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Chapter Text

Hermione straightens her notes, clears her throat and brushes a damp curl back from her brow - the breeze of the air-conditioning in the commentator’s booth a welcome relief from the Italian sun. Her eyes rapidly scan the screens in front of her - flashes of the 2024 seasons’ racers posing dramatically in front of neon lights - Harry Potter for Williams, George Russell for Mercedes, the rookie Kurokawa for Red Bull, Ginny Weasley for McLaren, Alonso for Aston Martin -

She glances at her partner - his boots up on her chair, backrest in a gentle recline, arms crossed, platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes snoozing beneath a worn green cap. She clears her throat louder.

He yawns.

“One minute, Malfoy.”

“I’m aware, Granger.” He swivels in his chair, cap still hung low. “You need a glass of water? Dusty Italian air clogging up your throat?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She coughs again, a little self-conscious now. “We’re live in thirty seconds, by the way.”

Draco stretches - his lean racer frame filling the cramped booth. “A lot can happen in thirty seconds in Formula 1. I would know - I used to be -”

“A three time world champion - yes, you mentioned.”

He grins, pushing his old Aston Martin cap back slightly. “You know Granger, I’m starting to believe that you really are a good listener.” He leans forward, sliding his headset over his cap.

“I’d have to be deaf to ignore your persistent bragging.”

“Hm - How lucky that you aren’t, eh love?” And before Hermione can think of a witty retort, Draco tugs his mic down, pulling one of her sheets towards him. “Aaand we are back at the Italian Grand Prix. For those of you new to us, welcome to the Temple of Speed - a track where raw velocity meets ruthless precision. Tempting the speed demons with straight-line fury, then punishing them with brutal bends. Our drivers are lined up and awaiting that sweet release of those five red lights.”

The main screen flicks to an overhead view of the line-up. A blue, red and yellow Red Bull car stood at pole point - 88 painted boldly onto an indigo helmet.

Hermione tugs her notes back. “And starting in P1 is rookie driver, Kai Kurokawa - his first pole of the season - and of his F1 career!”

“Won’t be his last, I’m certain. That boy is proving to be better than most seasoned racers.”

“Coming from a seasoned racer as yourself, Malfoy? Must be high praise.”

“Indeed, I suppose you would know what a high my praise can give.”

Hermione silently rolls her eyes, earning herself a quirk of Draco’s mouth. “Well, Kurokawa certainly deserves it. He’s climbed the rankings quickly, almost matching his point lead with his teammate, Max Verstappen who currently sits at P8.”

“An unfortunate start position for Max, but he has proven his prowess in overtaking throughout the years.”

“Yes, but with a defence like Ginny Weasley’s, I think he may have some trouble this race.”

The cameras scan over the crowd - a sea of red fills the stands, the air tinted crimson with smoke and dust. Hermione hears Draco’s heel beginning to tap on his chair, the vibration of the cheering crowd becoming more noticeable in their booth.

“Nott must be feeling the pressure here - carrying the flag for Ferrari’s home race. He may have taken the Italian trophy last year, but with Kurokawa on the track, this might prove more difficult.” Draco’s voice begins to tighten, his heel tapping faster. “With Sainz starting at P10 and Nott in P4, he’ll need to take the lead and weave his way past Hemlock and Mclaren’s Norris to get a chance to fight Kurokawa.”

“Launch battles are Nott’s specialty - so is his crowd work - I’m sure he’ll give the fans something to shout about!”

The screen switches to the start lights. Hermione feels her fingers tingle as the adrenaline begins to fill her bloodstream. The table beginning to quiver in time with Draco’s leg.

[Race Music: Dynasties and Dystopia - Denzel Curry, Gizzle, Bren Joy ]

One red light.

She glances to Draco with a small bite of her lip. His eyes locked and alight.

Two red lights.

“Speaking of, Hermione…”

Three red lights.

The roar of the crowd amplifies.

Four red lights.

The rush of excitement never gets old.

Five red lights.

“We are …”

A pause.

The lights go out.

An sudden shriek of tires tears through the air.

LAP 1

“OFF!”

Draco leans forward, eyes fixated on the screen, mic pinched between his fingers.

“A good start for Kurokawa - easy job clearing himself from his competitors - speeding down the straight, putting some distance between himself and Hemlock -

And what did my wonderful assistant say - Nott has managed to swerve past Norris, already on Hemlock’s tail fighting for P2 -

But Hemlock isn’t giving way - the prettier of the Mercedes drivers is also the more tenacious one - she won’t be letting Nott past her without a fight!”

Hermione’s eyes dart quickly over to the charts on the wall, years of engineering experience kicking into gear, “Ferrari seemed to have the faster car in qualifying with their new front wing model pushing its’ down grip - Hemlock is going to have to be on the defence to block Theo from showing us the Ferrari engines full potential.”

