pavel sits in the spinning office chair by the desk. 

“Why do hotel rooms have desks?” David wonders aloud, dodging the real reason why he asked Pavel over. “Like, I don’t get it.” 

“David,” his teammate says, a warning tone in his voice. David sighs and looks down at his hands as he tries to search for the words he wants. 

“Did… did you see anyone not wearing Ferrari gear when I was in the hospital?” he finally asks after a few minutes of deliberating. 

“The entire grid came to see you,” Pavel answers. “You were only asleep for maybe twelve hours but everyone came by.” 

“Everyone?” David asked, that flash of blond hair beneath an Aston Martin cap coming back to the forefront of his mind. “Like, everyone everyone?” 

Pavel pauses, narrowing his eyes before saying, “Yeah, everyone everyone. Even Hampus,” David doesn’t say anything in response. It prompts him to open his mouth again, “You know, he was the most worried about you. He sat next to your bed for hours. He was right there when you woke up.” 

“He was?” David looks up at him in surprise. Pavel cracks open one of the beer bottles and passes it to him, nodding. 

“I told him at least ten times he could leave if he wanted to but he denied it every time,” Pavel says. “I think he’s blaming himself for your crash a bit.” 

Every negative thing David has said to him over the course of the season comes flooding back to him, blindsiding him. All the media pen spats, the shoving match in the middle of the paddock, the sly comments made in press conferences and fan forums. He groans and drops his head into his hands. Somewhere along the line, he’s not quite sure when, he fell.

He groans and lets himself fall to his back, staring up at the ceiling. If he focuses hard enough he can probably find the bruise that formed when he fell flat on his face and hit the ‘surprise! you’re in love with your sworn enemy’ bullseye. 

“What the fuck,” he settles on saying. Pavel laughs and David hears him crack open the second beer bottle. “When… why. Why now?” 

“Because life likes to throw things at us when we’re least expecting them,” Pavel sighs as he sits down on the end of the bed beside his teammate. “Your fight to win your first world championship clearly isn’t enough stress so now you need to figure out if you love Hampus Lindholm or if you hate him.” 

“Can’t you decide for me?” David whines, exasperated. 

Pavel nudges his knee with his bottle and says, “Nope. This is all you.” 

David groans again and dramatically flops his arm over his face. He sighs hard and says, “I hate this, I hate… I hate not knowing.” 

“What don’t you know?” Pavel asks as David sits up and takes a drag from his beer bottle. 

“Anything,” David sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I hate it. I feel like I should just… I feel like I should just go knock on Hampus’ door. But I can’t do that. That’s fucking weird.” 

“Why is it weird?” Pavel asks. David gives him a look. 

“Because it is, Pavel!” he exclaims, exasperated. He sets his bottle down and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, “I can’t just go knock on his door and say ‘Hi I know we’ve hated each other for the last two years but I’m in love with you wanna makeout?’.” 

“Why can’t you?” Pavel presses. David gives him an incredulous look. 

“Do you know something?” he settles for asking. 

“I know no more than you do,” he responds, taking a sip of his beer as he shifts. “Listen, all I’m saying is that talking to him and telling him how you feel might not be the worst idea in the world.” 

“Except that it is,” David protests. “On the off chance we don’t hate each other anymore- whenever the fuck that happened- how would we even go about explaining us being close to each other all of a sudden. And to top it all off my hip still fucking hurts and I’m pretty positive I’m one high speed corner away from re-tearing this ligament.” 

Pavel looked at him, quiet for a moment, before saying, “What do you think is worse? A torn ligament or letting the love of your life walk into the sunset?” 

“That’s a hell of a question,” David scoffs as he stands up. He pauses before offering an answer, “A torn ligament.” 

“Wrong,” Pavel retorts accusingly. 

“Wrong?” David raises an eyebrow, looking down at his teammate in surprise. “How is- what? Since when did Hampus Lindholm become the love of my life?” 

“Since you chewed him out in the middle of the paddock in Boston,” Pavel answers. David blinks at him. Pavel smiles and grabs their beer bottles as he heads for the door. “You clearly need some time to think about this. I’ll see you tomorrow for the race, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yup,” David sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. Pavel leaves and the room goes silent after the door clicks shut. 

He lets the breath out of his lungs and sits down hard on the bed, all hopes of sleep having gone straight out the door behind Pavel. He has no idea how he’s going to race tomorrow, lining up behind Hampus on the grid in P3. 

“Fuck.” 

******** 

“Back up,” Pavel shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything after the race last weekend?” 

“Nope,” David shakes his head, leaning against a workbench as he takes his helmet off. 

“What didn’t you do after Hungary?” Lando asks from where he’s standing off to the side, waiting for Pasta to join him so they can go into the winners press conference. 

“Nothing,” David shakes his head. “Are you ready to go?” 

“David, I swear,” Pavel pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Look, Pavel. I didn’t do anything about it. I needed some time to think and by the time I was done thinking we needed to race,” he says. “I am going to do this panel and then I’m going to come talk to you about this, okay?” 

He leaves before his teammate can give him any more shit. 

“What was that about?” Lando asks the second they’re out of earshot. 

“It’s a long ass story,” David sighs, running his hand through his hair. “I- yeah, I’m not even gonna try to explain.” 

“That’s fair,” Lando shrugs as they walk up to the media room. He, thankfully, doesn’t notice the way David’s eyes linger on Hampus leaning against the wall waiting for them. 

“David, hey,” he says, kicking himself off the wall. 

“Hi, Hampus,” David smiles and lingers a bit behind Lando who is grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. “You had a good race today.” 

“So did you,” Hampus responds. It looks like there’s something else he wants to say but Lando is clearing his throat by the door to the media room. 

“You guys coming or what?” he says. “And since when do you, y’know, talk to each other?” 

“Shut up, Lando,” David grumbles and pushes past him. The room is already full of reporters and it’s not exactly what he wants to be doing at the moment. This is the first day his hip isn’t killing him and he wants to enjoy it by, ideally, dancing on a table drunk off his ass in a club somewhere. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the moderator greets them as they take their places on the couch, David in the middle in the winner’s spot. 

Lando had finished in second between them this afternoon and, for the first time, he wasn’t the first person David aimed his champagne bottle at. And the image of Hampus wiping the sticky alcohol from his face was stuck firmly in his brain. 

“I believe we’re ready to get started,” the moderator says as they settle in on the couch. “First question to Sky Sports.” 

“Good race out there today,” Jenson says as he stands up. “My question is to all three of you. As we approach the summer break, what would you say your goals for the second half of the season are?” 

“Continuing the fight for first in the standings,” David says, starting off the round of answers. “It’s been going between me and Hampus all year long and I don’t see it ending just because we’re all off for a month.” 

“I agree,” Hampus is the second to speak. “It’s getting down to crunch time for both of us so I would say that fight is still at the top of the priority list.” 

David doesn’t hear what Lando answers. He’s too busy thinking about the conspicuous lack of dig that usually punctuated sentences like that. 

“David,” the sound of his name snaps his attention back to the mass of reporters in front of him. His eyes find someone from some sports magazine standing in the back of the room. “This is your first trip back to the top step after your crash. How did this race feel for you compared to Hungary last weekend?” 

“I finished fourth last weekend,” he begins his answer. “I was still experiencing some uncomfort from the injuries I had, I was still recovering. But, yeah. Today was much, much better. I was very comfortable in the car and I felt it was responding well to everything I was asking it to do. I am very happy with the race myself and my team put together.” 

“Another question about your crash,” a different reporter stands up. “Was there any level of fear for you this weekend or last?” 

“Of course there was,” David answers honestly. “I’m not going to sugar coat anything, last weekend was very hard for me to race. Just two weeks prior I was in the hospital after being intubated and in a coma for twelve hours. I had a very bad crash at Silverstone and I am incredibly lucky to have been racing today and last week. But I have total trust in my team and in all the safety measures we have in place.” 

David can feel Hampus stiffen on the couch beside him. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye and question marks go up in his brain at the unreadable expression on his face. Those question marks only get bigger as he switches to one word answers for the rest of the press conference. 

He knows he should talk to him. He spent the last week thinking about what Pavel had opened his eyes to. Hampus… Hampus wasn’t who he had been back in Japan or in Boston. He was… he had been different ever since Canada, now that David was thinking about it more. 

Canada. When he hooked up with Carlos. Oh he’s going to kill Daniel Ricciardo. 

“...and we will see you next week,” the moderator is saying as David tunes into the last half of his sentence. He knows he has a very very small window in which to make his decision to have this conversation or not. And Hampus is already standing up and heading off the stage. 

It’s now or never. 

“Hampus, hey, wait up,” he says, jogging down the small stairs. His heart hammers hard against his chest as he realizes he’s really about to say this. 

“What’s up?” Hampus asks, pausing just outside the door to wait for him. David waits until Lando passes them to open his mouth. 

“Uhm,” he clears his throat and looks down at the ground, digging his toe into the cement. “You can call me crazy for this but has there been, like, a change between us recently?” 

He can clearly see the way Hampus’ shoulders tense before he nods, “Yes. I- yeah.” There’s still an element of bitterness to his voice that makes David proceed with caution. 

“Danny probably told you a few things about what happened in Canada,” he says with a sigh. 

“He did,” Hampus nods. “I- yeah. He told me you and Carlos hooked up.” 

David feels his face turn bright red. He knows he has no reason to be embarrassed about it. He and Carlos were both single, consenting adults who needed to let loose. It was a matter of convenience and nothing more. 

“It was… it didn’t mean anything,” David says even though he knows he doesn’t owe Hampus an explanation. “We were both- Pavel told me I needed to get laid.” 

Hampus laughs. It’s a sound David never thought he would hear as a result of something he said. It brings a light, fluttery feeling to the pit of his stomach. He feels the tension drop from his shoulders with it. 

“Jeremy, my physio, has been telling me that for months,” he says, smiling lightly. “Carlos is hot, was it good?” 

“What the fuck?” David asks, the question knocking him flat on his ass. 

“Was it good?” Hampus repeats himself. 

“Uhm,” David clears his throat and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m gonna be honest, this is not how I pictured this conversation going.” 

“How did you picture this conversation going?” Hampus asks in earnest. David searches his eyes for anything that might scream for him to run away as fast as he possibly can. He finds nothing but good intentions in Hampus’ blue-gray irises. 

“Not in the middle of the paddock for one,” David answered honestly. He pauses before continuing. This should feel wrong. But it doesn’t. He’s suddenly not sure why he spent so much energy hating Hampus when he’s… when he’s this nice to talk to. “Uhm, in a hotel room. Or a driver’s room. But not. Not out here.” 

“I don’t plan on going out tonight,” Hampus says as he takes a step back towards the Aston Martin motorhome. David stays rooted in place, not quite believing that this is really about to happen. “Come to my hotel room. 622. Four floors below you.”

“Nine o’clock?” David manages to ask, running off nothing but adrenaline at this point. 

“Nine o’clock,” Hampus nods and continues through the paddock. 

“What the fuck,” David whispers to himself before taking off to get to the briefing room, unsure of how he’s going to get through the meeting without completely losing his shit. 

Pavel makes a noise that has to come from the pits of hell as David grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him into his driver’s room. 

“What the fuck, dude?” he asks, straightening the fabric as David closes the door and leans against it. 

“I talked to Hampus,” he says, trying to remain as nonchalant as he possibly can. Pavel’s eyes light up and David scrambles to slap a hand over his mouth before he can say something embarrassing that the entire Ferrari motorhome will hear. “Be fucking cool about it, okay?” 

Pavel nods slowly and David takes his hand away. He whisper shouts at him the second he’s able to, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

“No,” David shakes his head. “I’m going to his room tonight to talk more.” 

“Yeah, you’re not gonna be doing a lot of talking, mate,” Pavel snorts. 

“Can you get your nose out of my sex life for more than three race weekends? Please?” David asks, exasperated. 

“I would if it wasn’t getting interesting,” Pavel responds. “What are you gonna wear? Are you gonna do your hair? Or put cologne on?” 

“I’m regretting telling you about literally anything that goes on in my life,” David groans and rests his hand on the door handle. 

“Let me have this!” Pavel says, following him out. “It’s the only excitement I get.”

“You’re a Formula One driver and the only excitement you get comes from my sex life?” David clarifies with a raised eyebrow. Pavel shrugs and nods. “That’s pathetic, dude.” 

“So are you gonna put cologne on?” he asks as he hesitates outside the briefing room. 

“Will you get off my case if I say yes?” David counters. 

“Yes,” Pavel nods confidently. 

“Then yes,” David responds. “I will put cologne on just for you.” 

“Don’t do it for me!” Pavel exclaims. “Do it for Hampus!” 

“Shut the fuck up now.” 

David is unable to pay any attention at all to the briefing. He offers his standard answers and nods along when appropriate but doesn’t participate any further than he needs to. Pavel covers for him a few times, nudging him under the table or answering for him. David makes a mental note to buy him a beer next time they’re out. 

They take separate cars back to the hotel and they pull around the rear entrances, something he is going to be eternally grateful for. He can hear the dull hum of the fans gathered out front as he slips in through the small door at the back of the hotel. Ordinarily he would have wanted to stop by and take a few pictures but he has something else on his mind. 

He has someone else on his mind. 

The clothes he’s designated specifically for partying after races are going to have to be good enough. He probably could show up in his team polo and a pair of jeans Charles Leclerc style but… but Hampus is better than that. He’s worth the extra effort to button up a black dress shirt and roll up the sleeves. 

Is the black a little too fancy? Maybe. But David likes the way he looks in black and this particular shirt hugs his arms in such a manner that has made even Pavel blush at it. And the cologne he pulls out of his travel case was expensive to buy but damn, if it doesn’t smell good. He dabs a bit on his neck and behind his ears and, sue him, on his collar bones. 

His phone screen lights up with a text from Pavel just before he’s about to walk out the door. He scoffs at the message and shakes his head. 

PZ: I slipped two condoms in your jacket pocket. Don’t be stupid and remember them please

His teammate is an idiot. 

He takes the condoms anyway. 

The little red numbers above the elevator doors are taunting him as they slowly tick down to the sixth floor. Room 622 is a few paces down the hall on the left. David hesitates, fist in the air. The idea of what he’s really doing is catching up to him full speed. 

He drops his fist and wipes his palm on his pants. He’s shaking a bit and his hands are sweating and he has no idea what he’s really doing here. He has no words in his head and he’s really got no clue why he’s doing this. 

He knocks on the door anyway. 

Hampus opens it a beat later and David struggles to remember how to breathe. 

“Woah,” he gasps involuntarily. Hampus laughs lightly under his breath and looks down and, if David’s vision is working properly, his cheeks are pink. He shakes his head and says, “Shit. I’m sorry. I meant hi.” 

“Hi,” Hampus smiles, looking back up at him. He steps aside and tilts his head back. “Come in.” 

David’s heart rate kicks up a bit as he walks in, his arm brushing lightly against his chest. Hampus closes the door behind them and steps over to a small table with a miniature bottle of wine sitting on it nestled by two glasses. 

“You want a drink?” Hampus asks, popping the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying noise. “I wasn’t sure if you liked white or red, sorry. This was the only bottle they had for room service.” 

“Red’s fine, thank you,” David nods. He swallows thickly and wipes his hand on his pants again before taking the glass from Hampus. He can’t deny the spark of electricity that flicks between their fingertips as they brush. 

“Cheers,” Hampus smiles and clinks their glasses together. David takes a sip, holding the wine in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. 

“This is awkward,” David sighs, not beating around the bush at all. 

“A little bit, yeah,” Hampus agrees with a laugh as he sits down in one of the arm chairs. David perches on the edge of the office chair by the desk. “Listen, I-” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I want to apologize. For all the things I’ve said in the press.” 

“I should be the one apologizing,” David butts in. “I’ve- I’ve been downright mean to you, Hampus. And I had no real reason to be aside from the fact that you’re driving the car with the number one on it this year and I’m not.” 

“If I remember correctly,” Hampus starts, leaning forward slightly. “I forced you off the track in Abu Dhabi last year.” 

“Yeah,” David laughs and looks down at the glass in his hands. “Well- yeah, you did.” 

Hampus laughs. It’s a nice sound. Soft and warm and covers him like a blanket. 

“I’ve never heard your laugh before,” David says before he can stop himself. “It’s… I like it.” 

“Thank you,” Hampus says genuinely. He pauses for a minute before adding, “I really am. Sorry.” 

“Me too,” David says in earnest. Silence falls over them as his eyes lock on to Hampus’. He’s noticing, for the first time, how they’re a little more gray than blue. Like a storm rolling in over the harbor in Monaco. 

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” Hampus says, chuckling as he breaks eye contact to look down and fiddle with his fingers. 

“I won’t,” David insists gently. Hampus looks back up at him and opens and closes his mouth once as he searches for the words. David’s chest flutters as he tries to anticipate what he’s going to say. 

“I… this is going to sound crazy,” Hampus says almost to himself as he flattens the hand not holding his glass against his leg. “Somewhere, along the lines of us fighting, I think- I think I fell for you. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but- but I did.” 

David doesn’t say anything for a minute. He puts his glass, half full, down on the desk and slides off the chair and onto his knees. Hampus finds his eyes and David can see the turmoil in them, swirling like clouds. Clouds in the storm rolling in over the harbor in Monaco. He smiles and lets his hands rest over Hampus’. 

He opens his mouth to say something but it doesn’t feel right. He closes it again and pauses, considering the consequences of his actions, before surging up and pressing his lips to Hampus’. He tastes like the wine they’d been sipping on, rich and a little musky. His lips are chapped but… but they’re nice to kiss. 

And he’s wondering why he’s just kissing them now for the first time. 

He pulls away no matter how much his brain is screaming at him to stay. And thus begins the few seconds of fear until Hampus does something in response. David watches him closely, searching for any signs of… well, anything. His heart is hammering so hard against his ribs he’s legitimately scared it will beat straight out of his body. 

He’s about to get to his feet and leave, retreat to his room and hide for the rest of forever, when Hampus grabs his waist and pulls him up into another kiss. David’s breath leaves his lungs in a rush. This one is fiercer, filled with a lot more passion. He knows it’s going to cause his lips to bruise. He doesn’t care. 

“Tell me no,” Hampus gasps as they pull away just before he buries his nose in the crook of his neck. “You smell good. Tell me no and I’ll pour the rest of the bottle into our glasses and we can get drunk and forget this ever happened.” 

“What if…” David fights to keep his composure as he feels Hampus’ lips brush over the slope of his shoulder. “What if I say yes?” 

“If you say yes…” Hampus lets his voice trail off. David feels him lift his head up and their eyes lock together. “If you say yes I will fuck you until you can’t drive straight.” 

David can do nothing to stop the whimper that slips out of his throat. Hampus’ hands are splayed out over his ribs and they’re warm and big and David- David wants them on his dick. 

“Please,” he manages, voice broken. 

It feels like in the time it takes him to blink Hampus has him on his back on the mattress. He feels like he’s right where he belongs, looking up at him and sinking back into the pillows. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hampus whispers before brushing their lips together. “So, so beautiful. Fuck, I want you so bad.” 

“Then take me,” David breathes against his mouth. “Make me yours, Hampus. Please.” 

It should probably be unnerving, the way Hampus handles him with such ease as he strips him off his pants. It stuns him for a moment before he’s grasping at the buttons of his shirt, desperately trying to shed it. 

“Take your shirt off,” he gasps. “Please. Need to feel you.” 

“Yeah,” Hampus nods frantically as he fumbles with his own buttons. David flings his shirt somewhere to the corner before shoving Hampus’ the rest of the way down his arms. He attaches his lips to his chest, worrying the skin between his teeth until he feels Hampus thread his fingers through his hair and gently tilt his head back. 

“What-” 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hampus whispers, voice barely audible under his breath before the air is getting ripped out of David’s lungs in another kiss. He moans into his mouth and arches his back into his chest, searching for any contact he can get. 

“Please,” he gasps into his mouth. “Please, I need you. I’ve needed you for so long.” 

“Okay,” Hampus nods. “Okay.” 

David pops the button on his pants and Hampus shimmies out of them, kicking them off his legs and to the floor with the rest of their clothes. David goes easy as Hampus flips them over and slots a knee between his thighs giving home something to grind against. He whines into his mouth and hips move on their own accord. 

“You’re so hard,” Hampus murmurs against him. 

“Your fault,” David grumbles. “You should do something about it.” 

Hampus smirks and leans down, nipping at his collar bone one more time before sliding off the bed and crossing the floor to his suitcase. David watches, taking in the sight of his ass hugged by black boxers, and palms himself through his own gray underwear. He can feel the wet spot of precum blooming against the fabric beneath his hand. 

“Fuck, I don’t have condoms,” Hampus swears from where he’s crouched down holding a bottle of lube. David pauses for a minute before a laugh bubbles up out of his mouth. Hampus tilts his head and smiles before asking, “What?” 

“My teammate,” David says, still laughing. “He slipped two condoms into my jacket before we left the paddock today. They’re in my pants pocket.” 

“I owe Pavel my life,” Hampus sighs as he rifles through David’s discarded pants. He comes back to the bed victorious with the bottle of lube and the two silver wrappers in his hand. He settles on the edge of the bed and rests his free hand on David’s leg. He’s so confident he can feel how turned on he is just from the simple point of contact. 