Theo’s Ferrari hangs tight behind Lillith - a swift swerve to the right instantly met with a stream of sandy smoke spat into the air by the Mercedes’ back wheels - an attempt to overtake through the left immediately negated by the same puff of smoke and embers.

Draco laughs, “She is not giving any leeway, whatsoever!”

“It’s almost as if she’s moving before he is - predicting his attempts.”

“And that’s why I love watching these two battle on the track, Hermione - they’ve known each other even before either of them touched a steering wheel - their rivalry runs deeper than blood.”

Hermione’s fingers trace over the panel, searching for Ferrari’s intercom -

[Ferrari] Nott Radio:

Nott: bleep sake - she won’t get out of the bloody way-

Rosier: Copy. She’ll make a mistake, keep pushing.

Nott: Lilli doesn’t make mistakes-

Rosier: static

Rosier: Copy.

LAP 15

The driver tracker lights up, the screen switching to Ginny Weasley in bright McLaren Orange pushing tire-to-tire against Max Verstappen at turn three. Wheels interlock with wheels, a deceivingly gentle bump into Ginny’s side, Max taking the advantage and shooting past through the turn.

“Gods!” Draco shouts over the tense sound caught in Hermione’s throat. “Max is unforgiving! - a bit of a risky move, but climbing quickly from P8 to P4 and catching up to his teammate -

But he’ll have to get past the Ferrari-Mercedes battle to reunite with his fellow bull -

Nott still playing it safe behind Hemlock, but he’s going to feel the pressure with Verstappen now on his tail.”

[McLaren] Weasley Radio:

G Weasley: bleephead!!!

G Weasley: What is that bleep on???

R Weasley: Dunno mate - Red bull, probably.

G Weasley: Jesus, NOT now Ron.

LAP 22

[Red Bull] Kurokawa Radio:

Achilles: Box this lap, Kai. Box for hard.

Kai: What? Now?

Achilles: You’ve got a good lead, we should take the advantage.

Kai: The tires are fine, I don’t need to switch.

Achilles: Our advice is to switch early. We think the hards can take you the rest of the way.

Hermione clicks the intercom off. “Kai pitting relatively early on in the race, currently with a 12 second lead on Hemlock -

There he goes - off into the pit lane -

But that doesn’t go unnoticed -

Hemlock is speeding up -

She’s giving up her defensive stance and trying to take this opportunity for P1 -”

The Mercedes picks up pace, Nott lagging back a split second then finding her slipstream, the two cars hurtling down the straight. Kai brakes hard into his pit stop, 2.6 seconds on the stop, accelerating back to the track -

“Lillith’s caught up massively -”

Kai’s path converging with the main track -

“Theo tight on her tail -”

Kai slams the pedal, tires sliding slightly on the dusty track, narrowly slipping in front of Lillith, her car swerving to the side, half a second gap left between them.

Draco’s weight presses forward on his heels, “He makes it! By a tiny margin! I don’t know whether that was a good strategy from Red Bull - they seem to have overestimated their lead.”

[Red Bull] Kurokawa Radio:

Achilles: Good exit.

Kai: Shut the bleep up.

Achilles: Copy.

Achilles: You’ll get it back, mate.

LAP 31

“CONTACT between Norris and Potter!” Draco shouts - a spray of debris bursting across the screen, a blue broken front wing scattered across the track, the two cars shooting off track into the gravel, ramming into the barrier wall - “A slow turn from Potter sending him directly into the McLaren -”

Hermione’s brow furrows, “His wheel seemed to lock -”

“Pffh - Potter likely did that on purpose -”

Hermione’s head snaps towards her partner, his speech faltering slightly, realising he’s commentating live. “Sounds like a grudge from the glory days, Malfoy”

“Giving me flashbacks, Hermione.” He chuckles. “And the virtual safety car is being deployed as some of this debris is cleared off track.”

“That’ll be Potter and Norris out of today’s race.”

[Williams] Potter Radio:

Potter: I’m okay - I’m okay -

Wood: Copy. Medic car coming your way.

LAP 38

“And we’re back to green flag racing -

Fresh tires on the track for most teams -

Hemlock immediately on the attack -” Draco’s hands flex on the desk, “She’s going for the overtake -

Cutting through the chicane -

VERY CLOSE to Kurokawa! -

Nott taking the wider turn - trying to avoid the battle up ahead -”

Hermione squeals.

“CONTACT! - AH SO CLOSE!” Draco now stood, hands on his cap, bracing his head from the recoil of adrenaline, “SO SO CLOSE! Hemlock very briefly bumping tires with the Red Bull rookie - JUST short of enough horse power to push past - battling VERY close to the edge for control -”

“AND NOTT IS GOING THROUGH!” Hermione cries, jumping to her feet, hands wildly reaching for Draco’s hat, “THAT WAS THE MISTAKE HE WAS WAITING FOR! -

Nott likes the spotlight and that is Lillith’s PUNISHMENT for forgetting he was right behind her!”