“What is it?” David asks, starting to feel the nerves creep in. 

“You,” Hampus says sweetly. “I’ve been… I’ve been wanting this for a while.” 

“Well then get up here and here and do something about it,” David says with a burst of confidence as he lays back against the pillows. Something dark flashes through Hampus’ stormy eyes and crawls up his body, slinging his leg over David’s. 

“Open this,” he says, tapping David’s lower lip with the corner of the condom wrapper. He takes it between his teeth and rips it, keeping eye contact with him. Hampus moans in the back of his throat, “You’re so fucking hot.” 

David whines as Hampus’ hand slips beneath the elastic waistline of his boxers. The noise breaks into a moan when he wraps his fingers around his dick. His hips buck on their own accord and Hampus pulls away. 

“Please,” David whines. “I need- fuck. I need to feel you.” 

“I know you do,” Hampus hums as he tucks his fingers into the waistline of his boxers and slowly drags them down his hips and thighs. He taps his calf and says, “Flip over for me, baby.” 

David does as he’s told and presses his face down into the pillows. They smell like Hampus and it distracts him from how exposed he feels. 

Goosebumps race up and down his skin as Hampus lays heavy hands on the backs of his thighs and slides them up to his ass. He flexes his fingers into his cheeks before pulling them apart. David squirms at the satisfied hum Hampus lets out. 

“So pretty,” he says. David hears him flick open the lube bottle and squeeze some onto his fingers. He waits in bated anticipation for the feeling of the cold fingers against his hole. It doesn’t come. Instead Hampus opens his mouth again, “Tell me about Carlos.” 

“What-” he’s cut off by those cold fingers, two of them, tracing his rim. He moans and squeezes his eyes closed. 

“Tell me about Carlos,” Hampus repeats himself. “How did he finger you?” 

“He just- fuck,” David gasps. “He just did. I don’t- we were drunk. I don’t remember.” 

“Hmm,” Hampus hums before sliding his middle finger in. David makes a choked noise into the pillow beneath him. “He must not have been that good then.” 

David can’t bring himself to lie, “No. He- he was.” 

It’s surprisingly hard to form coherent sentences with a finger in his ass slowly fucking in and out. 

“He was good?” Hampus asks again as he finger bottoms out. He stills and David squirms hard around him. His legs are tingling with need that he doesn’t know how to express. 

“Yes,” David gasps. “He was.” 

He cries out as Hampus shoves his index finger in alongside his middle finger. He fucks them in deep and crooks them against the inside of his rim, pulling against the muscle. David lets his knees spread a little further apart. 

He feels lips ghost across the bottom of his ass where it meets his leg, and Hampus is talking again, “I’m gonna be the fucking best you’ve ever had.” 

Hampus presses his fingers against his prostate to punctuate his sentence. David’s thighs shake and he moans loud enough to feel it rip against the back of his throat. The fingers in his ass fuck him a little harder still before scissoring and stretching him open. David grips at the sheets beneath him, white knuckling them to the point he’s almost worried they’ll rip. But he’s feeling too good to really care about it. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, rocking his hips back into it. 

And then the fingers are gone all together. He whines and looks over his shoulder, blinking through tears to see Hampus hurriedly shimmying out of his boxers. He moans at the sight of his dick. 

“You’re so…” his voice trails off. “Fuck, you’re huge.” 

Hampus chuckles and kisses him breathless before saying, “You’re sweet.” 

David moans and tries to slink a hand between his thighs to get any form of friction against his dick he can before Hampus is grabbing his arm and twisting it into the small of his back. David moans and shoves his hips back. 

“I’m going to the only one to make you cum tonight, got it?” he orders roughly. 

“Yeah,” David nods. “Yes. Fuck, please. Need your dick.” 

Hampus doesn’t respond. Instead he shoves three fingers back into David’s hole and fucks him a few times before twisting them to find his prostate again. David’s entire body clenches. 

“Please don’t tease me,” he all but begs. “I need you. Please.” 

“Just a second, baby,” Hampus hums, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into his hip as he spends the time stretching him out even more. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready for me. Been wanting this for a while, I need this to last.” 

David just moans in response. He feels himself strung tighter than a rubber band pulled taught. He’s shaking for it and, if he wasn’t turned on out of his mind, he would have been embarrassed. 

“Please,” he begs one final time before Hampus is pulling his fingers out and flipping him onto his back. He slots himself between his thighs and kisses him. Hard. David knows he’s going to be nowhere near presentable by the end of the night. He doesn’t care all that much. 

He lets his legs fall up and apart as he feels the tip of Hampus’ dick tease his hole. He fights every urge in his brain to grind against him. 

“Ah, fuck,” Hampus moans into his ear as he presses in. The air is punched out of David’s lungs as he slowly thrusts in. The stretch stings but, fuck, he loves it. Hampus stills after an inch and lets him adjust to it. He can feel him pulsing inside him. 

“I- I can feel you,” he gasps. “Please. I can feel how bad you need it.” 

“Fuck,” Hampus swears again and presses in a little further. David digs his fingers into his muscular shoulders, feeling his nails mark his skin. 

“I’m ready,” David says, dick drunk brain grasping for anything he can say to get Hampus to just fuck him. “Please. I need you to fuck me. I need it so bad. Need you so bad.” 

“God you’re so perfect,” Hampus moans as he bottoms out. 

The first thrust he gives is shallow and experimental. But. Fuck. It feels so fucking good. David lets his legs close his waist and drive him in again.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “You feel- fuck.”  

“Yeah, fuck,” Hampus swears, voice equally tight. 

He pauses before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. David moans loud enough for Hampus to shove two fingers into his mouth. His lips close around them instinctively, making Hampus groan. 

“You’re so good,” he hums, hips falling into a steady rhythm. “Doing everything I ask you to do so perfectly. Fuck, why did I wait this long?”  

David can only let his eyes fall closed and moan around his fingers. He was petty, stubborn. He knew this was perfectly timed. Had they tried this in Boston or in Japan he would have laughed in Hampus’ face and stormed out of the room. 

They were doing exactly what they needed to be doing when they needed to be doing it. And it felt so fucking good. David ground his hips against Hampus before tilting his pelvis up just enough to change the angle. The tip of his dick slammed directly against his prostate. 

“Hampus,” he moaned around the fingers pressing down against his tongue. He felt his entire body light on fire. He let out a long, drawn out moan. 

Hampus pulled all the way out again and teased the tip of his dick against his hole. David waited and gave his waist another squeeze with his legs. Hampus just smirked and pulled his fingers out of David’s mouth. He gasped for air, feeling every nerve in his body light on fire. 

“Please,” he gasps, voice trembling. Hampus only smirks. 

He presses back in with just the tip of his dick and pulls out again. David closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the pillows. He can feel his building orgasm start to fizzle away. 

And then Hampus rams back into him. It rips a loud moan right out of his throat and that orgasm is right back building in his lower stomach. 

“Hampus,” he chokes out. “Gonna- fuck. Need you to touch me. Please.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Hampus nods as he wraps his hand around David’s cock. He jerks him off in time with his thrusts. “Cum for me, David. Wanna feel you, wanna see you cum around my dick.” 

White spots of pleasure fill the span of his vision as his orgasm hits him full force. His muscles clench and he paints his stomach and Hampus’ hand with sticky cum. It takes a lot longer than usual for him to catch his breath again. 

“Fuck,” he swears, chest heaving. “You- fuck.”  

Hampus laughs airily as he pulls out and disposes of the condom on his way to the bathroom for a wash cloth. David feels himself blush at the kindness of the action. It feels… different from when Carlos did it for him. More personable. He smiles at it and sleepily reaches for him. 

“Right here,” he says gently, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to the heel of his palm. David makes a noise as he feels the mattress dip down beside him and forces his eyes open. Hampus is firmly in the post-sex glow. He’s smiling and his hair is fluffy and- and he looks gentle.  

“Thank you,” David whispers, feeling the clutches of exhaustion start to pull at him. He lazily kisses his chest and slides closer. Hampus closes his arm around his back, letting his fingers dance over his spine. 

“You’re so good, feel so good,” Hampus hums into his hair as he kisses the top of his head. He waits a beat before asking, “Was I better?” 

“Better?” David asks, brain still about as useful as Jell-O. 

“Than Carlos,” Hampus says. David laughs into his chest and looks up at him. Hampus is already smiling at him. “I don’t really care,” he adds, pushing back some of David’s curls. “You don’t have to answer that.” 

“You were better than him,” David gives him an answer anyway as he settles back down into his chest. He slings a leg over his and hugs him even closer. 

“Knew it,” Hampus exclaims dramatically. David laughs into his chest and presses a kiss against the tan skin in front of him. 

“Don’t act so excited about it,” he says teasingly. 

“I’m sorry,” he hums, running his fingers through his hair again. “I’m just proud that I’m able to better satisfy the most beautiful man on the grid.” 

David blushes and sinks further into his embrace. He can feel the chuckle rumble through him. 

“Rest, love. You were so, so good for me.”  

Chapter Text

“You have a specific glow about you that can only come from a dick,” Charlie says as he sits down hard beside Hampus. Hampus who chokes on his sangria. 

“I’m sorry?” he splutters, trying to wipe the dribbles of red liquid off his chin. 

“You heard me,” Charlie only offers. Hampus glares at him from behind his sunglasses. “Oh come on, you gotta give me this, man. I know you didn’t go out after Belgium, so that can only leave one possibility for what you were doing.” 

“Only one?” Hampus asks as he walks across the deck of the boat to refill his glass from the pitcher. “What if I wanted to stay in and watch Netflix? Without sex? Am I not allowed to do that?” 

“No,” Charlie shakes his head. 

“No?” Hampus repeats, his eyebrows shooting so far up his forehead they’re in danger of getting lost in his hairline. “Why not?” 

“Well for one you’re hot,” Charlie answers, leaning forward and starting to count his reasons off on his fingers. Hampus rolls his eyes. “For two, you’ve had this frenemies, eye-fucking-across-the-paddock thing going on with Pastrnak for, fuck, I don’t know how long it’s been at this point. Oh! And I saw you two talking after you finished media and I could feel the sexual tension between the two of you.” 

“There’s no sexual tension between us,” Hampus shakes his head. He pointedly leaves the not anymore part off the sentence.  

“Then where did the fucking scratch marks on your back come from?” Charlie asks point blank. Hampus mentally curses himself out for ditching his shirt two days after his… rendezvous with David and not giving the marks on his back enough time to go away. 

“Water slide,” he answers, knowing full well that there is not a water slide anywhere near his yacht. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlie deadpans. “Dude, come on. You know you can tell me!” 

“No!” Hampus exclaims, sitting back down with his now full glass. “Because your best friend is Daniel Ricciardo and what you know Daniel Ricciardo knows and what Daniel Ricciardo knows the rest of the grid also knows. You are not privy to my sex life.” 

“I’ve never needed to be privy to your sex life, it’s been nonexistent up until now!” 

“Who’s yacht are you on again?” Hampus asks in hopes that it’ll shut his teammate up. 

“Fine, fine,” Charlie sighs and holds his hands up, leaning back. Hampus breathes a sigh of relief. “All I’m saying is that I can help you with this.” 

“Help me?” Hampus’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead again. “I don’t need help but thanks for the offer.” 

“Alright,” Charlie said with an air of finality in his voice. “I’m just saying.” 

“I’ll be fine but thanks,” Hampus responds before taking another sip of his sangria. Charlie starts talking about something he saw in his nightly Instagram scroll but Hampus isn’t listening to him. 

His mind is back in that hotel room in Belgium between David Pastrnak’s legs with his fingers buried deep in his ass. He smiles into his glass at the thought of it. He almost wishes they were racing this weekend just so he could yank him into a dark corner and kiss him until he can’t breathe. 

But that is going to have to wait until they get back to work. 

He’s had Charlie and Lando out on the yacht all day. Lando has been off swimming somewhere for the past hour leaving him alone in the trenches with Charlie with little to no defenses. He knows Charlie wouldn’t have brought it up if Lando were there. And suddenly he’s regretting spending his summer vacation with his teammate and one of their fellow drivers in the Bahamas. 

Instagram, at least seven hours ago, had David placed in the Maldives. It probably isn’t too late to run away and join him there. He could cover his tracks, meet up with Max back in Monaco for a bit. He can check in on how his rehab is going, ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to navigate an on track relationship, the usual shooting the shit that comes with good friends when they meet up again after a while apart.  

Charlie has one more chance to keep his mouth shut about David before Hampus brings the yacht back and he books a flight to Monaco and leaves him and Lando stranded. They would have it coming. Well, at least Charlie would. Lando he might take with him. 

“I have no idea why you guys are staying on the boat,” Lando says as he reappears on the swim ladder. “It’s so nice in the water.” 

“Hampus has been drinking like a fish so I think he’s all set for today,” Charlie fires off without hesitation. 

“For your information this is only glass three over the course of like five hours,” Hampus defends himself but puts down the half full glass of sangria anyway. “And also for your information, I made the sangria. I deserve to drink what I made.” 

“Whatever you say, mate,” Charlie sighs overdramatically as he makes the poor decision to stand, unguarded, right by the opening to the ladder. Hampus times it, waiting until he bends down to pick something up to shove him hard off the back of the boat. 

He lands in the water with a large splash and Lando’s laugh echoes far through the cove the boat has been tucked into. He bobs back up a moment later, spluttering and wiping water and wet hair from his eyes. Hampus is tempted to run up to the helm and gun it away but he’s not that mean. 

“Dick!” Charlie shouts at his back as he turns around, leaving him to get out of the water alone. 

“You had that coming and you know it!” Hampus calls back. He flinches as Charlie takes his revenge, shaking off like a dog right next to him and spraying him with water. Hampus wipes the water from his cheek before saying, “Are you done now?” 

“Yeah, I’m done,” Charlie sighs and towels the rest of the water off. “For now.” 

Hampus rolls his eyes but doesn’t bite. He focuses on piloting the yacht out of the cove and back towards the marina. They picked a quiet spot to spend their break, surrounded only by a handful of other yachts far bigger than Hampus’. 

The sun is setting as Charlie hops off to tie the boat up to the dock. Lando busies himself with grabbing the coolers and shuffling into his shoes as Hampus kills the engine. The day had been nice, overall. But he could think of a few ways it would be better. 

Namely a blond driver from- 

“Hampus!” Charlie’s shout bounces off the boats. He stops, Lando mirroring his movement, as they wait for Charlie to catch up to them. He’s holding his phone and grinning and Hampus has a feeling this is going to end very poorly for him. “Did you see where David is?” 

“David?” Lando interjects. “Why would he care about where David is? Don’t you guys hate each other?” 

Hampus pointedly ignores Lando’s question in favor of quickly glancing at Charlie’s phone. 

“The Maldives, I know,” Hampus responds coolly as he continues walking. 

“No, wait,” Lando insists, jogging to catch up with him. “Why do you care about where David is? Why do you know where David is?” 

“Did you not tell him?” Charlie asks as he falls into step between them. “Oh, Hampus. That’s just… wow.” 

“Charlie, why do you do this to me?” Hampus sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His teammate laughs and slings an arm around his shoulder. 

“It’s all out of love, man.” 

“Hi, I’m still confused over here,” Lando says. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Hampus addresses him. “It’s… Charlie’s just being an asshole.” 

“Wow,” Charlie says, mock offended. “You know, you wound me, Hampus.” 

“I’m gonna abandon you two here,” Hampus grumbles. 

“What did I do!” Lando exclaims, laughing. Hampus shrugs Charlie off his shoulder and walks ahead of them. He’s definitely booking that flight back to Monaco. He’s not above leaving in the middle of the night with nothing more than a note. 

Charlie drops it for the rest of the night. Dinner is quiet and uneventful. Lando slips his number to the waitress and Charlie and Hampus go back to the hotel by themselves while he nurses a drink at the bar while he waits for her shift to end. 

“Hey, you know I’m just giving you shit about everything, right?” Charlie says as they walk. 

“Yeah,” Hampus sighs. 

“You know I really am here for you if you need to talk about anything?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And you know I won’t tell Danny anything if you don’t want me to?” 

“Not even you can resist the Daniel Ricciardo eyes of charm,” Hampus laughs once. Charlie shrugs and nods. 

“Probably,” he admits. “I’ll try though,” he’s quiet for a beat before adding, “Seriously, man. Anything you need.” 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Hampus says as he pulls open the door to the lobby. “Seriously, I mean it. I’ll… I’ll ask if anything comes up.” 

“Yeah,” Charlie nods, pressing the call button for the elevator. “I really am happy for you, man. If this becomes a thing.” 

“Thank you,” Hampus says. He keeps his eyes fixed to the little red numbers above the door ticking further up. He spares a moment to wonder if they should have rented a house like Lando had suggested. But then he remembered that Lando himself is waiting to take a waitress back so yeah, he’s actually happy they ended up at a hotel. 

“Have a good night, man,” Charlie smiles. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Actually,” Hampus sighs, pausing with his hand on the handle of his room. “Can I ask you something real quick?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?” 

“I… I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” he sighs. “It feels wrong to have just fucked and ran, to put it crudely. We really didn’t talk, I guess. We ordered room service then said some really awkward ‘see you later’s and now I’m the Bahamas and he’s in the Maldives. It doesn’t… Charlie, it doesn’t feel right.” 

“You want to do something about it,” Charlie says. Hampus opens his mouth to say something else but Charlie shakes his head. “No, I know you. You’re going to do something about it. Tell me.” 

“Well I was planning on going back to Monaco to, I don’t know, pace myself for a day or two,” Hampus says, looking down at his feet and digging the toe of his shoe into the bad carpeting of the hallway. “Max is there. I can talk to him. He knows how to manage an on-track relationship pretty well. And he’s won some championships. He’s been right where I am.” 

“Talking to Max would probably be a smart idea,” Charlie offers. “Go to Monaco, then. If that’s what you think you need to do then go ahead. I will take care of Lando and make sure he’s not drunk for the rest of the two weeks.” 

Hampus smiles and nods, “Thank you, Charlie. I… yeah. I’m gonna go back to Monaco.” 

Charlie reaches forward and pulls him into a hug, “Anytime, man. You know I’ve got your back. And I’ll only tell Danny a few things.” 

“Fuck off,” Hampus laughs as he steps out of the hug. Charlie smiles and gently punches his arm. 

“Go get your man.” 

Last minute flights to Nice from the little Bahamas airport aren’t cheap. One ticket runs him a few hundred more dollars than he would have liked it to. But he’s confident that Charlie would have skinned him alive had he not pressed the purchase button. 

The flight leaves early and it’s fourteen hours to London and a few more to Nice. Hampus blinks blearily at the flashing ‘BOARDING BEGINNING SOON’ words on the screen behind the desk and considers the fact that he should have just stayed in his hotel room. Yeah, Charlie would have killed him but is that really any different than spending the majority of your day flying. 

It’s the promise of what’s on the other end that has him going through with it. Answers from Max, a cuddle from one of his cats, maybe some of those pancakes he made for his home race despite the fact that he wasn’t racing. 

And at the end of another twelve hour flight is the real prize. He can get through an obscene amount of air travel for those blond curls and that arm full of ink. He can do that. 

******** 

Hampus has no idea how he’s still standing upright as he knocks on Max’s door. He’s running off about four hours of sleep back in the Bahamas, another hour and a half on the plane before a snotty nosed, unsupervised toddler with the worst ‘gentle parents’ you’ve ever seen decided to practice karate moves on the back of his seat and ruin any hopes of further rest. The reaction he gets when Max opens the door is only confirmation of how rough he looks. 

“Jesus,” he says. “You look half dead.” 

“Nice to see you too, Max,” Hampus offers up a smile. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah,” Max says, shaking his head. “Sorry, yeah. Come in.” 

Hampus slips through the door, toeing off his shoes and neatly placing them on the rack pressed against the wall. Max is still limping pretty hard and Hampus internally curses himself out. Max has forgiven him, and told him there’s nothing to forgive, for that rainy Belgium crash at least two hundred times. He still feels like shit, though. Yeah, they probably shouldn’t have raced in that weather but he was the one that had been racing as though they were working with dry conditions. 

“I’m fine, Lindholm!” Max shouts from the kitchen. “Stop thinking!” 

“Sorry,” Hampus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he walks in. Max presents him with a cup of coffee and there’s a cat weaving between his legs and rubbing up against his shin the second he has a foot in the door. “How have you been doing?” 

“I’m fine,” Max repeats, smiling gently as he turns back towards the stove. “Really, I am. Nothing more than a dull ache at this point.” 

“I’m-” 

“If you apologize one more time I’m sticking your ass back on a plane for fifteen more hours.” 

And that sounds like Hampus’ own personal hell. 

“Now, there’s a reason you just flew all the way home from the fucking Bahamas so start talking,” Max says as he gives the bowl of pancake batter beside him one final mix before ladeling a glob onto the griddle. Within seconds the smell fills the kitchen and Hampus feels the tension leave his shoulders. 

“I…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the right words. He takes a sip of coffee before beginning again, “I needed to ask you something. And it’s not something I could just say over the phone. I… I need your help, Max.” 

“This sounds serious,” Max says as he angles his body to face Hampus while also paying attention to the pancakes. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, everything- yes,” Hampus says firmly. “I just… how do you do it?” 

“Do what?” Max asks as Jimmy jumps up on the counter. He swats at the cat with his free hand, “Hey! Off, off. You have your own food.” 

Jimmy just looks at him before gracefully hopping down and landing right in front of his bowl. 

“You and Danny,” Hampus sighs. “How? How do you it?” 

“Ah,” Max responds. He falls silent to flip the pancakes. “Well, it’s much like long distance, of course. But that’s not what you’re talking about is it?” 

“No,” Hampus’ voice is barely above a whisper as he shakes his head. “I- do you need details?” 

“While I am curious, I do not need them,” Max answers. “It’s up to you if you want to give them.” 

Hampus has always liked Max. He smiles and nods and takes another sip of coffee before continuing, “I hooked up with David after Belgium.” 

There’s a clatter as the ladle falls from Max’s hand and into the bowl. He clears his throat and fixes it before bringing the pancakes off the griddle. Hampus’ hands have started trembling around the coffee mug. 

“Okay,” Max says smoothly. “I thought you two hated each other?” 

“So did I,” Hampus chuckles. “I… yeah, I thought I hated him too. I don’t really know what happened.” 

“Do you think it was his crash?” Max asks. “It could have made you realize..” 

“No,” Hampus shakes his head and accepts the plate of pancakes Max extends to him. “It… I definitely stopped hating him before the crash. The race in Spain was the first time we sprayed champagne at each other on the podium but I think it was before even then. I don’t know. All I know, Max, is that I fucking fell for the guy that’s supposed to be ultimate rival.”   

Max just smiles as he flips the second round of pancakes. 

“So what do I do? I flew all the way here to beg for your help,” Hampus says, laughing almost in disbelief. 

“First of all, you cannot stop love,” Max says. “As annoying as it may be, your heart wants what it wants and it has clearly decided it wants David. There’s nothing you can do about that. And before I tell you about managing a relationship, have you seen him since Belgium?”

“No,” Hampus shakes his head. “We woke up and it was awkward and then we had to do things with our teams then we both had flights out for break.” 

“Where were you planning on going after you talked to me?” Max presses a little further. 

“David’s in the Maldives,” Hampus says, looking down at his plate. “I was gonna go there and see if he… see if he wanted me.” 

He can feel Max’s smile. 

“Oh, don’t-” 

“You really did fall,” he says in a teasing tone. “Hampus, that’s adorable.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles into a forkful of pancakes as if they were the ones giving him shit and not Max. 

“No, it really is,” Max insists as he sits down beside him with his own plate of pancakes. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do.” 

Hampus perks up a bit.” 

“You’re going to finish your pancakes and you’re going to stay in the city for a day or two and think if this is really what you want to do,” Max says. “If it is, you book the flight. But before you do, you should reach out to him. Don’t just show up unannounced.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hampus nods. “Thank you so much, Max. Really.” 

“You’re going to do what I tell you? You’re not going to just show up? You’re going to ask him first?” Max raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes,” Hampus says, voice serious. “Yes, I will reach out to him before I go. Thank you so much. Now where is Sassy? I need to take a nap and she likes me more than Jimmy does.” 

Max laughs and calls for his other cat. She comes trotting in proudly and immediately rubs up against Hampus’ legs. He scoops her up and retreats to the guest room. Sassy purrs in his arms as he lays down and he can’t help but imagine the warmth against his chest was coming from David instead of a cat. 

But he can’t have everything. 

Not right now at least.  

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for but when he wakes up it’s light out and Sassy is long gone and Max has plugged his phone in. He groans and rubs the sleep out of his eyes before rolling over and checking the time. 

His eyes almost bug out of his head when he catches sight of the date. He’s been asleep for twelve hours at the very least, the date not at all matching what it was when he knocked on the door. He pulls himself out of bed, feeling like he’s woken up on a different planet, and forces himself into the bathroom to shower off the gross feeling left over from being on the plane. 

He has to shoo Sassy off his suitcase to pull out a pair of clothes and his toiletries and retreats to the bathroom. The warm shower feels nice and the tension melts from his shoulders. He feels alive again as he steps out and pulls on a pair of clean clothes. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Max chirps as he walks into the kitchen. Hampus grunts at him and accepts the mug of coffee. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not alive yet,” Hampus responds into his mug. 

“What about David?” Max adds. “Or are you not alive enough for that yet?” 

“I haven’t reached out to him yet,” Hampus sighs. “I will when I’m alive again.” 

“Sounds good,” Max laughs under his breath. “Hampus, I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to be happy like this. It’s… yeah. It’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me.” 

“Thank you, Max,” Hampus says earnestly. “I needed this. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Max smiles. “Anytime, Hampus.” 

******** 

So. The thing is. 

Hampus may have forgotten to send David a text before leaving for the airport. He’s already spent money on the flight, he’s already sitting at the gate. He’s committed to spend twelve hours on a plane. 

He swears under his breath as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and tries to come up with a message that won’t make it seem like he’s running to him purely because he’s overthinking and needs validation. He stares at the blinking cursor on his screen as if we were trying to will the words to appear without needing to type or think about them. 

He sighs and swears under his breath as he settles on a simple message. 

HL: Hey! I’m taking a last minute trip to the Maldives. Are you still there?

He only needs to wait a few uncomfortable seconds before his phone is buzzing with a message. 

DP: Yeah, I’m here for another week. Where are you staying? 

HL: Same place as you. My flight leaves in a few hours. 

“Priority group for flight 2871 to Malé now boarding,” the attendant at the desk announces into the microphone. Hampus swears under his breath as he stands up and fumbles with his phone to scan his ticket. 

There’s another buzz as he sits down in his seat with a huff. He fishes his phone back out of his pocket and slides it open only to almost drop it when he fully reads the text. 

DP: I hope you didn’t spend too much money on a room. I’m in a bungalow with an extra room if you want it

Hampus chokes on air. His fingers shake a little as he types out his response. 

HL: If it’s not too much trouble, sure. That’d be really nice

DP: It’s no trouble at all. I’m in bungalow 16. Let me know when you get here 

HL: It’ll be a while, the plane just boarded. I’ll see you soon

Hampus turns his phone on airplane mode before David can respond. Call it a trauma response, but he has had enough of this for now. He needs to spend twelve hours in his own head and figure out whatever the hell this is. 

He’s hoping the recycled air and rewatching the same seven downloaded movies will help. Maybe. Hopefully. 

The bag of slightly stale pretzels helps far more than the movies do, and by the time he’s stumbling off the plane bleary and a little delirious, he’s glad he did it. Mildly scared for what happens when he arrives, but happy he did it. 

The sun is setting as he climbs into the back of his cab. He fiddles with the handle of his suitcase as he stares out the window. The ride to the resort is stunning, really. But Hampus cannot help but be terrified of it. Every second he spends in the car is one second closer to David. And every second closer to David is one more step into uncertainty. 

The cab pulls into the resort driveway, past a big gaudy sign, and rolls to a stop under the portico of the main building. Hampus pays for his ride and leaves a tip before walking in. He follows the signs to the bungalows and he has to admit that they look absolutely stunning. They have him questioning why he agreed to a hotel in the Bahamas when he could have just not been a fucking idiot and asked David if he wanted to spend summer break with each other. 

But regardless, bungalow sixteen is at the end of the walkway, set apart from the rest and looking a little bigger. The wheels of his suitcase click against the wooden slats of the walkway and maybe he should have dropped them at bell services and had them brought down later. That’s probably what most of the people that stayed here did. 

Fuck, he wishes he could be normal. He wishes he could be normal and just smoothly get into a relationship like everyone else he knew. And not awkwardly knocking on the door and having- 

“Hampus,” Carlos smiles warmly as he opens the door. 

“Carlos,” Hampus says, barely able to stop his heart from flying out through his ass. “Hi, uhm, I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I didn’t know I was going to be here either,” he laughs lightly before stepping aside. Hampus hesitates and swallows hard before stepping in. He tries to ignore the fact that Carlos is clad in only a pair of swimming trunks hanging low- like, low- on his hips and David is nowhere to be seen. 

“Uhm,” Hampus clears his throat before explaining himself. “I said I was coming down and- and David offered for me to stay here. With him.” 

“Hampus!” a familiar voice exclaims from behind him. He turns to see David standing in the open doors out to the deck, towel slung around his shoulders and a pair of his own swimming trunks wetly hugging his hips and thighs. Hampus feels his mouth run dry. “You made it! Sorry I didn’t respond to your text when you landed, we’ve been swimming for a few hours.” 

“No, uh, no worries,” Hampus clears his throat again. “Uh, that extra room?” 

“Oh! Right,” David says, walking in as he towels off his hair. “It’s just behind the kitchenette. There’s a bathroom in my room if you need to take a shower or something.” 

He lets the door click shut behind him and has to fight the urge to scream. Maybe he completely and totally misread Belgium. Maybe David was lying when he said he was better than Carlos. Why else would he be here? The Maldives is usually a romantic vacation destination, is Hampus crashing what’s supposed to be their romantic summer break? All because he thought a one night stand was more than what it actually is? 

Oh he really is a fucking idiot. 

Regardless of how stupid he may or may not be he needs to shower off the plane. And to do that he needs to walk past Carlos. No matter how much he wishes he wasn’t here. He slings a towel over his shoulder and holds his folded clothes close to his chest and keeps his head down as he makes the short walk across the bungalow to the bathroom. 

“There’s a rainfall showerhead!” Carlos calls after him. “It’s the best thing ever after a long flight.” 

“Yeah, thanks, Carlos,” Hampus responds, plastering a smile on his face. 

“Hey,” David smiles warmly when he walks into the bedroom. He’s changed out of the swimming trunks but has yet to find a shirt to wear. “Did you have a good flight?” 

“Yeah, it- yeah. Good flight,” Hampus responds, doing a very poor job of hiding how flustered he is. David smiles softly at him. It feels a little like pity. Hampus opens his mouth before David can say anything else, “Don’t wait up for me, or anything. I’ll probably just go straight to sleep.” 

David doesn’t get the chance to open his mouth before the bathroom door is closed. Hampus turns on the shower (the rainfall head that Carlos told him he should use) and steps under the steaming stream of water. It’s hot enough that it should probably be burning his skin, but it feels good. It feels like it’s burning away all evidence of him ever thinking he could have a relationship with David. 

God, he was so dumb. So, so dumb to ever think that would get off the ground. 

And the worst part is, Carlos was right. The rainfall shower is incredible and he has plans on installing one the second he gets home. 

No, he lied. The worst part is that Carlos is here. Carlos is here, and he has a very obvious hickey sucked into his chest. That’s the worst part. The fact that it is very, very obviously fresh. That hickey is fresh while the scratch marks on his back are fading. 

That’s. That’s just fantastic. He can’t spend more money on plane tickets. He can’t skip through several time zones again. Not only would his brain liquify and start melting out of his ear, he’s confident Max Verstappen would appear out of nowhere and assist Charlie in killing him and hiding his body. 

That is a given at this point. That and he’s getting a rainfall shower for himself. 

He gets out- begrudgingly- and towels off, changing into what he planned on wearing to bed. The bungalow is quiet when he walks out, and Carlos is nowhere to be seen. David glances towards the still open doors out to the deck and sees David’s telltale curls peaking over the back of his chair. 

He stills for a moment, trying to consider if walking out would be a good idea or if he’ll interrupt a moment between him and Carlos. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before turning on his heel and walking out. 

“Hey,” he says, running a hand through his wet hair. 

“Hey,” David smiles as he looks up at him. “Shower good?” 

“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the empty chair. The empty chair that, conspicuously, does not have a towel or a drink next to it. “Where’s Carlos?” 

“Oh he went back to his own bungalow,” David answers. “Sit, please.” 

Hampus perches on the edge of the chair almost nervously, “Did… did I interrupt something earlier?” 

“With Carlos?” David asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “No. Not at all. He… no.” 

“Was… we should have talked,” Hampus sighs, looking out over the water. It’s dark now, and he can really only hear it instead of seeing it. 

“We talked,” David says. “Not well, sure. But we talked.” 

“Yeah,” Hampus chuckles. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” David shrugs before downing what’s left of his drink and standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hampus. Have a good night.” 

Hampus doesn’t say anything before David retreats back into the bungalow. He sighs again and tugs at his hair. He’s so fucking stupid.   

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” the word is ripped from his chest as he feels his lower stomach tighten. He shoves his hand into Hampus’ hair, tugging it as he’s struggling to get the verbal warning out. Hampus smoothes his hands up the insides of his thighs, pushing his legs a little further apart. 

The noise of him sucking down his dick is downright obscene, pornographic even. And his moans are definitely echoing out over the water through the open French doors. But the feeling of Hampus’ tongue pressing against the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock is just too good to keep quiet about. 

“Fuck, Hampus,” he swears, voice choked and almost forced. “Please, I- I’m close.” 

Hampus doubles his efforts, taking a little more. David’s cock is pressing down the back of his throat and he has no idea how he’s not choking on it at this point he’s got him so deep in his mouth. And it feels fucking amazing, it puts him on cloud nine, over the moon even. 

“Hampus!” he cries as his orgasm rips through his body, pulling his back off the bed and taking the breath out of his lungs. 

His ears are ringing for a bit afterward and he’s only barely aware of Hampus rubbing circles into his hip as he comes back down. The cool night breeze washes over them, making David open his eyes. Hampus is already looking at him. 

“Hi,” he says quietly as he lets his fingers trace random patterns into his chest. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah,” David responds, more than a little breathless. “Fuck yeah I’m okay. I- you make me feel so good every time.” 

“This was only the third time,” Hampus chuckles under his breath. David rolls his eyes and moves to roll away from him but Hampus grabs his hip and guides him back. “No running away from me.” 

“You’d catch me,” David replies. “You drive a rocket ship every weekend.” 

“Yeah, a rocket ship that’s slowly falling apart,” Hampus scoffs. David gives him a look. “You didn’t hear that.” 

“No, no,” David shakes his head. “You can’t leave me hanging on that now I’m curious.” 

“Can I just go down on you again? Will that make you forget?” 

David’s cock gives a halfhearted twitch at Hampus’ words, valiantly trying to get interested in the progression of things but completely and totally spent after three back to back to back orgasms. 

“As nice as that would be, I don't think I could get hard again if I really tried,” he answers. “It’s okay, you don’t need to talk about it. I was just giving you a hard time.” 

Hampus sighs and drops a kiss to his chest. David can’t help but feel that it’s incredibly intimate considering the fact that they’re not officially together. He makes a content noise and relaxes into the pillows as he lets his fingers bury themselves in Hampus’ hair. The cool night breeze brushes over them, sending goosebumps over his skin. 

“Like that?” Hampus asks as he kisses along his chest and down to his nipple. He doesn’t take it into his mouth, just kisses around it. If David weren’t still in the thick of his refractory period he would probably be hard again. 

“Yeah,” he hums. “Feels nice.” 

“You taste nice,” Hampus hums against him. “Smell nice too.”

“God just ask me out already,” David gasps out, squirming a bit under him. He’s so caught up in the feeling of Hampus’ lips on his skin he doesn’t register him stop until way too long after he does. His chest tightens as he pushes himself up on his elbows and asks “Shit, did I mess up?”

“No,” Hampus says quietly as he shakes his head. “You didn’t.” 

The silence between them sits heavy until Hampus kisses his chest with an air of finality and drags a trail of kisses up his neck to his chest and ending at his lips. He tastes faintly of the sangria they’d shared a pitcher of earlier and distinctly like himself. It’s a taste David can’t place beyond the fact that it’s Hampus. 

“David,” he whispers into the crook of his neck. “Will you be my boyfriend? Will you let me take you out on a date? A real date?” 

“Yeah,” David’s response is shaky as he exhales. He gives a half hearted hope that Hampus can’t hear his heart hammering away in his chest. “Yeah. I’d- I’d love to. You- yes.” 

“Eloquent,” Hampus teases. David scoffs and wiggles out from underneath him. “Wait, wait, wait I was just teasing you, come back here.”

David giggles as Hampus grabs his sides, fingers brushing up against the ticklish spots on his ribs. They fade into laughs as he digs in a little harder. Through squinted eyes David can see Hampus’ smile. It’s a smile he hasn’t seen before they ended up in the Maldives together, glowing and happy with nothing standing in its way of being expressed. 

The three most terrifying words David can possibly think of bubble to the tip of his tongue. He bites down on them, desperate to keep them quiet. Hampus only just asked him to be his, he can’t ruin this yet. Not when they still have another half of the season left. 

“Alright, alright!” David explains as he tries to shove Hampus’ hands away. “Starting to hurt.” 

“Sorry,” Hampus apologizes as he pulls his hands away. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Your laugh is just… I like listening to it.” 

“Are you blushing?” David asks as he sits up, leaning on his hands for support. Hampus’ cheeks turn a shade darker and he turns away. David laughs and reaches out, redirecting his gaze back to him. “No, no. It’s cute. I like it.” 

There’s still a puff of awkwardness settled between them, but David likes it. He’s enjoying learning who Hampus is, learning how to live with him. It’s going to be one of the hardest things he’s going to do but it’s going to be so, so beyond rewarding. He smiles and leans forward, gingerly pressing his lips against Hampus’. 

“Come on,” he mumbles against him and kisses him again before pulling away. “We have a flight to catch.” 

Hampus groans and lets his head fall forward onto David’s thigh, “Back to reality. Do we have to?” 

“Well you and I both have enough money to sustain our lifestyles until we die,” David pretends to consider. “But we would miss driving way too much.” 

“You’re right,” Hampus says, lifting his head up with a smile. “Of course you’re right, you’re always right.” 

“Sorry, what was that?” David asks. “I didn’t hear you. Do you think I could get that in writing?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Hampus laughs, chucking a pillow at him. He catches it easily and puts it down on the mattress. 

They seamlessly move around each other. David is almost surprised at how smooth it is but he can’t. Not really. Even when they hated each other they knew where the other was on the track at all times. They knew each other’s media schedules and, at least David would, tailor his day in the paddock to make sure they never crossed paths. 

Hell, even when Carlos took him back to the Mercedes team hotel in Canada David knew where Hampus was and who he was with. But that had just been them being enemies and not wanting to see each other, right? Christ, if Pavel were here he would smack him hard upside the head. He shakes it off and continues stuffing clothes into his suitcase. 

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Hampus asks from across the room. 

“Yeah, go for it,” David responds as he folds up a pair of boxers and tosses them in. 

“I know you said I wasn’t interrupting anything when I got here,” Hampus starts and David can tell immediately by the way his voice trails off what his next words are going to be. “Carlos… I saw he had a, uh, a mark on him. You’re really sure I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

David cringes internally.

“Well…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the right words. “We didn’t know we were going to be in the same place and, uh, we both got pretty drunk the night before you came down. It didn’t mean anything, really, I swear it didn’t. But I was, I was bothered by how we left things and, well, he was right there. I’m sorry. I- I didn’t know if we were together or if it was just the night or- I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hampus’ voice is sincere as he smiles and crosses the floor to him, taking his hands and running his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m not mad or anything. And we left things rather open after Belgium so… not your fault. I just wanted to make sure, okay?” 

“Yeah,” David nods, letting his eyes fall closed when Hampus leans forward and kisses his forehead. “Yeah.” 

He wishes he could stay in the moment but the bright red blinking numbers on the clock on the table behind Hampus serve as a sharp kick in the ass. 

“Fuck we need to go,” he says, breaking out of the hug and haphazardly throwing everything into his suitcase. “Plane leaves in three hours.” 

“Shit.” 

******** 

“Details,” Pavel demands from his spot on the couch as he watches David run around getting ready. “I’m serious, Pastrnak. I require details.” 

“You’re not getting them,” David says with his head halfway jammed into a bathroom cabinet. “Have you seen my aftershave?” 

“Aftershave? What do you want to smell like my grandfather?” Pavel asks. David listens as he stands up and walks in. He backs out of the cabinet, being careful not to smack his head. He brushes himself off as Pavel rifles through his collection of colognes. He selects one and stares at it for a while before handing it to him. 

“You’re sure?” he asks wearily as he looks at the label. It’s one that’s incredibly strong. And it’s one he hasn’t worn since Canada. 

“Positive,” Pavel nods. “It got Sainz to like you right?” 

“Okay, no more mention of that, yeah?” David says, pointedly not making eye contact with him as he dabs some of the fragrance onto his neck and collar bones and behind his ears. “And besides, you were the one that pushed me headfirst into that with little to no choice.”

“Put a little on your wrists,” Pavel tells him and turns on his heel, walking back out into the main room. “Now! Give me the details! I want to know what happened!” 

“There’s nothing really to tell,” David calls back. He wets his hands and scrunches up his curls a few times, manipulating them to lay the way he wants them to. “He texted me saying he was going to be at the same resort as me and I invited him to stay in my bungalow. I had an extra room and what else is supposed to happen in the Maldives when two really hot people are together?” 

“Yeah, you got me there,” Pavel concedes. “But details! Did you fuck? What happened?” 

“I am no longer telling you when Hampus and I fuck,” he deadpans in response. “Not only is it absolutely none of your business but it’s also none of your business.” 

“Oh come on,” Pavel begs. “You don’t have to tell me all the dirty shit, just a simple yes or no will suffice.” 

“Use your deductive reasoning skills.” 