A streak of red like blood splitting through skin as the Ferrari rips past into first position, the roar of the crowd rattling the booth windows, the ground rumbling beneath their feet, blood pumping loudly in their ears.

[Mercedes] Hemlock Radio:

Hemlock: SHbleep -

Mutoryu (Bennedict): It’s alright, Lilli - drop back slightly, give Kai the position.

Hemlock: Who’s behind me?

Mutoryu: Verstappen.

Hemlock: bleep-ng shit. Gap?

Mutoryu: 0.9. You’re fine. Keep going.

LAP 45

“Sainz is picking up the pace, a very risky pit stop for fresh tires seems to be paying off.” Hermione watches the driver tracker - Sainz’s ferrari marker slides past Weasley in P7, quickly closing the gap on Verstappen. “Five positions up from where he started, that V6 engine is warmed up and rearing to fight Verstappen for P4. -

Hemlock is still sandwiched tight between the two Red Bull racers -

Verstappen trying to cut in front of her with Sainz closing in from behind -

Hemlock feels it! She’s going on her own attack! -

Verstappen is hanging tight on her tail! -

Both of them vying for Kurokawa’s position!”

Draco cuts in - “THREE CARS ALL WHEEL TO WHEEL, ALL HUNGRY FOR P2 -”

Hermione grabs his shoulder, cutting back in - “Kurokawa on the inner side, trying to hold on tight to his position - the turn is approaching -”

“AND HEMLOCK CUTS THROUGH - SLICING THROUGH THE SANDWICH, INCREDIBLE CONTROL THROUGH THAT TURN -”

[Mercedes] Hemlock Radio:

Mutoryu: Yes!! That’s my girl!

Hemlock: static bleep static Copy.

LAP 50

[Ferrari] Nott Radio:

Nott: What’s the gap?

Rosier: Hemlock is 10 seconds behind. Just 3 laps left, Theo.

Nott: Copy.

LAP 51

Nott: Gap?

Rosier: 6 seconds

LAP 52

Rosier: 2 seconds, Theo. One lap left!!

Nott: bleep Yeah-I’m trying-

LAP 53

Rosier: YESSS!

Nott: IS THAT IT?

Rosier: CHEQUERED FLAG - P1 NOTT! GOOD WORK.

Rosier: That’s two Monza trophies in a row!!

Nott: FUCK YES.

Lillith closed her eyes, bracing her arms against the cool marble tile - the steady rhythm of hot water from the rain shower drumming on her head, her shoulders. The welcome feeling of relief loosening her muscles, washing away sweat, grit and champagne. Soft, conditioned, indigo hair dripped down her back, her body temperature dropping a degree as the adrenaline cleared from her bloodstream.

P2. P2 is not bad. P2 is good. Could have been P3 behind Kai. Or worse, P4 behind Max.

She glanced down at her legs - lean muscle puckering at her knees, the first peeks of soft baby hairs beginning to prickle on her shin.

P2 is good, the team were pleased. Lupin (her team principal) was more than happy with the outcome. It was good.

She watched as her abdomen dipped with each slow breath, skin sucking around her ribs. How much weight had she lost that race? Around two kilos? She cocked her head to the side - was she too scrawny? Would he - Would people consider her scrawny?

She was hungry.

She sighed.

P2 is good. Good isn’t great, though is it? Could have been P1.

She managed to out-drive Kai. Just a momentary lapse in judgement. Fucking let him out of her sight.

He was nicknamed the frog - the way he leaped positions in seconds. It was rarely single overtakes - Theo either played it too safe or was far too reckless, trashing his car or claiming a heavy penalty. He always took advantage of other battles, sneaked through when he turned invisible.

And she forgot.

How could she forget? How did he slip out of her line of sight? He’s always on her mind. Always. Every bloody second - a red front wing in her left mirror, a Pirelli tire tightly fitted onto a chilli red monocoque, a Ferrari branded cap left on her breakfast table, a roaring ocean of crimson clad fans chanting his name, a toothy grin behind a silver trophy, a pearl ring - her pearl ring hugging a calloused finger as he pours champagne down her suit. Every mention of his name, every sign of that goddamned Ferrari logo - christ - every bloody flash of red made her chest tingle, her fingers twitch. Red. Red. Red. All she saw was red.

She had been thinking about him a lot, lately. But, she had to, competitive as she was. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as the saying goes - but what do you do when they are both your friend and your enemy?