“That’s a yes.” 

David rolls his eyes and checks his watch one more time, “You know, I really don’t like most Richard Mille watches. They’re all gears and you can never tell what time it really is when you need to.” 

“Did you invite me over here to complain about one of our sponsor’s products or do you want my help?” Pavel asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” David sighs. “I dunno. We spent a few nights together. It was nice. I don’t… we had a conversation the last day we were there. Almost missed our flight because of it, actually.” 

“That sounds like something that would happen to you,” Pavel chuckles. 

“Ouch,” David launches one of the couch throw pillows at him. 

“You’re together, though, right?” Pavel double checks. “Like it’s all official?” 

“Yeah,” David nods. It’s the first time he’s telling someone about his new relationship. And he’s already sworn Pavel to secrecy. He’s trying to imagine Hampus having the same conversation with his own teammate but what Charlie McAvoy knows Daniel Ricciardo knows and what Daniel Ricciardo knows the entire grid will also soon know. He’ll probably keep it to himself for just a little while longer.

“Mate, fuckin’ congrats,” Pavel says with a smile as he thumps his shoulder. David smiles and accepts his tight hug. “Seriously, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thanks, mate,” David says as he drops the hug and checks his watch. “I should go. Are you gonna stay here or head out?” 

“Nah, I’ll stay and raid your fridge for a bit,” Pavel responds with a friendly smile. “Just give me a heads up if you’re coming back early, yeah?” 

“God, you’re never dropping this, are you?” David asks, tossing him one last glance over his shoulder before opening the door. 

“Nope,” Pavel responds as he sits down hard on the couch. “Have fun!” 

It’s one of the best days of the year in Monaco as David steps out onto the sidewalk. The sun is starting to set and the temperature is leaving its humid home it stays in during the middle of the day. He smiles and slides his sunglasses onto his face. 

Everyone in Monaco is so accustomed to seeing F1 drivers walk past them every day he makes it to the restaurant he and Hampus had picked out with little to no incident. He gets a handful of looks from who he can only assume are tourists but none of them approach. He wouldn’t mind if they did, he likes talking with fans. But he’s secretly a little grateful for it. His mind is so focused on dinner he probably wouldn’t have been very much fun to meet. 

“Mr. Pastrnak,” the hostess knows him on sight, already stepping around the stand at the front. “Mr. Lindholm is already here, follow me.” 

“Thank you very much,” he says politely and trails behind her as she heads to the back of the restaurant where the private, hidden tables are. She pushes the curtain to the side and motions for him to go first. 

The private tables are one of his favorite things about this particular restaurant. Hampus is sitting at the table in the alcove, his attention drawn away from the tinted windows looking out over the street. A smile splits across his face as he processes David’s presence and David feels his heart start beating just a little bit faster. 

“Enjoy your meal,” the hostess says before slipping out. Hampus stands up and pulls David into a hug. The hands on his hips are warm and he feels the soft scratch of the hair on his chin as he kisses his cheek. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says quietly before pulling out the chair for him to sit down. 

“Such a gentleman,” David teases, smiling at him as he sits across from him. 

“Only for you,” Hampus quips with a smile. “Settle back in okay?”  

“Yeah,” David nods. “Summer break was fun. Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Hampus flips it on him. “You’re the one that invited me and let me crash in your bungalow. You know I swear Charlie was going to kill me if I didn’t go.” 

Confusion pops up in David’s brain. 

“Oh, right I didn’t tell you,” Hampus smiles as he nudges the basket of bread towards him. “I was the picture of a lovesick teenager in the Bahamas with Charlie and Lando. I mean, it was bad. Picture refreshing Instagram over and over again to check if you had posted.” 

“That’s actually really cute,” David smiles through the blush he’s sure is dusting his cheeks by now. Hampus shrugs him off. “No, really. It is. And I was happy to have you stay with me. It was…” memories of how Hampus looked bathed in moonlight laid out against the sheets flash through his mind, “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. And it ended pretty well, right?” 

“Right,” Hampus nods, leaning forward and taking his hand across the table. “Have you told anyone?” 

“Pavel knows,” David responds. “I think he would straight up torture me if I didn’t tell him.” 

“Yeah he seems like the type,” Hampus laughs. “I haven’t said anything. I don’t… I don’t have many friends on the grid.” 

David pauses, letting his words register. The more he thinks about it the more the dots connect. It makes sense. Hampus is friendly with everyone they drive with but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him actively seek someone out the way he seeks out Pavel and Charles and Carlos occasionally. 

“Hey,” Hampus says, ducking his head a bit so he can catch David’s eye. “Don’t worry about me, really. I wouldn’t change a thing. I have you now and I’m sure things will open up after the season. You’re friends with Charles and Carlos right?” 

“Yeah,” David nods. “Lando too, kinda. And Danny and Charlie.” 

“So once we get comfortable with each other we open it up,” Hampus says. “I promise I won’t keep you all to myself if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“No,” David shakes his head. “Just… just a little worried about the reception we’re going to get. As far as, well, everyone aside from Pavel and Charlie thinks we hate each other still. I don’t… I don’t know how we’re going to get around that. Or if we have to keep up appearances or anything.” 

“We can figure it out.” Hampus says, squeezing his hand and offering him a small smile. “Hey, quit worrying, okay? We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yeah,” David smiles, squeezing his hand. Flush dusts his cheeks as Hampus lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I… thank you,” he says as he lets his hand rest on the table again. “Really, David. I don’t think… I don’t think I’ve ever had something like this before. You’re special. I-”

The sentence David is sure is going to be sappy and make him want to cry is cut off by Hampus’ phone ringing sharply. He makes a face as he pulls it out of his pocket and sighs heavily, reading the name displayed at the top of the screen. David feels his stomach sink. 

“It’s Brad,” he says. 

David sits, waiting as he answers the call only to get cut off. It takes about five seconds for Hampus to make a pained face and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Brad- Brad, listen to me,” he says. David cringes internally. He couldn’t imagine talking to Krej like that. “I am currently on a date can this- you’re absolutely sure?” 

He shoots David an apologetic look. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “You’re sure I can’t finish dinner? Alright. I guess I’ll see you soon then.” 

“You have to go,” David says matter of factly. 

“Yeah,” Hampus sighs, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I’m so sorry, I really am. But there’s… there’s an issue that we need to deal with before the weekend.” 

“No worries,” David smiles through the dull ache that’s settling into his chest. “Call me if you need anything?” 

“I will,” Hampus promises. He pauses before walking out and backtracks to lean down and press a kiss to David’s forehead. “Try to have a good night, karäste.” 

David freezes, the feeling on Hampus’ lips on his forehead lingering long after the curtain swishes shut behind him. The waitress comes by and, upon subtly noticing he’s alone at the table, asks if he wants to order. He sighs and shakes his head, still leaving her a tip and retreats to the bar. While he’s here he might as well indulge in at least one of the top shelf bottles they have stored. 

Besides, he can’t go back to his apartment too early. Not only will Pavel never let him hear the end of it but he’ll have to explain and then it’ll turn into one of his cheer up attempts that usually involves a bottle of tequila smuggled back from the Mexican Grand Prix last year. And probably Charles and maybe Danny. 

Yeah, he’s not in the mood for the Ricciardo energy tonight. Or tomorrow night. Really not until they have to race now that he really thinks about it. 

The sun is long below horizon by the time he finally drags himself back down the street. He nursed two whiskey sours over the course of a few hours and he’s ready to fall asleep. His apartment is dark when he walks in and he notices a scrap of paper with Pavel’s handwriting on it that he’ll read in the morning. 

His bed is screaming his name and he has no intentions on snubbing it. 

********

He did miss this. The roar of the crowd, the sea of red in the stands, the chanting of his name every time he walks through the paddock. It’s an ego boost for sure but it also reminds him of who he races for. Having Monza be one of the first races back after the summer break is really one of the best things the FIA has put out this year. 

David pushes the visor of his helmet, specially designed for the race, back and raises a hand, waving to the fans cheering him along as he walks to the car. 

“Are you done waving to your cult?” Linus teases as he steps up beside him, clipboard in hand. 

“Hey, if you had all this power at your hands you would abuse it just a little too,” David responds, glancing at the grandstand one more time. The horde of Ferrari flags clustered together throughout go to his head just a little. Especially when he sees the ones with his number plastered on it. 

“Yeah you’re probably right,” Linus concedes. “Listen, we have a front row lockout. Team orders are in place, it’s all you and blue skies for the foreseeable future.” 

“Let’s listen to what I have to say about strategy, yeah?” David says, clapping his shoulder. Linus rolls his eyes and walks away. 

“Have a good drive!” he calls over his shoulder as he retreats to the pit wall. 

Climbing into his car and settling into the seat feels like home. Everything quiets and that liquid calm is back and melting into his limbs. Pavel is behind him in P2 and Hampus is behind him in P3. It’s a similar starting grid to the rest of the season but it feels different this time. 

It shouldn’t, probably, but it does. He shoves it down as far as it’ll go (not as far as he’d like) and leads the formation lap. 

Monza has always been one of his favorite tracks. It’s not one of the more complicated circuits on the calendar, but it’s not called the Temple of Speed for nothing. Even the formation lap is fast and they’re back in their positions in what feels like the blink of an eye. 

The lights go out and he shoves all the way over, closing the gap for anyone who could jump up. It’s tight going into the first corner, it always is. But David feels a little better knowing there’s another Ferrari behind him to act as a buffer between him and the Aston Martin. The first right turn bleeds into another sharp turn to the left and it allows him to build a little bit of speed and gain distance as he pulls away. 

It’s mostly gentle turns for a bit, a big, swooping curve that allows him to hammer down. Turns four and five resemble one and two but they’re a little bit more gentle. David navigates them with ease and the feeling of comfort he loves so much settles into his chest. 

Monza is his home. He loves it here. This has been the track he’s always been most successful on. The only year he hasn’t been on the podium was his rookie year. He’s consistently been on one of the three steps, taking the top one twice before. 

He’s confident there are battles unfolding behind him, but it’s nothing but clean air in front as he rounds turns six and seven and accelerates down the straight towards eight, nine, and ten. He loves this track. He really, really does. Navigating its little quirks is just downright fun, and he’s driven it a few thousand times at this point in his career. 

The first lap ends smoothly, and Linus chimes in over the radio to tell him he has a one second gap between him and Pavel behind. He doesn’t offer anymore information, just informs him of the gap back to his teammate. David’s okay with it, he wants to focus on his own race. He doesn’t really care about what’s going on behind him until it comes time for pit stops. 

However. 

As the laps tick higher, his gap grows and he falls more and more into his groove. He can’t hear the tifosi over the roar of the car under his foot, but he can feel them. He can feel their energy, pushing him faster and faster. 

He uses the momentum he gains slinging around turn eleven and takes off like a shot heading back towards turn one. The liquid calm is still present in his limbs, but it’s ebbing and slowly being replaced by the excitement that comes along with racing in Monza in Ferrari colors. 

He coaxes his car around the turns and lets the race unfold in front of him, lets himself get completely lost in it. 

“Box, box. Box, box,” Linus chimes in sometime around lap twenty three of fifty. 

“Copy,” David hums and guides the car in. He has no idea what the field behind him looks like but, for the first time since Silverstone, he trusts his team. He really, genuinely, trusts his team.

And it works out. He has a smooth, flawless pit stop, and he comes out P5 behind one of the Mercedes. Three of the cars ahead pit, and he only needs to make two passes to get back in first. He dispatches the Mercedes that turns out to be Carlos’ and lands behind Pavel. He’s okay with this. He’ll stay in second place and wait out team orders. 

They come at lap forty five after the second round of pit stops. Pavel moves aside and lets David sneak past him. He can hear the wave of the crowd now. It’s an impressive feat, really, to be heard over the roar of an F1 car. 

But he hears them. And the tifosi only get louder as he crosses first beneath the checkered flag.

It gets clearer when he brings the car home, parking in front of the screen just under the podium. He climbs up on the side pod and raises his fists in the air, facing the crowd. He lets out a victorious yell under his helmet, feeling all the emotions start to bubble over the surface. 

A win at Monza feels good. A Ferrari win at Monza feels like having the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

David laughs as he catches sight of Pavel next to him in the P2 slot. A Ferrari 1-2 finish at Monza. Now that has to be better than sex. 

Hampus, to no surprise, is in third. Is it a little boring to have the same top three finish the race that started the race? Sure. But it’s different here. It’s Ferrari. It’s impossible to get upset and bored when both Ferraris take the top two steps. 

There’s a sea of red gathered on the track in front of the podium. David doesn’t even try to fight the smile on his face. He grins, moving along to both anthems and raises his trophy high over his head. The volume of the crowd surges with it. He feels that same excitement bubble in his chest again. 

“Congratulations!” Hampus exclaims into his ear as they hug, keeping it as bro-ey as possible as to not arouse suspicions. David wants nothing more than to wrap him up and kiss him until he can’t breathe. “You deserve it!” 

“Nothing special,” David shrugs before aiming his bottle of champagne directly at his face. He jumps, feeling the cold spray from Pavel’s bottle on the back of his neck. The sticky feeling stays there until he’s in the shower back in his hotel room. 

He knows where Hampus’ room is. He’d been texted the number the second they arrived at the hotel. It’s six floors above him. The hotel is far quieter than it usually is after a race. Security is always tight at the Ferrari hotel after a home race. Emilia-Romagna and Monza both garner incredible amounts of pedestrian volume in and around the hotels. 

The security is something David is thankful for as he makes his way to the elevator with a small tiramisu he’d ordered from room service. He and Hampus haven’t had so much as a second to themselves since he’d gotten called away from dinner. It’s going to happen again, that much David is certain of, that their careers and teams are going to get in between them. But it’s only what they can expect to become their new normal. 

And besides, if it leads to moments like this that they’ll remember forever David is more than willing to put up with it. 

It only takes Hampus about six seconds to answer the door after David knocks. 

“Hey,” he answers, face softening immediately. “Get in here.” 

David barely has time to move the tiramisu out of the way before Hampus is pulling him into a bone crushing hug. He’s warm and he smells like the hotel’s shampoo and conditioner. But it serves to relax David almost immediately. He closes his eyes and lets himself exist in the embrace for a moment. 

“I brought us dessert,” he mumbles into his shoulder. Hampus pulls away and notices the plate in his hand for the first time. “Our date kinda ended in not a fun way back in Monaco so I thought a hotel room picnic would make up for it.” 

“God,” Hampus smiles as he gently takes the plate from him. “You’re… you’re fucking perfect in every way, aren’t you?” 

“I’m really not,” David shrugs him off and looks down. 

Pavel squeezes his shoulder, “I’ll teach you how to accept a compliment. Don’t you worry,” 

David feels something fire up in his lower stomach. Hampus is already pulling pillows to the floor by the time he’s able to reset his brain. 

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Hampus sighs as David sits across from him, legs folded to the side. “It was… you don’t want to hear about this.” 

“If it’ll make you feel better to talk about it I’m all ears,” David responds as he grabs a fork and takes a bite of the treat. It immediately melts on his tongue, the sign of a perfect tiramisu. 

“It’s just… the upgrades we thought we were going to have for Singapore aren’t going to be available until Mexico. And by then it’s like is it even worth it? There are four races after that and you’re easily going to pass me in the standings and- it’s just a mess,” Hampus gushes. David reaches over and takes his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” David smiles and extends his arm to wipe away some of the cream left stuck on Hampus’ lower lip. He probably could have kissed it off. Oh well, next time. “You’re having a hard time with your team. I know the feeling.”

“Let’s talk about you,” Hampus shakes his head and braves a smile. “It’s stressing me out just thinking about it. Congrats on your win again. It must feel nice to win here with Ferrari.” 

“It does,” David nods, smiling as he recalls the roar of the tifosi. “It’s really something special. I- I don’t really know how to put it into words.” 

“That’s okay,” Hampus says, taking a bite of dessert. “God, I didn’t realize how nice this could be. Just the two of us.” 

“It is really nice isn’t it?” David agrees. “You know, we could be at the worst fast food restaurant in the States and as long as I was with you it would feel like a Michelin star restaurant.” 

Hampus stares at him, slack jawed, for a moment before opening his mouth, “I was right. You are perfect. Jesus! You think you can just drop that line on me out of nowhere? Come here, I need to kiss you.” 

David laughs as Hampus grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss. He tastes like the coffee in the tiramisu. And he feels like home. He feels like everything David has ever wanted in his entire life. He tastes and feels like winning at fucking Monza in Ferrari red. 

Chapter Text

It’s always hot in Singapore. David can’t remember a time when he wasn’t miserable racing here. However, standing on the podium with Hampus stuck to his side as they wave for the cameras, helps just a little. 

He loops his arm around his waist and hugs him a little closer than usual. Carlos is on his other side, laughing as they cheers their oversized bottles. Hampus reaches across and joins. David can hear the clicking of the cameras get a little faster and he knows everyone is loving the shot. 

What they don’t see is Hampus leaning into David’s ear. They don’t see his words, the promise he makes to him that has David shuddering despite the hot temperature even at night. 

“The things I would do to you if I could take you right here,” he whispers, his voice husky and dark in all its post race glory. 

“You can’t just say that,” David hisses back to him as they pull their bottles back. Carlos, god bless him, interrupts the tension as he dumps a bit of champagne down the back of his suit. 

“Come on!” he exclaims, slinging an arm around his shoulders and guiding him off the podium. And away from Hampus. “The sooner we get through our debriefings the sooner we get to get fucking plastered.” 

“You’re such a good role model,” David sighs to him and he casts a look over his shoulder. Hampus has a small smirk on his face as he trails behind them. And David cannot shake the feeling that he’s going to be in for it.  

“I know,” Carlos responds, oblivious as he hugs David a little closer. “Hey, you never know what could happen after a night of partying.” 

“I guess you’re right,” David shrugs as he plays along with what Carlos is implying. Hampus steps up beside them on the other side of Carlos. The fucker.  

David is hyper aware of Hampus as they go through their press conference. He’s sitting far closer than he ever sat before summer break and he keeps rocking his leg so his toes knock against David’s. It’s a dirty move he’s watched Charles pull on more than one occasion, on again off again, with Carlos. He knows it works. From watching Carlos usher him into secluded bathrooms thinking no one saw them and now with personal experience. 

“Hampus, you and David have seemed rather close recently,” Jenson says as he stands up. David feels his stomach clench. The smile on his face tells him enough about where this could be going. “Did something happen over summer break between you two? We watched you go from enemies to, well, touching toes.” 

Hampus’ laugh lights David’s face on fire even further. That can only mean one thing and it doesn’t have a good ending for him. Well, depending on the point of view you look at it from but they’re going to be at the start of two sprint races back to back in two weeks. And he would really like to be able to comfortably sit in his car. 

“It was actually before summer break,” Hampus admits. “I hate to bring up his crash in Silverstone again but it made me realize some things and spending our energy on a petty little argument didn’t seem like the best use of our time.” 

Jenson nods before moving his gaze away from Hampus, “David?” 

“Same answer for the most part,” he sighs, shifting on the couch to try and subtly move away from Hampus. “The three of us actually ended up in the Maldives for a bit of time together and it was nice to unplug and remember who I race with.” 

“That was sweet, David,” Carlos smiles, reaching over to grab his shoulder. “I would highly recommend taking a vacation with your coworkers, by the way. Very therapeutic.” 

“And on that note,” the moderator laughs into her microphone. “That’s all for today. Thank you, gentlemen, thank you everyone. We will see you next weekend in Texas.” 

“Oh hey,” Carlos says as they gather their water bottles and hats and file out. “Danny is renting a house just outside Austin for the beginning of the week. He asked me to spread the word if you want to come.” 

“Yeah,” Hampus shrugs and nods, looking over at David. “I’m in. Pasta?” 

“Yeah I’ll come,” he nods even though he knows it will probably end in David finding out about him and Hampus. Especially considering the fact that Hampus has barely been able to keep his hands off David all weekend in the paddock. 

“Cool,” Carlos smiles before looking over his shoulder to where Charles is yelling for him. “I’ll let him know. See you tonight.” 

Hampus waits for about three seconds before opening his mouth, “D’you think he knows about us? Or is he trying to get in your pants again?” 

“Oh for the love of god,” David huffs and brushes past him on his way back to Ferrari. “You’re ridiculous!” 

“Hey you can’t tell me you didn’t see it!” Hampus calls after him, laughing as he jogs to catch up with him. 

“I’m ignoring you!” he calls back. “Go to your debriefing, Hampus! I’ll see you later.” 

Hampus smirks at him and sends him a discrete wink. David stands rooted to the ground and watches as he turns on his heel and walks back towards Aston Martin. He’s so enraptured by the way the bright paddock lights shine off his bright blond hair that he doesn’t hear Pavel walk up beside him. 

“You’re gonna miss the debriefing,” he yawns casually. 

“Jesus,” David presses a hand to his chest dramatically as he jumps. “I need to put a bell on you I swear.” 

“Oh I’m not that bad,” Pavel says as he follows him back into the motorhome and towards the briefing room. 

“Hey are you going to Danny’s thing before COTA?” David asks, taking his spot across from him at the long table. 

“Nah,” Pavel shakes his head. “I have a sponsorship thing I can’t get out of.” 

“Damn that sucks,” David sighs, looking around for anyone else that could hear before lowering his voice. “I wish I had you as a buffer. Hampus is going to give me endless shit about Carlos the entire time and I will literally have no escape. You’re the only one that knows about, well, all of it.”  

“Okay,” Krejci’s voice cuts off any response Pavel can give as he walks in and takes his seat. “Let’s get started, yes?” 

Pavel gives him a look before sliding his headphones on and sitting down. 

David pays about the absolute bare minimum of attention the entire time. It gets him through, he’s able to answer questions about understeer and how the car handled in the rain they got at the beginning of the race. He’s able to explain why he allowed Danny to pass him on the second lap before the pit stops because it was a good strategy. 

He says his piece and sits patiently, fiddling with the cord of his headphones as he waits for everyone else to finish. It takes much longer than he’d like and his phone keeps lighting up with messages from Hampus. He looks over Pavel’s shoulder out the window after the fourth text. He can just barely see Hampus’ and Jeremy’s green Aston Martin jackets as they walk through the paddock. Hampus glances over at the Ferrari motorhome and David knows he can’t see him, but swears he tosses a wink. 

He clears his throat, hoping Pavel catches the hint and finishes what he’s saying fast. He makes a mental note to buy him a beer when he wraps up without mentioning anything about the little shove he got from Leclerc somewhere in the middle of the race. 

David is up and out of his seat not even two seconds after Krejci ends the debrief. Pavel is hot on his heels, quickly asking if he’s going out tonight and if so who he’s with and if it’s who he thinks it is can he also come. 

“Pavel, I love you,” David sighs as they climb into the car waiting to take them back to the hotel. “But please. You already know the answers to those questions. They’re all yes, you know this.” 

Pavel just smiles at him and gives his knee and friendly pat. David really is lucky to have a teammate like him but just once he would really like to have a night out in the VIP section of a club without having someone hang off his shoulder all night. 

“You just need to promise me you’ll let Hampus and I have one dance,” he adds. “One dance, all to ourselves, with no one else watching or hanging off us or trying to get our attention in any way.” 

“I can do that,” Pavel nods. “You’re happy, right? Like this isn’t… nothing bad’s happening to you?” 

“No,” David answers quietly. “Thank you for checking, though. I- I really am happy. Just thinking about him makes me smile.” 

“Oh you are so ridiculously gone for him,” Pavel laughs. “I’ll leave you two alone, don’t you worry about me.” 

David smiles and shakes his head, laughing. He really is fucking lucky to have Pavel racing and existing beside him in the paddock. He has no idea how he would do this with anyone else. 

******** 

The music is loud enough that David can feel it thrumming in his chest as he leans against the back of the booth. He’s happy just watching for the time being, and laughing at Charlie and Danny as they stumble over each other on their way to pull Lando into the fray. He laughs into his drink as Lando lets out a whoop and allows himself to be pulled into the dance circle. 

“They’re idiots,” Hampus says as he slides into the booth beside him. 

“Yeah,” David agrees with a sigh as Hampus replaces the now empty glass in his hand with a full one. “But they’re fun to be around.” 

“Are they?” Hampus asks, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really hang out with a lot of people outside of the track.” 

“Oh then this weekend at the house in Texas will be fun,” David teases with a smile. Hampus rolls his eyes. “What are you changing your mind? We don’t have to go, I’m sure we can manage to spend some more time in Monaco. Maybe have a do over of that date night.” 

“I’m not changing my mind,” Hampus offers him a small smile. David returns it when he feels his toe start to gently rub the back of his calf under the table. It’s a discrete, invisible act of intimacy to anyone looking at them but it makes David’s heart go crazy. “I just… I’ve always felt like I don’t belong with everyone else. That’s all.” 

“You’re intense,” David nods. “I remember talking with Lando and Logan and all of them last season, they were afraid of you. They were scared that if they looked at you wrong you’d make them explode or something.” 

“They were scared of me?” Hampus asks, his eyebrows raising. “No, now I feel bad.” 

“Well you’ll get a chance to apologize next week if you really want to,” David hums. “Logan and Lando will both be at the house.” 

“I don’t know,” Hampus sighs. “I’m not that good at talking to people.” 

“You’re good at talking to me.” 

“You’re different,” Hampus admits. David feels his stomach do a backflip. “You’re easy to talk to. Easy to like. I… it was hard to keep up the whole ‘he’s a pain in my ass’ charade after you chewed me out in the middle of the paddock in Boston.” 

“That’s what did it for you?” David asks, surprised. “Wow. I was beyond irate in Boston. That’s really what did it?” 

Hampus leans back and nods, a lazy smile on his face. David feels his cheeks heat up a bit as he drops his gaze to the table. He almost can’t believe it. The foot on his calf moves to nudge his knee. 

“What are you thinking?” Hampus asks him. 

“Nothing,” David shakes his head. “I just never knew. It has really been since the fourth race?” 

“Yeah,” Hampus confirms again. “Listen, I don’t want this fight for the championship to come between us. I want… I want you. All of you. Even the parts I need to race against.” 

“That’s real sappy for the VIP section of some random club in the middle of Singapore,” David smiles as he slides a little closer and into the cove created by the arm Hampus has propped up against the back of the booth. If they weren’t surrounded by a good portion of the grid he would let his head rest against his shoulder. 

“What can I say?” Hampus hums. “You make me sappy.” 

“Guys!’” Pavel’s excited shout interrupts any equally sappy (the theme of the night, apparently) response David can give. “Come out and dance! It’s no fun if you stay here the entire time!” 

“Alright,” David sighs, nudging Hampus out of the booth. “One song, Pavel. Just one.” 

“Oh you’ll stay out here for longer,” Pavel says as though it matters. “It’s fun! Lando’ll get you into the dance circle if it kills you.” 

David tilts his head to give Hampus a look. He just offers a smile and lets a hand linger in the small of his back. David leans back into it before turning around to face him as a new song comes on. 

The lights are dim, cut periodically by flashes of blue or orange or red. They play off Hampus’ face in a way that makes him look downright irresistible and David really wishes they weren’t in this goddamn club. He presses himself as close to him as he’s comfortable with, letting their belt buckles occasionally clink together as they dance. 

He lets his hand rest on his shoulder, wrist occasionally curling to let his fingers glide through his hair. Over his shoulder he can see Pavel angling Lando and Danny away from them. He hopes he catches the grateful look he flashes to him through the flashing lights. 

Hampus takes half a step over, blocking his view and places a gentle on his jaw, “Eyes on me, käraste. Just you and me.” 

David smiles softly and nods. Hampus tightens the grip he has on his waist and holds him a little closer. The music playing is not at all conducive to slow dancing, what David really wants to do right now, but rather to adolescent grinding. Not that David is complaining about the feeling of his boyfriend’s half hard cock pressing into his hip, but it’s not really what he’s in the mood for. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers as he leans up on his toes to speak directly into his ear. 

“Are you sure?” Hampus checks, squeezing his hip as he takes half a step back. 

“Yeah,” David nods. “It’s getting too loud in here.” 

“Okay,” Hampus nods, giving his hip one last squeeze before letting go. David reaches over and taps Pavel’s shoulder before nodding to the door. The last thing he needs is a repeat of Brazil last year when Lando left and didn’t say anything and everyone thought he went missing. 

“You okay?” Pavel shouts over the music. 

“Yeah,” he responds with an overexaggerated nod. “Just loud. And…” his voice trails off as he glances to Hampus over his shoulder. Hampus who’s waiting by the door with a gentle smile on his face. 

“Oh,” Pavel says, nodding. “Okay. Have fun.” 

David turns a shade of red but nods before turning on his heel and weaving through the packed club to get to him. He waits until they’re out of the back entrance of the club and into one of the many waiting cars to wind their fingers together. David blushes a little darker as he stares down at them. 

“You’re sweet,” he whispers, sending up a quick prayer that the driver doesn't speak English or, at the very least, can’t understand him through his accent. 

“So are you,” Hampus responds at the same volume. He gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. 

They’re silent for the rest of the short ride back to the hotel. David’s content this way, just feeling his fingers against Hampus’. Still, he can’t shake the burn in his lower stomach. The needy ball of desire that he cannot shake. 

It’s nearly caught on fire by the time they’re back at the hotel and Hampus can seemingly tell. He slips his hand into his back pocket once they’re in the elevator and flexes his fingers into his ass. 

“Are you sure?” Hampus checks when David clicks the button for his floor. “We had a long race, it was hot. We’re both tired.” 

“Want you,” David nods into his shoulder. 

“Okay, baby,” Hampus agrees. The elevator dings and opens to an empty floor. Something David is eternally grateful for when Hampus attaches his lips to the back of his neck as he tries to unlock the door. “Hmmm you smell good.” 

“Hampus come on,” David whines as he finally wraps his fingers around the key card in his pocket and clumsily presses it to the reader on the door. His whole body feels like it’s on fire and Hampus crowding against his back isn’t helping matters all that much. 

“One more time, baby,” Hampus requests as the door clicks shut behind them. 

“Just-” David cuts himself off with a sigh, curling his fists into Hampus’ shirts. “I want you. I do. But I’m tired. I’m tired and hot and-” 

“Hey,” Hampus smiles, gently cupping his cheek. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything. You can retract your consent at any time, David. Any time. You understand me?” 

“Yeah,” David nods, looking at him through watery eyes. He leans forward and wraps his arms around his waist before the tears spill over his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course, käraste,” Hampus hums as he kisses the top of his head. “You’re all that really matters to me. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.”  

David can feel the words on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t stop them if he tried.

“I love you,” he whispers into his chest. He can hear Hampus’ heart rate kick up a bit as he freezes, waiting for Hampus to push him away and never want to talk to him again. 

“I love you too, David,” he responds, his voice barely above a whisper. His hug gets a little tighter as he adds, “So much.” 

“Thank you,” David replies. “For everything. For making me feel loved. Thank you for everything.” 

“Of course,” he says. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Can we just… lay together? For tonight?” David asks, lifting his head to look up into Hampus’s eyes. He smiles and runs his thumb over his cheekbone, across the hairline scar from his crash back in Silverstone.   

“Of course we can,” he says gently as he leans forward to kiss his forehead. 

They fall silent as Hampus makes himself comfortable before opening his arms for David. He feels his cheek warm up as he settles into his side, resting against his chest and letting him wrap his arms around him. He can hear the dull, rhythmic thudding of his heart and allows it to lull him just a bit. 

This is the first moment of peace he’s allowed himself all weekend. The first time he’s let himself shut off and relax and just… be. Just exist. 

“I can feel you thinking,” Hampus’ voice reverberates in his chest. “Are you okay?” 

“Mhm,” David hums, nodding against the soft fabric of his shirt. “Just happy.” 

Hampus doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. He just squeezes his arm and David feels him drop a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you,” he tests the words on his tongue one more time before letting himself slip into sleep. They feel right. They feel like they belong there. 

Fuck he fell so fucking fast. 

********

The Texas sun is obscenely hot and beats down on David unfairly as he drags his luggage up to the front of the house. He scrunches his nose, trying to nudge his sunglasses back into place as his backpack starts to slip off his shoulder. 

Danny hadn’t rented a house. He had rented a fucking mansion with a walkway that was way way too long. He grumbled profanities under his breath and, for the seventh time, resettles his bag on his shoulders. 

There are already sounds of general chaos coming from the house as he (finally) walks up the front steps and presses the doorbell with his elbow. Danny opens the door a beat later, sunglasses just barely staying on the tip of his nose and a half gone beer bottle already in his hand. 

“Pasta!” he exclaims, stepping aside to let him in. “Get your ass in here!”  

He really should have taken some headache medication after the plane landed. 

“Rooms are upstairs,” he says, helping him to pull in his suitcase. “I stuck you with Carlos.” 

The wink Danny sends him makes his heart plummet. He knew being the last one to arrive would lead to a very good chance that he had the last and probably the worst room choice. He knew he was probably not going to be able to snag a room with Hampus. Not to mention that it would probably raise some eyebrows as Pavel was the only one that knew about him. And he had completely forgotten that Danny still thought he and Carlos were continuing their little fling that started way the hell back in Canada. 

“Yeah,” he responds finally, clearing his throat. “Thanks. Upstairs you said?” 

“Last door on the right,” Danny calls over his shoulder as he goes to rejoin the party on the patio. David can’t clearly see who’s out there in total, but he instantly recognizes Lando’s head of curls. 

It’s much quieter on the second floor than it is in the main room. David finds the room, drops his things on the unclaimed bed, and sits down hard on the mattress. The weight of travel always catches up to him the second he sits down. He groans and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries hard not to regret staying in Monaco waiting around for Pavel to be done with his sponsor deal or whatever it was. 

“Long day?” a voice he knows well comes from the door. David drops his hands and looks over, instantly smiling when he sees Hampus leaning against the doorframe. 

“Long day,” he nods as Hampus pushes himself off and walks in. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get a room together,” he apologizes, threading his fingers through David’s curls and gently pulling his head to rest on his hip. “I tried but Danny wasn’t having it. He had already assigned rooms when I got here.” 

“It’s okay,” David hums and lets his eyes close at the feeling of Hampus’ fingers in his hair. “I just sort of wish he hadn’t stuck me with Carlos. I love him, he’s a great friend but… I dunno.” 

“I know,” Hampus hums reassuringly. “It’s okay, we’ll find a time to sneak off together at some point. Lando and Carlos will probably end up golfing and drag either Danny or Logan with them. We’ll be alone at some point.” 

“I admire your optimism,” David laughs tiredly. “God I’m exhausted.” 

“I know you are,” Hampus says as he takes his hands and helps him to his feet. “But we gotta get out there. You know Danny won’t shut up if we’re inside for longer than we already have.” 

David nods. He knows Hampus is right. And he definitely doesn’t have the energy to deal with whatever quip Danny will throw at him. So he sucks it up, puts his sunglasses back on, and follows Hampus out to the patio, stopping to grab a hard lemonade on his way out. 

Hard lemonade is one of his favorite things about racing in the states. It always tastes better in the States, he doesn’t question it. 

“Pasta!” Lando calls, drawing attention to him as he and Hampus step out of the house. “Finally, we were starting to think you got lost.” 

“Oh shut up,” David responds with a yawn as he sits down in the empty spot next to Logan on the loveseat.  

“Just in time for dinner,” Carlos smiles as he steps away from the grill, wiping his hands on his apron. David pointedly ignores the look Danny tosses him over the lenses of his sunglasses. “I made burgers, come on everyone. Up, up. Let’s go.” 

David doesn’t act quick enough to land the seat across from Hampus. He ends up diagonal from him and next to Lando. Not terrible, yes. But he really would have liked to be in contact with him. Even through a hidden game of footsie underneath the table. 

He distracts himself with Logan. He’s noticed the way he’s been looking between him and Hampus with his jaw dropped in slight awe. He remembers being in his shoes, looking up at Fernando and Lewis and Sebastian with that same mix of emotion. 

“You’ve been having a good season, kid,” he says, nudging him as he takes a bite of the salad Danny had prepared. 

“You really have,” Hampus chimes in from across the table. David gives him a sly smile. “Seriously, I’ve been impressed. It’s not easy your first few years.” 

“Th-thanks,” Logan stutters. “I’ve been, uh, looking up to both of you for a while. It means a lot.” 

David smiles as Hampus takes over the conversation. He hasn’t had many conversations with Logan outside driver’s parades and other events, but he knows how much he admires Hampus and tries to copy his driving style. And if it gets Danny to quit looking at him like that then he’ll do almost anything. 

It’s peaceful for a few hours. At the very least until Carlos decides to sit down on the patio stones, still warm from the sun, right in front of David and lean back against his legs. David glares at Danny over the top of his glass. 

“Comfortable, Carlos?” Danny ends up asking which only makes Carlos wiggle against his legs as he mocks settling down. 

“Yeah,” he responds, taking a sip of his beer. “The stones are warm.” 

Danny doesn’t say anything more. He just hums and takes a sip. David catches Hampus’ eye across the patio and all but begs for help. He nods and slides his phone from his pocket. He looks back to Lando as he launches into some story he’s sure they’ve all heard before to make it look less conspicuous when he pulls out his phone after Hampus looks up from his. 

HL: Just wait them out. They’ve all been drinking it won’t be long until they start to fall asleep

David doesn’t respond. Instead he just nods and tunes back into the story. 

He was right. It didn’t take long for Danny and Lando to start yawning. Hampus gently encouraged them up to bed. Logan wasn’t far behind them, Carlos, of course, being the stubborn one. 

“You turning in soon?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at David.  

“Yeah,” he nodded with a yawn and retracted his legs from behind him in favor of curling them beneath himself. 

“Okay,” Carlos nodded as he ungracefully stood up from the ground, stretched, and turned to go inside. “I’ll see you up there.” 

David watched over his shoulder, waiting for the light downstairs to turn off after it stopped sensing motion. Hampus seemed to have the same idea and the second it was off, the second David turned around, he was greeted with his boyfriend’s lips on his. 

“Finally,” he mumbled against his mouth. “I thought he’d never leave.”  

“Me too,” David gasps as Hampus presses him to lay down on the loveseat. “There’s not enough room here.” 

“Who said?” Hampus smirks down at him. David feels his entire body light on fire as Hampus slots a thigh between his legs. “Come on. I can feel how hard you are. And you’re gonna have to be quiet, remember? Everyone is trying to sleep.” 

David whines low in his throat as quiet as he can. This is still new, but he knows that look in Hampus’ eye. He saw it almost every day in the Maldives. He knows he’s in trouble. 

“Come on, käraste,” Hampus hums, his voice dripping in sweetness. “You can do it.” 

David fists the fabric of his shirt as he gives his hips an experimental roll. He can’t deny the flash of pleasure that shoots through his lower stomach. He’s hard almost instantly, the feeling of the muscle of Hampus’ thigh too much to resist. 

He lets his eyes fall closed as he gets lost in the pleasure. His cock is straining tightly against the fabric of his shorts. He knows he needs this. He knows he can’t go back to his room pent up like this. Not with Carlos there. 

“That’s it,” Hampus coos into his ear as he presses his own hard dick against David’s hip. “Just like that, baby.” 

“Hampus,” David whispers. He’s pent up, not having touched himself or done anything since getting back to Monaco from Singapore. He’s wound so tight he knows he’ll let go at a moment’s notice. 

“Just like that,” Hampus continues, gently urging him on. “Come on, tell me how you’re feeling.” 

“So hard,” David chokes out as he tries to stay as quiet as possible. 

“I know, I can feel you,” Hampus responds. He threads his fingers up into his hair, tugging at it slightly. David has to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep himself from crying out. He rolls his hips a little harder against Hampus’ thigh. 

He grunts low in his ear as he mirrors his actions against his hip. He doubles his own efforts, grinding in earnest now. Breath leaves his lungs in little pants as he tries to keep himself together. 

“Don’t hold back,” Hampus whispers as he sucks his earlobe into his mouth. David feels his chest clench. “Come on, David. Let it out for me. Cum. Cum in your pants for me.” 

David’s vision goes white for a moment as he rolls his hips once, twice, and another time and sends himself over the edge. He can tell by the shudder that goes through Hampus’ body he’s falling over right after him. 

“Fuck,” David swears breathlessly as he blinks the white spots out of his vision. 

“Good job, baby,” Hampus hums, kissing his neck. “Come on, let’s go clean up.” 

******** 

“I swear to god if he shoves me one more time I’m gonna shove him back,” David grumbles through his radio as he tosses a glare through his visor to the papaya McLaren of Lando Norris. 

“He has been served a five second penalty,” Linus informs him over the radio. 

“At lap forty six?” David responds. “Yeah that’ll be helpful.” 

“Just get around him,” Linus tells him calmly. David grits his teeth and follows directions. He stays right on his rear wing coming out of turn twenty, flicks on his DRS, and whizzes past him.

It’s not that he hated the fact that they decided to pit extremely late in the second window. No, that’s a complete lie. He’s absolutely irate that they decided to pit late in the second window. Now he’s stuck crawling his way back up the grid from sixth. 

And it’s not like he can just chill out and defend his position. Not this race. Pavel had won the sprint yesterday, and that pretty much put the championship on ice for them. But things were still tight in the driver’s standings. David needed to finish higher than Pavel in every single one from here on out to comfortably reclaim his lead. 

He’s barely able to lunge through the first turn and get around Charlie. Pavel is in front of him, and team orders come through as they navigate out of the s curves. He passes him going into turn ten. Pavel is his next out. 

And it takes it right up until the last three laps for him to get it done. He’s never been more thankful for DRS as he swings wide going into the main straight and just barely eeks past him. Hampus doesn’t make it easy though, and chases him all the way to the checkered flag. 

He exhales deeply and lets his hands fall away from the wheel for a split second. He feels like he can finally relax now. He’s got his place in the standings back, he’s on the top step again. He feels like everything is right in the world. 

Getting squished between both Aston Martin drivers on the podium feels right too. Especially as he loops his arm around Hampus’ waist and feels him press in. 

“Good fuckin race,” he tells him over the roar of the crowd and the Ferrari personnel gathered below. 

“You too, mate,” David responds, the ‘mate’ feeling foreign on his tongue. But he’s not entirely sure what Hampus has told Charlie and he doesn’t really want to say anything where there are fourteen cameras on them at any moment. 

“Mate?” Hampus asks, raising his eyebrow as they turn away from the cameras and the crowd and head off the podium. 

“Sorry,” David apologizes, pulling the brim of his Pirelli cap down. “I didn’t- didn’t know who you’d told. And, you know, cameras.” 

Hampus smiles and pats his back, “That’s okay,” he says. “Just come to my driver’s room after your debriefing, yeah? I know how you can make it up to me.” 

David stops dead in his tracks.      

Chapter Text

“I hate Vegas,” Logan grumbles as he leans against the barrier as they wait for the driver’s parade to start. “Really, really hate it here.” 

“Me too,” Carlos chimes in, sliding away from the conversation between Lando and Danny to join one he’s clearly found more interesting. 

“Well it makes sense for you to hate it,” Logan responds. “You almost got fucking paralyzed last time we were here.” 

“Good times,” Carlos says sarcastically before narrowing his eyes at the nearest manhole cover. 

“Okay but you can’t tell me someone isn’t going to sneak off and get drunk and try to marry someone tonight after the race,” Logan changes the subject. Hampus shakes his head and laughs along. “Oh yeah? Well then tell me what sort of Vegas shenanigans you think we’re gonna get up to tonight?” 

“I dunno about you guys,” Hampus responds as he shifts his grip on his water bottle. “But I plan on immediately going to bed after I’m done here.” 

“Grandpa,” Carlos coughs into his elbow. Hampus shakes his head and looks a little further down the holding pen. David is laughing and talking with Charles and Lando and a few race officials Hampus doesn’t recognize. 

“You’re older than he is,” Logan reminds him with a nudge. Carlos takes the shocked look on his face as his signal to leave. He slips away from the growing spat and joins the conversation at the other end of the pen with David. He catches the small smile David gives him upon noticing he’s here. 

“Mr. Lindholm,” one of the officials says, smiling as she steps aside to let him into the circle. “We were just discussing what you thought of the track. Do you have anything to add?” 

Hampus shrugs, “I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s my favorite but the kinks from last year have been ironed out I think. I’m looking forward to seeing how it runs in race conditions and not in quali or practice.” 

The race official nods and Hampus barely catches a grin from David out of the corner of his eye. 

“Alright gentlemen,” a different official says, clapping his hands. “To your cars, if you please.” 

Charlie appears by Hampus’ elbow out of nowhere as they step through the gate and towards the vintage Aston Martin waiting for them. He would question how they got one here but it’s Vegas. Anything seems to be possible in Vegas. 

“How have you been doing?” Charlie asks as they settle into the backseat, sitting up on the backs of the seats as they always do during parades like this. 

“With what?” Hampus asks, fixing his hat. 

“You know,” Charlie shrugs in the direction of where David and Pavel are piling into the vintage Ferrari. Hampus feels his expression soften involuntarily just upon seeing him. “God, you’re whipped for him.” 

“Oh get off my case,” he sighs. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”  

“Just checking,” Charlie holds his hands up in defense before quickly grabbing onto the seat under him when their driver starts moving forward without warning. Hampus snorts a laugh at him, earning a quick glare. 

“Thanks for checking, mate,” he says, patting his shoulder. “We’re alright, really. It’s been… it’s been really really wonderful.” 

“Alright, alright, get your sap away from me,” Charlie teases, fake shuddering. Hampus laughs and shakes his head. 

He lucked out with having Charlie as his teammate. Of that he is more than well aware. He can’t recall a time that they had argued or fought over something stupid. He’s heard the cautionary tales from Lewis about teammates. About how sometimes being too friendly can be detrimental to both you and your team. 

But he hasn’t run into that issue in his time in Formula 1. Not with Charlie, not with Fernando during their year overlap. It’s refreshing to be able to talk to your teammate about something that may be bothering you without needing to worry about your weaknesses being exposed on the track. 

And Charlie is so beyond understanding and compassionate that he knows he lucked out. Even as they finish up the driver’s parade and go through their pre-race routines Charlie is checking on him to make sure he’s alright. 

The feeling in the Aston Martin garage has been tense as of late as the fight for the driver’s championship reaches a boiling point. Hampus knows what he needs to do out on the track tonight to get himself back to the top. 

And he’s starting from pole after coming out at the top of the Q3 timesheet. He has a really good chance at finishing this the way they want to. But this is a shockingly difficult track. And they’ve only raced on it once before, the muscle memory isn’t there like it is with Silverstone or Belgium. 

He catches Jeremy’s eye before he pulls his helmet on. Specially designed for this round, a joker and an ace card displayed on one side. He’s really sick of the gambling theme that runs rampant the second Brazil ends. 

Regardless, Jeremy gives him their customary nod. Hampus returns it and pivots on his heel to walk out to the track. The lights are annoyingly bright, and he really just wants to get in his car and get this all over with. He gives a wave to a cluster of Aston Martin fans in the nearest grandstand. 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see David doing the same thing, tossing his signature grin to a group of screaming tifosi before pulling his helmet on. Hampus feels his chest warm up a bit before it’s quickly replaced with his competitive spark. He settles into the cockpit, pulling on his gloves, and feels the whole world go quiet. 

He leads the formation lap, looking into his mirrors far more than he usually does. David’s scarlet Ferrari fills up his mirrors. He knows he needs to win, or at the very least place higher than him to close that gap for first in the driver’s championship. This is going to be a genuine test for him. To see if he can really set aside all the feelings he knows are still swirling inside him and focus on racing. 

He tries his best to push the thoughts of him out of his mind as he lines back up for the start of the race. The lights go out, and it’s Vegas at its finest. Fast, expensive cars whipping around the Strip and almost taking each other out. As much as Hampus hated the pomp and circumstance about it all, he did enjoy the track. At least as much as he could. 

There were some little quirks about it that annoyed the shit out of him. Like turns seven, eight, and nine. He coaxed his car through it, feeling the heat David’s putting on him from behind as they come out of the sweeping sixth turn. Turn seven is sharp, and it feeds into the high-g sweep of turn eight. And then almost immediately there’s a sharp hairpin into a straight.  

Hampus manages through it, and pulls away from David as he easily speeds around through turns ten and eleven, the sharp corner of twelve, and through the gentle curve of thirteen. It’s the first lap, and DRS hasn’t been activated this early in the race, but he’s starting to pull away from the pack. 

Still, he doesn’t let up. He’s full throttle through the first ten laps of the race. Martin, his race engineer, is in his ear almost constantly updating him on the car. So far the issues they thought were going to be issues haven’t popped up. 

There haven’t been any problems with the power unit or the drive shaft or anything else that’s been causing so many headaches and interrupted his first date with David. His car feels good, solid beneath him like how it did when he swept the triple header and went on his tear of races before the summer break. It’s nice to get back into the groove of things. 

He’s actually enjoying himself for the first time in a long time as he drives, pulling further and further away from the rest of the pack. Martin isn’t telling him who’s behind anymore and he’s lost sight of David in his mirrors. 

Which is either a good thing or a bad thing, and Martin has pulled another moment like last year when Lando crashed and no one knew he went to the hospital until after the race. He pushes that thought as far out of his head as he possibly can and keeps going. 

The deeper he gets into the race, though, the more he feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. By lap twenty eight he’s confident everyone else has pitted and he’s the only left on the hard tires he started the race on. That anxious feeling creeps into his stomach as he waits for Martin to call him into the pits. 

“Box, box,” the call comes just before the start of lap thirty. Hampus grits his teeth and turns into the pits with the feeling that something is going to go wrong. 

He’s proven right when the rear right tire gives his pit crew grief trying to get it back on. His pitstop ends up being just under six seconds when it should be closer to two. He bites back the harsh words on the tip of his tongue as he comes out of the pits in tenth just behind Danny. 

It only takes a few corners for him to make the pass, but it’s still more difficult than he’d like it to be. He passes Logan next after not much of a fight. He seems to know that his Williams is no match for an Aston Martin that had shared dominance with a Ferrari for the majority of the season. 

One of said Ferraris is up ahead and it puts up a little more of a fight, but he manages to get it done in the last few corners of lap thirty four. Pavel fights back, but Carlos is up ahead and he’s not expecting Hampus to be right on his ass. Hampus quickly puts the Mercedes between him and the Ferrari and moves on. 

Lando’s McLaren is ahead of him and puts up more of a fight than he ever thought he would. It takes until almost lap forty for him to dispatch him. David is even harder to get around, throwing his elbows out. 

Hampus is only able to pass him because he can anticipate his every move. He knows exactly what he’ll do to defend and try to get him to back off. Hampus is able to fake him out and get DRS going into the final straight. 

“Team orders have been given,” Martin chimes in as Hampus lunges past David and pulls away. Charlie swings to the side and lets him pass. Hampus makes a mental note to buy him a beer once they’re done here. A beer, five shots of tequila, whatever Charlie wants Hampus will get it for him. 

He tries to take the top spot, he really does, but Charles is too far ahead of him to catch before the checkered flag flies. He’ll take P2. He wishes it was P1, it would make his standings fight a hell of a lot easier, but it closes the gap to somewhere around four points. Four points that he can easily make up next weekend in Qatar if he comes out with a win. 

Qatar was where he had the most success. He can pull out a win.  

********

The banging on the door at three in the morning could be coming from really anyone on the grid. Logan, Carlos, Lando, David. Although David probably wouldn’t be knocking. Hampus had slid him a key to his room almost the second they were in his hands. 

He really debated upon opening it. He could acknowledge whatever shenanigans were waiting for him on the other side of the door, or he could go to bed. He sighs and walks over, abandoning the freshly fluffed pillow on the mattress. 

“Hampus!” Carlos and David slur together. Hampus sighs. He knew there was an extreme possibility of this happening. 

“You’re- hic- not goin’ t’bed r’you?” David hiccups, brow furrowing. Hampus wants to reach forward and smooth the wrinkle between them. 

“I was about to, yeah,” Hampus nods, feeling as though his plans for a peaceful night have been interrupted, balled up, and chucked out the window. 

“No you’re not,” Carlos tells him, accent thick like honey with his inebriation. Hampus sighs and resists his frail attempts at pulling him out the door. Carlos gives him the best puppy dog eyes he can muster. 

Hampus sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows he doesn’t have a choice. These two need to be chaperoned and he’s confident that he and the two Haas drivers are the most sober ones on the grid right now and they’re probably asleep. 

“Alright, alright,” he sighs. “Let me get my shoes on and I’ll come with you.” 

David gives a whoop of excitement and throws his hands up, losing balance and almost falling backward. Hampus leans forward and quickly wraps his arm around his waist, steadying him back on his feet with a, “Careful, käraste.” 

Carlos is, thankfully, too drunk to pick up on the nickname. Hampus spares a moment of relief before making sure he has his key card and stepping out of the room.

“Alright, boys,” he says. “Lead the way.” 

David gives him a pink cheeked grin and scurries off down the hall towards the elevators with Carlos hot on his heels. Hampus watches as they go, tripping over themselves and giggling together. David glances over his shoulder to Hampus as they reach the elevator doors. 

“C’mon!” he exclaims, waving him on. Hampus smiles and quickens his pace, letting David lean into him as they step onto the elevator. 

“You doing okay?” he asks quietly, looping his arm around his waist and rubbing his side. 

“Yeah,” David nods against his shoulder. “Love you.” 

Hampus spares a glance to Carlos to make sure he’s not looking before kissing David’s temple and whispering, “I love you too.” 

David smiles up at him. That raw, unfiltered smile that makes Hampus’ heart flutter. The moment is cut short, however, when the elevator dings at the lobby. Hampus is thankful it’s empty as he grabs the back of Carlos’ shirt and pulls him into his side, restraining him from running off. 

“No fun,” he complains. 

“I am not going to be responsible for losing you two tonight,” Hampus says as he guides them out of the lobby. “I do not want to have to explain to Mercedes and Ferrari how their drivers got lost in Vegas.” 

Carlos groans and drags his feet while David just cuddles a little closer into his side. Hampus guides them away from the sketchier bars on the sidewalk and towards where he knows Charles, Danny, and Charlie are still celebrating. It might not be too late to get in. 

“Gentlemen,” the bouncer nods to them as he undoes the rope. He gives Carlos and David a once over, but relaxes when he sees the ‘do not serve’ stamps on their hands. 

The VIP section is loud and a little obnoxious when sober, but at the very least Hampus knows Carlos and David will be safe in here with the rest of the grid. 

“Hampus!” Charles exclaims as he walks over. He looks to be sober enough. “You finally made it out.” 

“Someone’s gotta chaperone,” he sighs, nodding in the direction of Carlos and David who have joined Danny and Lando on the dancefloor. 

“Hey, I have a question for you,” Charles says, guiding Hampus to a quiet corner of the room. Hampus can still feel the bass booming in his chest but he won’t escape that until he’s back in his own hotel room. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Hampus responds, letting Charles move him to the side. 

“Are you and David a thing?” he asks point blank. Hampus chokes on air. 

“Uhm,” he clears his throat. “What makes you say that?” 

Charles gives him a look, “Well for one Carlos is all over him right now and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.” 

Hampus looks over in the direction of the dancefloor. Charles is right. Carlos is hanging off David’s shoulder trying to get him to take a sip of the drink Danny had handed him and David isn’t acknowledging it at all. He’s got his eyes fixed to Hampus and, even through the lights, he can tell that David’s cheeks redden when they make eye contact. 

“And for two,” Charles says, gently redirecting his attention. “You started smiling the second you saw him looking at you.” 

“We’re not all the subtle, are we?” Hampus sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You haven’t been doing all that bad, actually,” Charles responds. “I only picked up on it after the race today. You weren’t as hidden as you thought you were when you kissed him.” 

Hampus cringes, “You saw me kiss him and you still had to ask if we were together?” 

“Hey,” Charles laughs, holding his hands up. “I’ve walked in on weirder things with drivers that aren’t together.” 

“I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Hampus shudders. 

“You should talk to Max,” Charles offers. “He’s good at on track relationships. He’s helped me a lot.” 

“Helped you?” Hampus asks, sensing an avenue to get the attention off him. Charles just shrugs. Hampus drops it for now, but files it away for later use, “I already went to Max. During summer break. He was really helpful.” 

Charles nods and looks back out to the dance floor. Hampus is almost positive his gaze lingers on Carlos for half a second too long. He narrows his eyes before shaking his head. A crowded Vegas club after he won the race is not the place nor the time to have that conversation. 

“Hey,” he says instead, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m here if you need anything. I know I’ve been… cold in the past. But David’s helped me open up. I’m serious, Charles, anything you need.” 

“Thanks,” Charles nods. He goes to open his mouth to say something else but the song changes and a deafening cheer arises from the crowd inside the club. Instead he nods again and smiles and slips away. 

Hampus sighs and watches him make his way towards where David, Carlos, and Danny are still dancing. Well, more like jumping around. But regardless. 

Charles says something to David, points towards Hampus, and gives him a nod. Hampus nods back and turns his attention to his boyfriend stumbling his way across the dance floor towards him. 

“Hi, käraste,” he says gently as he loops an arm around his shoulders. 

“Charles said y’wanted me,” he slurs. 

“I always want you, baby,” Hampus responds. He glances back up to the dancefloor and, upon seeing Carlos folded against Charles, feels confident enough to take David back to the hotel. “Come on. Let’s go sober you up.” 

David just nods and lets Hampus guide him back out of the club and down the sidewalk to the hotel. He leans hard into his side, babbling about something. Hampus feels him turn his head and perk up when he sees something. Hampus follows his gaze only to groan when he sees what David’s looking at.” 

“Käraste, no,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Please?” David whines, trying to tug him towards the wedding chapel. “We’re in Vegas! S’what you do in Vegas!” 

“Absolutely not,” Hampus shakes his head, holding his ground. 

“Why?” David whines some more, throwing in his signature puppy dog eyes and a pout for good measure.” 

“Because, käraste,” Hampus says, taking a step towards him and cupping the side of his face. “When I marry you I’m going to do it right. No five minute wedding where we get married by Elvis.” 

“You don’t like Elvis?” David asks, letting Hampus move him further down the sidewalk back towards the hotel. 

“Not particularly,” Hampus answers truthfully. “I like you more.” 

“Dork,” David snorts a laugh. Hampus smiles and nods, hugging him into his side. 

“Yup,” he nods, agreeing as he shoulders open the door to the hotel. “That’s me. A dork.” 

Hampus is beyond thankful that it’s 4:30 in the morning and the lobby is all but deserted as he gets David into the elevator and back to his room. He deposits him on the bed on his side and retrieves a bottle of water and two tablets from a bottle of Tylenol. 

“Take this, baby,” he says, dropping the tablets into his hand and passing him the bottle. David does as he’s told, swallowing the pills down with water and handing it back. 

Hampus keeps an eye on him as he quickly sheds his shoes, shirt, and jeans and crawls into bed beside him. David makes a small noise and scoots into his arms, pressing his face into his chest. Hampus leans down and kisses his temple before flicking out the light. 

“Love you,” David murmurs into the darkness. 

“I love you too, käraste,” he responds, kissing his head again. “Get some rest, baby.” 

******** 

Hampus would like nothing more than to be back in the hotel room in Vegas with David curled into his chest. It’s unbelievably hot in Qatar. Exactly what the FIA had been hoping to avoid by pushing the race to the end of November. 

Hampus vividly remembers stumbling into the medical center after the race feeling like he was walking on Jello-O and seeing more than half the grid in there with him. He remembers watching Lando kneel over a trash bin and vomit up nothing but stomach bile before soldiering on and going to the podium celebration. 

There’s a general feeling of annoyance and a little bit of anger hanging in the air as Hampus walks through the paddock with Jeremy by his side. Hampus is grumbling under his breath as he jogs up the stairs of the Aston Martin motorhome feeling the stickiness of the heat on his skin. 

“I know you’re pissed,” Jeremy intercepts him before he can gather Charlie and the rest of the grid and stage a mass protest of the race. “But you need to race. Everyone needs to race.” 

“I fucking hate Qatar,” Hampus grumbles as he slams the door of his driver’s room closed. “I hate it here, I hate it all. I can’t even fucking kiss my boyfriend without getting fucking arrested for it.” 

Jeremy freezes. Hampus groans, slapping a palm against his face. The heat must really be getting to his brain for him to let that information slip without thinking. 

“We will have that conversation later,” Jeremy says. “Although I have a feeling I know who and congrats on that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hampus sighs, sitting down hard on the small couch shoved against the wall. 

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Jeremy says as he moves around the room. “You’re hot and frustrated. We all are. But unfortunately you need to shove that down as far as you possibly can and focus on the race.” 

“You’re right,” Hampus sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I know you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“Again, don’t apologize,” Jeremy says, bumping his shoulder. “And the race could still get pushed. It’s only quali day we don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

“When has the FIA ever made a choice that makes sense regarding the safety of the drivers?” Hampus asks as he sheds his shirt and makes himself comfortable on the massage table. 

“Yeah I can’t argue that one,” Jeremy sighs and starts his usual pre-race massage. “Still, stranger things have happened.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hampus grumbles into the cushion. 

He’s miserable all throughout the three rounds of quali. He’s hot and miserable and he now knows what Fernando was talking about when he mentioned getting burned by the seat last year. He feels like he’s sitting on hot coals as he guides the car around the track on his hot laps. 

His team has resorted to hanging bags of dry ice just inside the cockpit to cool him down in the small gap between Q2 and Q3 when he can’t get out of the car. General anger spins around in his head as his crew gives him the go ahead to get back out on the track. 

He’s really not sure how he’s functioning by the time he’s completed his first fast lap. Sweat is dripping into his eyes and he really just wants to get out of the car and lay on the floor and not move for twelve to fourteen hours. 

But he doesn’t really have a choice. 

He presses further, presses past where he thought his limit was, and manages to put the car on pole after almost losing it turn fifteen when he tried to come out of it too early. Jeremy swears he jumps out of the car before it was fully stopped and settled in the garage. He’s probably right, but Hampus is making a beeline for the medical center too fast for him to hear anything he says. 

He knows he has burns on his back and on his thighs from the seat. The nurse in the center only confirms his suspicions when she inhales sharply at the red marks he knows must stand out against his pale skin. 

“I’m giving you this salve,” she says, passing him a small bottle as he sits up. He cringes as he pulls his fireproof shirt back over his head. “Put it on three times a day and the burns will heal soon.” 

“So I’m racing with this tomorrow?” Hampus asks although he already knows the answer. The nurse just purses her lips and he sighs, standing up. He almost walks square into David on his way out. 

“Are you okay?” David is quick to ask as if Pavel and Linus aren’t holding him up. 

“Burns,” Hampus answers and, not knowing how much Linus knows, restrains himself from reaching out for him. “What happened to you?” 

“Bad water,” David offers him a smile. “Metallic and shit. Haven’t drank anything since Q1.” 

Hampus feels anger bubble underneath the surface of his skin. He supposes it would be there for any of the other drivers, not just David. He glances over his shoulder to see most of the seats in the waiting area filled. Carlos is folded in half, Danny and Trent look like they’ve been through war and back, Logan is slumped over a trash bin heaving. Hampus turns on his heel and storms out of the medical center. 

“Hampus!” he stops in his tracks, clenching his jaw as he turns around. Pavel holds up his hands up as he slows to a walk. “I know where you’re going. Will you let me come with you?” 

“You want to come tear the FIA a new asshole with me?” Hampus clarifies, raising an eyebrow. 

Pavel nods, “You have burns. David’s so dehydrated it’s a miracle he’s not unconscious right now. And I have no idea who else is in what condition. I’m coming with you.” 

Hampus nods and turns on his heel, heading straight for the FIA motorhome. Pavel is right behind him and he knows they must look intimidating from how the intern sitting at the front physically shrinks in their presence. 

“Get us Michael,” Hampus all but growls. “Now.” 

The intern gives a nod and nod and cartoonishly scrambles off to go find the head steward. Hampus folds his arms over his chest, ignoring the pain shooting through his back. Pavel mimics his movements and leans against the nearest wall. 

“Gentlemen,” Michael says, poking his head around the corner and beckoning them into his office. 

“This is unacceptable, Michael,” Hampus says before the door is even closed behind Pavel. “More than half the grid is in the medical center right now. How do you expect to have a race if your drivers can’t even get into their fucking cars?” 

“We’ve delayed the race tomorrow by two hours. It should be much cooler then,” Michael responds calmly. 

“Only two hours?” Pavel asks. Hampus is, admittedly, a little scared by how even his voice is. “Michael, Logan is currently throwing up and Hampus has burns all over his back. I’m sure he’s not the only one, either.” 

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Michael shakes his head. “I can’t do anything about it.” 

“Yes you fucking can,” Hampus spits. “Michael, you are quite literally in charge of this entire thing. You can cancel the race. It’s too dangerous.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “There really is nothing I can do.” 

Hampus glares at him sharply one more time before turning on his heels and walking out of the FIA motorhome. Pavel follows after him, grumbling under his breath. 

“What do we do?” Hampus asks, stopping just off the steps. 

“I don’t know,” Pavel responds. “We have to race. I don’t think we have a choice. I mean, this late in the season?” 

Hampus knows he’s right. There will be hell to pay with sponsors and fans that bought tickets and all the money that’s already been sunk into the weekend if they don’t race. But it’s still this hot tomorrow Hampus is seriously considering refusing to get into his car. 

“This sucks,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair and cringing when the burn mark on his shoulder twinges. 

“Yeah,” Pavel agrees. “I know it can’t be easy. Being here. With… David. And everything.” 

“That’s definitely not helping,” Hampus admits, nodding as they make their way back into the paddock to their respective motorhomes. “God, what I wouldn’t give to make the FIA sit in our cars right now.” 

“Same,” Pavel agrees. “Hey, do you want me to send David over to your driver’s room when he gets back? He’s been mopey for a while missing you.” 

“That would be nice,” Hampus nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Pavel.” 

“Of course,” he returns the smile. “Good luck tomorrow. And congrats on Quali.” 

Hampus gives him a nod and turns off to trudge into Aston Martin. Everyone is getting ready to end the day, making the last few preparations for race day. He shuts the door of his driver’s room behind him and sighs heavily. At least it’s air conditioned in here. 

Not two minutes later there’s a knock on his door. It’s gentle, telling him immediately that it’s not Jeremy or any other members of the Aston team. Everyone here is rough when they knock. If they knock at all. 

Hampus opens the door, feeling tension melt away from his burned shoulder as he sees David on the other side. The second the door is closed he’s gathering him into his arms. He can feel David being careful where he lays his arms, trying to avoid the burns. 

“Are you okay?” David asks, voice muffled by his chest. 

“I’m alright,” Hampus confirms, nodding. “I promise, I’m alright.” 

“You and Pavel went to the stewards?” David asks as they begrudgingly pull out of their hug before someone catches them. Hampus is really starting to hate racing in countries with laws preventing him from loving who he wants to love. 

“We did,” he nods, fishing two Ginger Ales out of the mini fridge before sitting down across from him. “And nothing. They pushed the race back two hours. That’s it.” 

“And we don’t have a choice,” David sighs. 

“Nope,” Hampus confirms. “Next year we plan. We plan to boycott this race. We can’t drive here anymore if we keep getting this injured. Not one of us is healthy right now.” 

“I fucking hate this track,” David groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“Me too,” Hampus sighs, wanting nothing more than to gather David in his arms and hug it all better. “But hey, at least we get to fly out together.” 

“Yeah,” David offers him a wry, tired smile before standing up. “I love you.” 

Hampus catches his hand as he passes by on his way to the door and presses a chaste kiss to the back of it, “I love you too. No matter what happens tomorrow.” 

David squeezes his hand and slips out. 

Hampus sighs and leans back against the couch, ignoring the sharp pain as his burns press into the rough material of the couch. 

He ends up winning the race. But only because it’s so intensely hot everyone is too focused on staying conscious to make passes. He takes first place in the standings back, but it doesn’t feel good. 

It burns. 

Chapter Text

David looks down on the city below, holding a breath deep in his lungs. This is it. Abu Dhabi. The last race of the season. Everything is coming to a head starting today. The next four days are going to be a marathon, going from media to practice to qualifying to racing. And then nothing. A blissful two and a half months of nothing. And David cannot wait. 

Abu Dhabi is one of the glitziest cities on the calendar. There’s nothing but luxury cars and designer brands for miles to see around the track. Private jets and watches that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. David’s never really felt like he belongs when he races in Abu Dhabi. 

He always reverts back to that one bedroom apartment in Havířov. The town that’s never really escaped the Soviet Union. And now he’s here in one of the richest cities in the world driving one of the most expensive cars in the world. And he’s fighting for the world championship. He doesn’t really know how it makes sense. But it’s what’s happening and he needs to get it through his head that this is his life. 

A hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his thoughts before they can run away from him. He looks up and smiles seeing Hampus moving to sit across from him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice barely heard above the whine of the engines. 

David nods, “Yeah. Just thinking. It’s been a crazy season.” 

“It sure as shit has,” Hampus agrees, looking out the window. He reaches over and takes his hand, knowing they’re safe with only Pavel and their three physios on the plane with them. David feels his chest warm slightly at the gesture. “But it gave me you. And that’s all that really matters, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” David nods even though he knows they both want that championship they’ll be racing for in four days. “I’m scared.” 

“About what? Talk to me käraste,” he says, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. David sighs and keeps his eyes glued to the window as the jet circles around to land at the small private airstrip. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” David admits quietly. He’s not even sure Hampus can hear him over the engines of the plane. He spares a moment to be happy that there are no Netflix cameras on the flight and that they’ve elected to tag along with Lando, Danny, and Charlie. David knows Hampus hears him, though, when he gives his hand a squeeze. 

“There’s more,” Hampus says, leaning forward. “I know there is. You can tell me, David.” 

“I just… I don’t want a repeat of last year. I don’t want the race to come between us. But I also don’t want one of us to have to sacrifice this for the other. I know we both want it. I don’t want to lose you in the process of trying to get it,” David admits, all the words pouring out of his mouth at once. 

“Look at me,” Hampus says firmly. David tears his gaze away from the window as the plane touches down and lets his eyes fall on his boyfriend. “You are not going to lose me. I’m here with you whether you like it or not.” 

“I love you, Hampus,” David says quietly, smiling at him. 

“I love you too, David,” Hampus replies before leaning back as the plane lands. 

The heat in Abu Dhabi isn’t as stifling as it was last year, but David still feels sweat drip down his back as he steps off the jet and follows Hampus to the car waiting to take them to the hotel. Ferrari and Aston Martin are sharing a hotel this weekend and David’s not sure who said what but he’s thankful. He should probably aim it at Pavel. 

Instead he sits in between him and Hampus and tucks his hands between his knees. They’re still not safe to hold hands outside their hotel or driver’s rooms let alone give each other a kiss. And not being able to do it just makes him want to do it more. Hampus seems to pick up on it and gives his knee a small bump. 

He smiles at him and nods in understanding. David is so eternally grateful to have him by his side. He truly doesn’t know where he’d be if he didn’t have him by his side during the back half of the season. 

They part in the elevator, Hampus getting off three floors below David’s with a wink and a smile over his shoulder. He sighs heavily as the doors slide closed behind him. Pavel grips his shoulder tightly, reaffirming his presence. 

“Sorry,” David apologizes. “I know I’m not making this easy for you.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Pavel says as the elevator brings them up to their floor. “It can’t be easy, I know it can’t. But I’ll help you with it in any way that I can.” 

“I’m lucky to have you,” David says as they step off and walk towards their rooms, suitcases dragging heavily behind them. “Really. Couldn’t ask for a better teammate.” 

“You’re my friend,” Pavel shrugs nonchalantly as he glances down at his phone for the hotel room number. “Not just my teammate. And besides, you would do the same for me.” 

“Hey speaking of,” David says, needing to change the subject as they walk down the seemingly endless hotel hallway. “Do you have any revelations in your love life? I need to get away from the attention for a bit.” 

“Eh, not really,” Pavel shrugs again. Although the red tint on his cheeks is enough to send up alarm bells in David’s head. He puts a hand on his arm, stopping them in their tracks. Pavel avoids eye contact but that only serves to make it more obvious. 

“No, no,” David says, smiling at him. “Something did happen. What is it?” 

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Pavel says. 

“Ah, now you see how it feels,” David smirks as they stop outside their rooms across the hall from each other. “Hey, I’m here for you, mate. Whatever you need.” 

“Thanks, Pasta,” Pavel smiles before tapping his keycard to the reader. “Have a good night.” 

“You too, Pavs,” David says as he mirrors his actions. 

His hotel room is quiet and dark, and it fits his mood perfectly. Dark and missing something warm. He falls into bed with a hard sigh and stares at the ceiling. He knows he’s alone, and that doesn’t help matters any. Still, he closes his eyes and does his best to drift off, thinking of tomorrow. Of when he can sit next to Hampus during the press conference. 

He lets his hands trail up his arms, imagining they’re his boyfriend’s. It hasn’t even been an hour since they parted and he’s already craving his touch. He can’t wait for the season to be over. 

******** 

Lando and Carlos are sitting between Hampus and David. And David wants nothing more than to crawl over them and curl up next to his boyfriend. But he stayed glued to his spot at the end of the red couch no matter how much his brain was screaming at him to move. 

He issued his scripted PR answers to every question, repeating the exact same words he’d been giving since Boston. Except now he didn’t have to lean into his and Hampus’ dead rivalry. Well, mostly dead. There were still some feelings left over from last year around this track. They would probably never go away, but they could do their best to ignore it as much as possible. 

“David,” Jenson says as he stands up. David feels a minor panic in the pit of his stomach, knowing Jenson will not pull any punches. “You’re coming off a P2 finish behind Hampus last week in Qatar. Do you expect this race to be any similar?” 

“It will be, most likely,” David nods as he starts his answer. “But I’m going to do my best to make sure I come away with P1 this time. Hampus is a very good driver and it’s going to be a battle all the way to the finish but we still have practice and quali to go through.” 

“Hampus?” Jenson says, turning his attention away from David. “Anything to add?” 

“I would say the same,” Hampus nods. “At the end of the day whichever one of us finishes higher wins the championship. We both know what we’re driving for this weekend and we’ll be doing our best to bring home a good result.” 

It’s diplomatic. It’s far more diplomatic than it would have been at the beginning of the season. Six months ago they would not have passed up the chance to rip each other to shreds in front of everyone with little to no hesitation. 

Oh how times change. 

The press conference ends when Lando gives one of his snarky responses and the moderator ends it before either him or Carlos or Liam on the other side of Hampus can add onto it. David notices the way Hampus stalls on the way out in order to fall into step beside him, and he tries to hide the smile on his face as they walk out. 

“Doing okay?” he checks, voice barely above a whisper as he nudges him. 

“Yeah,” David nods. “Still worried.” 

“I know,” Hampus nods and looks back down at his feet as they walk through the paddock back to their respective motorhomes. “We’ll be alright. We’ll get through it.” 

“Any shot of you just letting me win on Sunday?” David asks, smiling through his words. Hampus tosses his head back and laughs at the sky. 

“No,” he responds, shaking his head. “But I like the sentiment.” 

“Oh come on, you win one then I win one,” David presses. “It’s only fair.” 

“Nice try, Pasta,” Hampus responds. The use of his nickname catches him a little off guard. But he remembers that they need to keep up the appearance of just being colleagues. Nothing more. 

Ferrari and Aston Martin’s motorhomes come into view and David’s stomach plummets a bit at the reminder that his time with Hampus for the weekend is extremely limited. He sighs heavily and takes a step back towards the red building. 

“Hey,” Hampus stops him. “Have a good practice tomorrow.” 

David smiles softly, “You too.” 

He relies on the inbound chaos of the weekend to distract him. It picks up immediately the following morning as David is rushed into his car for the first practice session of the final weekend. However all the noise around him goes quiet the second he’s settled into the cockpit. 

He’s at home again as he settles his hands on the wheel and guides the car around the track for practice one. It’s uneventful, thankfully. The most drama comes from a near collision between the two McLarens. Aside from that, David finishes the session in P2 between Carlos in P1 and Hampus in P3. And he has a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be the podium for the race. Or a variation of it at the very least. 

Hampus was too smart with turns and Carlos was too fast for neither of them to finish Sunday on the podium. And David’s gut feelings when it comes to racing are rarely wrong. He can count on one hand the times that his hunches have turned out to not be true. 

He hops out of his car for the brief break between sessions, immediately taking his helmet off. Even in December it’s still hot in Abu Dhabi. He gratefully accepts the cool cloth Luca hands him and drapes it over the back of his neck. 

“Fuckin’ brutal out there,” he huffs, taking a sip of his water. Luca stops him before he can drink too much and make himself sick. 

“How’s your hip doing?” Luca asks in response. David drops into a quick squat to demonstrate his ability. 

“Fine,” he responds, leaning back and forth to further emphasize. Luca nods and moves back towards David’s driver’s room. He takes the cloth off his neck and wipes the sweat from his brow as Pavel comes back into the garage. 

It’s loud with the blowers cooling down the car and the sounds of wheel guns. It would be jarring to anyone else, but for David it just sounds like home. He sighs and nods to Pavel before moving to go over the data from the session with Linus. 

The numbers that come out of a drive are weirdly comforting to him. They don’t lie, they tell him everything he’s going to need to know for the weekend. And more often than not they’re accurate. He lets himself get lost in them before Luca reappears to ready him for the second practice session. 

“You ready?” he asks, finishing up with the cream he puts on his neck. It’s a cooling cream, used by a lot of the drivers to keep as cool as possible during races like this. He lets his fingers trail over the stallion emblazoned on the side of his helmet as he waits for the all clear to get in the car. 

Once again, just like this morning, everything goes quiet as he gets in his car and pulls out onto the track. He barely catches a glimpse of Hampus’ mechanic releasing him from the garage as he gets to the end of the pitlane. He allows himself a second to smile before pushing it out of his brain. 

He focuses on the track in front of him and nothing else. His mind is quiet, that liquid calm spread through his body as he coaxes his car around the track for his out lap. His mind is always quiet when he’s driving, regardless of the time of day. However he prefers driving at night. No sun glare to compete with, just the lights and the track in front. And even though Abu Dhabi is one of the more stressful races on the calendar, he still loves the track. It’s one of his more successful, and he’s hoping to add a few more positive stats by the end of the weekend. 

And Yas Marina is beautiful. He loves racing around the track. He takes his time to study it, and commit the turns to memory. Or at the very least brush the dust off his stored muscle memory. By the end of the session he feels refreshed and ready to drive in quali tomorrow. He just needs to get through a few more nights alone in bed. 

The third practice session the following morning goes the same as the previous two. He, Hampus, and Carlos are in the top three yet again. And he has a very strong feeling about how both qualifying and the race are going to shape up. 

“You ready?” Linus asks, catching him just before he climbs into the car to head out for Q1. 

“I’m ready,” he confirms with a nod. He’s never talkative after his meditation before sessions. Linus knows this well enough by now and nods before departing to take his place on the pit wall. He settles in, letting his mechanics do up his seat belts and attach his steering wheel. The liquid calm spreads a little further through his veins as he pulls out of the garage and heads down the pitlane to the track. 

The sun is starting to go down and he’s fighting the glare coming through his visor. It only lasts a few laps before it dips below the horizon enough to no longer be a problem. He settles into the second practice session well, feeling one with his car as he guides it around the track. 

He isn’t really paying attention to the time sheet at all this afternoon. He’s really only concerned with feeling out the car and actually considering track limits. He got bit in the ass with it last season when his time good enough for pole got eliminated for violations in qualifying. 

He was sure as shit not going to let it happen again this year. 

******** 

“Hampus what the fuck are you doing here?” David hisses. He lunges forward and grabs the front of Hampus’ shirt, yanking him inside. He spares a glance in both directions down the hall to make sure it's empty before closing the door.  

“I had to see you,” Hampus whispers, despite the fact they’re now safely alone. David gives him a look. Hampus sighs and steps forward, resting his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, David. I had to see you. We’ve spoken all but two words to each since quali.” 

“I know,” David sighs. He wants to resist his boyfriend’s touch. He knows they can’t, that there was probably some security camera in the hall that was quality enough to be able to identify Hampus and that there was probably a security officer sitting somewhere that didn’t make enough money and would be happy to sell a clip. 

“I’m sorry,” Hampus apologizes, dropping a gentle kiss to his forehead. David closes his eyes and gasps slightly, leaning into it. 

“Don’t apologize,” he responds, voice still low. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I still miss you,” Hampus responds. David feels him tighten his hold on him, fingers digging into his sides. He closes his eyes and presses his face into his chest. He takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent deep into his lungs. 

“Miss you too,” he says, voice muffled a bit by Hampus’ t-shirt. 

“I just want this weekend to be over,” Hampus says. He rocks them back and forth a bit and David feels himself slowly start to be lulled asleep. “I want to go back to Monaco and hold you all night without worrying about anything. Just want it to be me and you.” 

“I do too,” David replies. He winds his arms a little tighter around Hampus’ waist and grips his shirt like he’s going to disappear into thin air at a moment’s notice. 

They’re quiet for a moment, just breathing each other in. David feels himself relax beyond the point of what he thought possible. He truly feels like he could fall asleep standing up if they stay like this long enough. 

“You had a good qualifying session,” Hampus breaks the silence. David laughs into his chest and leans away from him. Hampus is smiling down at him, “Seriously. Pole position. I’m proud of you.” 

“You’re right behind me,” David reminds him. “Probably gonna Max Verstappen your way right past on turn one.” 

Hampus laughs. It’s David’s favorite sound. And sight, for that matter. The way he tosses his head back and laughs at the sky like he and David are the only people on the planet. David loves him. He’s so beyond head over heels in love with Hampus that he cannot fathom life without him. A bit of the fear the race tomorrow is dragging along with it but it gets squashed when Hampus tilts his head back down and smiles at him. 

His smile holds the sun. It’s bright and wide and makes everything it touches all warm and fuzzy. It makes David feel like something is shining for him, directly on him. He smiles back and rests his chin on his chest. 

“I won’t push you out in turn one,” Hampus says. “Roles are reversed this year. If anything it’ll be you pushing me off the track.” 

David rolls his eyes and settles his cheek back against him. Hampus rubs his hand up and down his back, coaxing him to close his eyes. 

“I love you,” he mumbles. 

Hampus leans down and kisses the top of his head, “I love you too, käraste. So much.” 

“It’s late,” David says, glancing at the alarm clock on the bed side table. The red numbers are blinking a time close to eight. Which is early, by normal people’s standards, but they’ve both been up most of the night working in their respective garages. 

The race is at five, they have a few hours to sleep before they need to go back. And they should be asleep already, really. But David is really enjoying staying here in Hampus’ arms. 

“Yeah,” Hampus hums his agreement. “I should probably go back to my room. My team will be looking to get me when it’s time to leave later.” 

“Yeah,” David echoes him. “My team knows, though. You could stay here and we could make it look like two friends just catching up before the race. If anyone sees us, that is.” 

“We could,” David feels Hampus nod. “But that might be too big of a jump to make. Even for us.” 

David sighs. He knows Hampus is right. He knows they can’t do this, that it needs to wait until they’re back home in Monaco. Or in Sweden, if that’s where they choose to end up after the season. 

“You’re right,” he says, taking half a step back. He immediately feels cold seep into his veins. Hampus opens his mouth to say something before clearly changing his mind. He closes his mouth and shakes his head and kisses David on the forehead before opening the door. David watches him look both ways as if he’s about to cross the road before slipping out and letting the door click shut quietly behind him. 

David sighs heavily and lets himself fall into bed. He’s exhausted. His bones are aching and he knows he needs sleep. He can’t help but wish he was still curled up in Hampus’ arms as he drifts off. 

When he wakes up a few hours later he feels like he’s on a different planet. But his team is knocking on his door and it’s time to leave for the last time this season. 

He wakes up the rest of the way in the car between sips of Luca’s coffee. He’s more alive than he was when they left the hotel by the time he’s walking into Ferrari hospitality, which is more than can be said about Pavel who looks like he’s still in bed. David slides an espresso to him as they sit through their briefing. 

David retains the information he needs, and locks himself in his driver’s room. He suits up, layering on his red fireproofs under his suit. He only zips it halfway for now and ties the arms of it around his waist. All of his actions are practiced, measured, done countless times over his Formula One career. 

The only thing that’s different is the text from Hampus waiting for him when he goes to turn on his meditation track. 

HL: I love you. No matter what happens tonight, I love you. Never forget 

David smiles, feeling happiness well up in his chest. He doesn’t fight it, he lets it get bigger and bigger until he wouldn’t be surprised if it was making his entire body glow. He tugs his lower lip between his teeth as he types out a response. 

DP: I love you more. No matter what

He gets a hastily punched ‘<3’ in return before putting on his meditation. 

Breathe in.

David’s chest expands as he draws as much air as possible into his lungs. 

Hold.

His heart thuds dully in his ears as he tunes his body. 

Breathe out.

A warm, liquid calm spreads through his body. It seeps over his shoulders, down his arms as he exhales. It keeps going, getting warmer and sinking into his muscles deeper and deeper. It shoves out all the negative thoughts he’d been having, all the worries about how this race was going to impact his relationship. 

He’s not thinking about it as the track ends. He’s not thinking about it as he zips his suit and grabs his helmet. And he’s certainly not thinking about it as he meets Linus out on the track. 

It’s a nice night in Abu Dhabi. Warm, not hot, The sun is going down and it isn’t casting as bad a glare as it had the two days prior. There’s a night bit of cloud cover that’s interrupting the sun’s rays. All in all, it is the perfect night to go racing. 

“Feeling good?” Linus asks, flipping up the microphone attached to his headphones. 

“Feeling good,” David confirms with a curt nod. 

“We solved the oversteer problem from last year,” Linus says as he looks down at the clipboard in his hands. “The only thing that’s going to be an issue is tire degradation.” 

“We’re starting on mediums?” David checks, glancing at the tire covers as he fastens his gloves. 

“Yeah,” Linus nods. “So is most of the grid.” 

“So the pit window is gonna be a fucking nightmare,” David sighs. 

“Yeah,” Linus nods, lowering his clipboard. “Listen, you’ve got Lindholm next to you in P2 and Pavel in P3. He’s going to attack, all you need to do is get a good jump and start building your lead immediately. We’ve been faster than Aston Martin all weekend, it’s not going to change now.” 

“Yeah,” David says, nodding. “Right. Hey, Linus, thank you for an amazing season. Really. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Especially… especially after Silverstone.” 

Linus smiles through the seeming shock at his normally stoic driver giving him words like that before a race. David’s a little surprised to have heard them come out of his own mouth anyway. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t mean them. He reaches out and grips his shoulder before turning on his heel and walking back towards the pitwall. 

The liquid calm settles a little deeper into his body as he lowers himself into the cockpit. All thoughts not about racing are forced from his head. One of his mechanics secures his steering wheel while a second fastens his seat belts. Linus chimes in through his radio for a comms check. 

“Loud and clear,” he responds, placing his hands on the wheel. Krej appears under the halo, a smile on his face. 

“Bring it home, Pasta,” he says firmly. David nods to him once and grips his hand quickly. Once he’s gone he flicks down his visor and focuses on the lightboard hanging above the track. 

His mirrors are full of Aston Martin green as he leads the formation lap. He can feel bits of excitement fizz through the liquid calm covering his body. He shakes them out and navigates the turns. He’s driving at under half the pace he will be in just a few moments when the lights go out, but he can still feel the excitement and the pressures of what he’s about to do at the base of his spine. 

“Just focus on getting the jump,” Linus reminds him over the radio as the grid lines back up behind him. 

“Copy,” he responds coolly before fixing his eyes back to the lightboard.  

The world seems to stand as the first red light turns on. 

Then the second. 

The third. 

The fourth. 

The fifth. 

The scream of the engines of twenty cars snaps everything back. He slams his foot down on the accelerator. He immediately swings over to head Lindholm off. He knows exactly what he’s going to do and how this is going to play out.

Except this time no one goes careening off the track. 

He makes it through turn one clean, building a bit of a gap between himself and Hampus who hung on to second position through the first straight. He can see him starting to fall back in his mirrors and brakes just on time for turn two. Turns three and four are wide and swooping and make his stomach do a somersault, but he gets through them and expertly navigates the turn five hairpin. 

He spares a moment to be happy DRS hasn’t been activated yet as they race through the first zone. Hampus catches up to him a bit through the sharpness of turns six and seven, but it’s not enough to catch him just yet and David makes his escape through clean air towards the turn nine switchback.

Things get a little disjointed in the sharpness of the following turns, but he doesn’t falter enough to let Hampus by. As he rounds turn sixteen, he feels confidence start to surge through him along with the liquid calm he’s so accustomed to racing with. He knows he has this. He just needs to get through his pit stop and fifty eight more laps. 

And then the championship is his.   

And everything seems like it’s going to go as smoothly as his brain wants it to until lap ten. He’d had a gap of a little over four seconds and his tires were behaving nicely until turn fifteen. It wasn’t even one of the harder ones on track, you just needed to get your braking right. He thought he had it until his tires locked up. He didn’t go off the track, he maintained his position, but it was enough to be worried. 

“You okay?” Linus asked, his voice choppy through the radio. 

“Fine,” David answered. “Just a little lockup.” 

“Be careful,” Linus cautioned him. “Gap to Lindholm three seconds.” 

David pushed the lockup out of his head and pressed on. He could feel his tires slowly starting to give out on him but he kept going. If he was the first of the leaders into the pits his odds of coming back out in good position was high. 

But he kept his head down and kept driving. The lights flick on over the track as the sun slips beneath the horizon. He feels the pressure of what lays forty five laps ahead of him settle right in the middle of his chest. 

He starts to, admittedly, get a little careless. He knows he’s exceeded track limits at least once and it’s Krej’s voice telling him to get his shit together in so many words. And to his credit he does clean it up. His lead is cut to about two seconds and Hampus’ tires seem to have a little more life in them than his do. Still, he gives it everything he can. 

It’s lap twenty seven when he’s called into the pits. Hampus is sniffing his tail and makes a ballsy late lunge to take the lead just before David peels off into the pits. He’s surprised that his emotions connected to their relationship haven’t seeped in yet. 

But he doesn’t have any more time to worry about it as his team gives him a 1.9 second stop. He makes a mental note to buy them a round tonight and slips back out into the pitlane with just enough time to get ahead of Norris’ papaya McLaren. 

“P7,” Linus informs him over the radio. “Just focus on warming up the tires. Everyone ahead of you aside from McAvoy have pitted.” 

“Where’s Lindholm?” he asks as the g forces of turn five bite into him. 

“P4,” Linus replies. “You have plenty of time.” 

Logically David knows he’s right. He knows he has time, he knows he’ll pass him. Yet he can’t fight the bubbles of anxiety in his chest. He does his best to push them out, though, and focuses on the track in front of him. 

One by one the drivers ahead of him pit. He’s thankful they were all in some form of a DRS train, allowing him and Hampus to shoot right up to the top two spots in the course of half a lap. There’s a six second gap between them but the train of stops has left him with clean air.  

His Ferrari has better pace than Lindholm’s Aston Martin. The gap between them naturally closes over the course of ten laps. There are ten more to go, and David can feel the championship trophy in his hands. 

The world melts away as he starts the battle. The second DRS zone does most of the work for him and he’s right on Lindholm’s tail through turns thirteen to sixteen and back onto the main straight. 

He’s always been good at overtaking. His second season he took home the first of many awards for overtake of the year. This is the one overtake of his career, though, that’s giving him the most trouble. He spends six of the final ten laps staring at the back of Hampus’ car. 

The stress is starting to sink in and grip his body as they enter the first DRS zone. Everything magically clicks into place as though guided by hands above and Hampus has a lockup. A gap opens and David lunges up the inside. 

The lead is his. He takes off, knowing Hampus will have recovered by now and will be hot on his trail. A cursory glance in the mirrors tells him everything he needs to know and he puts his head down. Through gritted teeth, he battles back through turn sixteen. It’s just the two of them on the first straight going into turn one. 

And a flash of green in the corner of his eye is all he sees as Hampus retakes the lead. He can feel the championship slipping away from him as the car with the number one on its nose pulls away. 

He shakes his head as though he’s clearing cobwebs and goes to work. Linus is smart enough to keep the radio clear. He knows David knows what to do. He knows he wants this. He knows their best bet will be staying quiet and letting him go to work. 

Hampus puts up another fight. He carries them all the way to the last lap like this. Distantly David thinks that he can’t wait to watch this race footage back. It’s got to be exhilarating. 

But for now he’s got a job to do and his favorite corner is coming up. 

Another lockup is sent by the grace of the racing gods at the end of the DRS zone before turn nine. David takes the gap again, shooting up the inside and taking off. His hands are shaking and he doesn’t look in his mirrors as he navigates the jarring final few turns. He can feel Lindholm breathing down his neck. 

But he can see the checkered flag up ahead clearer. 

A raw scream rips through his throat as he takes it. The fireworks go off, punctuating the race. Emotions bubble up and over the surface. David’s truly shaking now, and he slows way down. 

“David Pastrnak!” Krej’s voice is loud through the radio. “You are the champion of the world!” 

A string of Czech mixed with Italian mixed with English falls from his mouth. He feels like he can hardly breathe. 

“Bring it home, David!” Linus yells over the commotion in the background. “Bring it home, champion!” 

There’s an army of rosso corsa Ferrari uniforms waiting for him as he aims his car at the P1 placard. He shuts the engine off and hastily undoes his seat belts and pops his steering wheel off.  

He doesn’t entirely know what to do with his body as he jumps up and out of his seat, launching himself off the car. He’s swallowed by his team from behind the barrier, hands pulling and grabbing at his suit and smacking against his helmet. 

Euphoria would probably be the best way to describe it. Pure emotion, pure euphoria courses through his veins. 

“David!” a muffled shout of his name makes him turn his back on his team. Carlos and Hampus are on him in a millisecond, pinning him against the barrier. He has rushed Spanish in one ear that he’s not really listening to and the voice of his boyfriend in the other. 

“You fucking did it,” Hampus is telling him, pride edging through any other emotion he can possibly muster. “You’re the fucking champion.”

“God I love you,” David responds, turning his head away from Carlos just slightly. Hampus squeezes his hip before they’re tugged away by stewards. 

David doesn’t know how he gets through the official post race stuff. But he does know that it’s worth it when Hampus pins him against the wall of the corridor leading to the cooldown room. His lips are pressing into his before he can even react. 

Hampus tastes like sweat and something distinct. David kisses back, tongue flicking against his lower lip. He doesn’t care that they’re not hidden. He doesn’t care that whoever might be around can see them. The only thing he cares about is having Hampus pressed into him. 

“Oh shit,” a surprised voice breaks them apart. David wipes a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. Carlos is looking between them, jaw dropped. “Wait, was this a thing over summer break?” 

“Kinda,” Hampus shrugs through the smirk on his face. David can see the moment Carlos’ brain backfires on him. 

“Did I- did we- did-” 

“No,” David quickly shakes his head. A steward ushers them into the cooldown room despite the fact that Carlos is going through what appears to be a minor meltdown. “No. Carlos, look at me. No.” 

“Oh thank god,” he gasps, folding in half and bracing his hands against his knees. “Joder. Cabrón, you scared the shit out of me.” 

Hampus laughs and claps him on the shoulder, “Take a breath, mate.” 

David laughs and smiles into his water as he takes a sip. Hampus comes up to him and pulls him into another hug. One much more platonic in front of the cameras. 

“Congrats, champion,” he whispers in his ear. David smiles up at him so wide his cheeks hurt. And he wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

******** 

A warm sea breeze blows in through the open French doors. David smiles softly to himself as he sets the wicker basket of fresh produce down on the kitchen counter. He’d gotten up early that morning with the sole purpose of going down to the market the little island they picked to spend the beginning of the winter on is famous for. Carlos had sent him a recipe for a tart that he’d been dying to make ever since. 

The floorboards creaking under his feet give him away as he creeps towards the bedroom. Hampus is still laying on his stomach sprawled out over the mattress. The sheer sheet is pooled around his waist, opening the door for David to pepper his shoulder blades with open mouthed kisses. Hampus makes a noise and moves against the mattress. 

“Don’t start something you can't finish,” he mumbles into the pillow he’s hugging tightly. 

“Who said I didn’t intend to finish it?” David quips back, smirking against his warm skin. He lowers his voice and whispers, “We still need to celebrate.” 

“You haven’t done enough of that over the past week?” Hampus asks, rolling over. “How long did the team party last?” 

“At least twelve hours,” David replies quickly before kissing his way across Hampus’ ribs. “I think Pavel might still be drunk.” 

“Linus is definitely still drunk,” Hampus hums, letting his hand rest lightly on the back of David’s neck. 

He continues his line of open mouthed kisses until he reaches a nipple. The breathy noise Hampus makes in response has his pants tightening a bit. 

“In my own cottage?” Hampus asks sarcastically as the grip he has on David’s neck tightens. He looks up to see Hampus already looking down at him, cheeks flushed and eyes a little blown with lust, “I invite you to my cottage and this is how you treat me? By teasing me?” 

“I thought you liked it when I did this,” David responds, quickly leaning down and wrapping his lips around his other nipple before he can react. 

“Ah, fuck,” Hampus swears. “You know I do.”

“So why’re you complaining?” David asks, swinging a leg over Hampus’ thighs to straddle him. He sits up, looking down on him through his curls that have grown a little longer than usual with end of season neglect. 

“I don’t remember complaining,” Hampus hums, running his hands up David’s thighs. 

“Oh you don’t?” David smirks. Hampus makes a noise and shakes his head. 

“Fuck, c’mere,” he groans, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into a seering kiss. David gasps into his mouth and Hampus takes the opening, flicking his tongue against David’s. 

Rough hands grab his ass, squeezing at it and moving him to rock their hips together. 

“Come on, champion,” Hampus growls into his ear as he breaks the kiss. “Let’s celebrate.”  

David’s quick to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere on the floor over his shoulder to be dealt with later. Hampus’ hands are warm and calloused against his sides. He sighs happily as they rake up and down and land at the waistline of his shorts. 

“Don’t tease,” he gasps, rocking their hips together again. “Please.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hampus asks, smirking. “You teased me.” 

“I won the championship.” 

Hampus groans and lets his head fall back against the pillows. David laughs and leans down, gluing their chests together as he kisses along Hampus’ neck. He’s going to be banging that drum for as long as he possibly can. 

“Fine,” he sighs, tapping his hip so he can work his shorts off. David lifts them and shudders as his bare skin comes into contact with the soft sheets. “No boxers? At the market? You dirty boy.” 

“Champion,” David whispers to him again as he ruts into him, their bodies separated only by the thin fabric. 

“Come on, champion,” Hampus smirks as he flips them and kicks away the sheet. He works a hand between them, wrapping it around David’s hard cock. “Let me hear you.” 

“Hampus, please,” he moans, eyes screwing closed. “Please I need you so bad.” 

“Oh I can tell,” Hampus hums in his ear, slowly working his hand up and down. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby.” 

David gasps, trying to get as much air as he can into his lungs before choking out, “Wanna- wanna ri-ide you.” 

“You wanna ride me?” Hampus checks. David nods rapidly. “Good boy. Good boy, telling me what you want.” 

David whines and bucks his hips up in search of friction as Hampus pulls his hand away. His whine melts into a squeak as Hampus flips them and settles him back onto his lap. He lets his hands rest on his chest as he reaches for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. 

“Lean forward,” Hampus instructs him, putting a hand between his shoulder blades and gently pulling him to lean against him. David hums and uses the opportunity to kiss against his neck. He lets his teeth graze against the skin and pull out a choked off moan from him. 

Hampus nudges his legs apart with his own and rubs two lubed fingers around his hole. David shudders and presses his face into the crook of his shoulder. It’s been so long since Hampus touched him like this and he’s shaking for it. 

“Please,” he gasps. Hampus shushes him gently but presses a finger in all the same. 

David feels the muscles in his ass and in his thighs tighten at the intrusion. He forgot how fucking dirty getting stretched like this always makes him feel. He moans into his neck and fights the urge to push his hips back. He knows Hampus will give him what he needs in due time. He just needs to be patient.

“Good boy,” Hampus praises, pressing his finger in a little deeper before pulling it almost entirely out. He pushes back in with a second finger. 

David cries and presses his face a little further into his neck. He’s panting and gasping and fighting to keep his hips still as Hampus takes his time opening him up again after so long. 

It feels like his heart is beating out of his chest. And Hampus is being mean, purposefully avoiding his prostate. It’s probably a little payback for earlier but David doesn’t mind. He likes the feeling it gives him, the shake in the muscles of his thighs. He missed it. 

“Doing so good for me,” Hampus praises, using his other hand to squeeze his ass. David clenches around him, making them both moan. 

He wants to fuck himself on his fingers but he knows he won’t get what he wants if he doesn’t. 

“Just a little more,” Hampus tells him breathlessly. David nods against him and moans as he presses in with a third finger. 

“Hampus,” he gasps. The burn is delicious as it fades away into pleasure. He rocks his hips back onto his hand, body craving more and unable to hold it back. “Fuck, fuck, please. Please, I’m ready.” 

“Ah ah,” Hampus tutted at him. Just a little bit more. “You can do it, I know you can.”  

David squeezes his eyes closed and moans loudly as the pads of Hampus’ fingers press straight into his prostate. Electric shocks of pleasure rip through his body. It travels all the way up his spine and into his extremities. 

“Fuck, fuck!” he swears breathlessly. “Shit, Hampus please.” 

“Okay, baby,” Hampus says gently, pulling his fingers out. David gasps and sits up shakily. He watches as Hampus wipes his fingers on the sheets beside him. “Fuck you’re so beautiful like this. I love having this view, I’ll never get sick of it.” 

David moans in response, his words having failed him. Hampus settles his hands on his hips and guides him up onto his knees. A feeling of excitement grips his heart, almost paralyzing him. He’s always felt like this during sex with Hampus, raw need taking hold of every part of him. 

“So pretty f’me,” Hampus praises, pausing for a beat. David can feel his eyes on him. He feels studied, inspected. And he loves it. 

David’s not expecting it when Hampus sits him down hard on his dick. He cries out. His entire body clenches at the rough intrusion. He gasps for air and Hampus rubs soothing circles into his hips. 

“Good boy,” he’s praising. “Good boy, David. Take your time, käraste.” 

It takes more than a minute for him to adjust. Hampus’ dick is far bigger than his fingers and he hasn’t been privilege to it for a few weeks. His breathing regulates after a bit and opens his eyes. Hampus is already looking at him with a gentle expression on his face. 

“Ready?” he checks and David can feel the shake in the muscles of his thighs for the first time. He didn’t think about how much this would be affecting him, feeling the tight heat of David’s hole without being able to fuck up into it. 

“Yeah,” he nods, giving his hips an experimental roll. It had both of the choking off moans. “Yeah, I’m ready. Fuck, please.” 

“Good boy,” Hampus praised again. He squeezed his hips before guiding him through more slow, gentle rolls. 

David has never felt more connected to him. The last few times they fell into bed together had been hot and passionate and fast. This was different. This was slow and languid and loving and passionate all the same. And it was still hot, David felt as though the tips of his ears were about to burst into flames. 

He dug his nails into Hampus’ chest, leaning forward and letting his hips move on their own accord. Pleasure had taken over his brain, pure and raw. Their souls were on display to each other, to the bright sun and the sea breeze coming through the still open French doors. The breeze carried their moans around the room and back out. 

Hampus shifted, planting his knees on the bed and rocking David forward so his elbows were pressing into his shoulders and hands desperately grabbing at the pillows behind his head. In this position he was moaning and gasping directly into his ear. 

“Good boy,” Hampus praised, bringing one hand up to rest between his shoulder blades. David whined high and loud as his fingernails dug into his back. 

The tight coil in his lower stomach started to build. He moved his hips more, fucking himself in earnest. Hampus bucked his hips to meet his movements. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin and breathy moans. 

David sunk his teeth into the meat of Hampus’ shoulder. He tried to stave off his orgasm for as long as he could, wanting this to last. It had been so long since he last felt like this and he never wanted it to stop. 

Hampus slipped a hand between their two bodies. David cried out and his whole body jerked as Hampus wrapped a hand around him. 

“Fuck!” he swore loudly. 

“Don’t hold back, baby,” Hampus coos to him. “Come for me.” 

David swears he blacks out for a minute. The force of his orgasm hits him hard, ripping the breath from his lungs and making him gasp for air. His whole body shakes for he’s not quite sure how long but by the time it stops he’s resting on his back and Hampus is settled between his legs with a warm washcloth. 

“Hey, baby,” he hums quietly. “My champion, how are you doing?” 

“Mmmm good,” he hums, closing his eyes and settling back into the pillows. He feels Hampus toss the cloth to the floor with his clothes and settle beside him. He makes a happy noise as Hampus lightly kisses against his chest. 

“I love you, käraste,” he whispers. “With all my heart. I’m so proud of you for everything you’ve done this season.” 

“I love you too,” David responds. He opens his eyes and lets his fingers thread through his hair, still damp with sweat. “I love you so much.” 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby,” Hampus tells him. “I love you. I can’t wait to see what next season brings us.” 

David rolls onto his stomach and kisses the soft skin just beneath Hampus’ eye, “As long as I’m with you I don’t care what happens. As long as you let me win again.” 

“What happened to your every other year idea?” Hampus asks, smiling. 

“I won.”