Theo was a confident driver - chaotic and unpredictable - and that made him formidable on the track. But he wasn’t unpredictable to her. Years of racing together, against each other, watching him drive, studying his technique, listening to him critique her driving. She was unintentionally and unapologetically sucked into the raging hurricane that was his racing mindset. A cyclone that spun at full force, wrought with risk-taking behaviour and a lack of regard for self-preservation. 

And even still, she sat calmly in its' eye.

She didn’t just survive the storm — she read it. Tracked its movement, felt the pressure drop, mapped the arc of its cyclonic spin. And she knew all too well that the moment she lost sight of it, she’d be swept into the whirlwind like everyone else.

So she had to think about him. It gave her an edge, let her play him to her advantage.

She had to think about him and she did.

It was her job. So she did.

She had to think about him.

But Gods it was verging on obsession.

She had kept him under check for years, but this year - this year felt different.

There was just something about the way his eyes lazily traced over her suit, how he tapped her helmet, the laugh that followed every snarky remark about her driving, how he laughed even harder when she fired back at him. The taunts were getting sharper, bolder - inappropriate - distracting. The intensity of their rivalry was running rampant like wildfire - the fire of their mind games once confined to the circuit, now blazing through the paddock, licking at the edges of their daily lives. It was like the heat of their flame-forged relationship, born on the tracks and fuelled with unleaded petrol, was evolving as fast as the cars they drove - wrecked - and drove again.

It was heavier. More expensive. Intensified by a rivalry rooted in reputation, driven by the desperate need to win and be better than him and fight him and watch that sharp canine puncture into the foil on a champagne bottle - her champagne bottle - her win -

ding dong

Lillith gasped, eyes fluttering out of her daydream. She quickly turned off the shower and reached for a towel. Her room service was faster than she had anticipated. And she was hungry. She quickly patted herself down, excess water running off onto the floor mat. Wrapping herself up snugly, she tip-toed to the door - her hair painting a trail of water in her wake.

She creaked the door open, “Hi, thank you-”

“Oh - My my, don’t dress up just for me.”

Red.

“Oh sh- Teddy wha-” Her hand shot up, clutching the towel tight against her neck, heat beginning to colour her chest. Her other hand trying to shove the door closed, only to meet the stubborn thump of his shoe wedged in the way.

He gave a breathy laugh, supplemented with an annoying flash of a canine she had glared at earlier on the podium.

“Relax, Lil - I’m just here for my cap.”

“You could’ve texted me - or I could’ve just passed it to you tomorrow.” She kicked his shoe with the bare ball of her foot, an unconvincing attempt at pushing him out of the way.

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, biceps stretching his racing undershirt - still slightly damp from champagne - still bright red - still slightly sticky. “Maybe I wanted to see you today.” He murmured.

“Here to flaunt your trophy?”

“Ah - I forgot to bring it. But if you come with me, I could show you -”

“I’ve seen plenty, thanks.”

He grinned, his eyes tracing down her neck. Lillith blinked, gripping her towel tighter.

“You can wait outside.” She said, turning toward the bedside table where his cap sat — making one last, half-hearted attempt to nudge the door shut in the process.

“Not very welcoming to a Grand Prix winner.” He called after her, the door creaking open a little more, courtesy of the tip of his shoe.

“Novelty wears off when you’ve won a few yourself.” She retorted, quickly glancing down at her towel to make sure she was still fully covered. She was. She re-adjusted anyway.

He laughed again, “What are you so worried about, Lillipad - it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She rolled her eyes, “You haven’t seen -” She paused. “You haven’t seen…”

“I haven’t seen…” He said, his voice low and smirking. “But I have seen you in a bathing suit and this -” He gestured at her towel with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow, “is far more… conservative.”

Lillith hummed, bending down (carefully) to pick his cap off the carpet beside her bed.

“Now that I think about it,” He continued, voice echoing through the hallway, “you’ve seen me naked… So I think it’s only fair-”

“That was when we were kids, Ted.”

“Yeah, what - Eighteen, nineteen years ago? I think it’s about time you repaid your debt. With interest, of course.”

“Ha. Ha.” She returned to him at the entrance, the door open much wider than when she’d left. His grin wider too. She pushed the cap into his chest. “Enjoy.”

His hand slid from under his arm, wrapping over the back of her fingers (and his cap) pressing it to his chest. Still damp. Still sticky. She felt her pulse in her fingertips. His pinky curled under her palm. She felt a string of pearls press into her knuckle.

“Great racing today.” He said softly.

“Hm. Could’ve been better.” She replied, her eyes locking with his - soft grey clouds, drooping from fatigue. “You did good too, I suppose.”

“You really had me going there, might not have made it through were it not for Mr Rising Bull Kurokawa distracting you.”

“Yeah - he was distracting -” She smirked, pulling her fingers from his grip and tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. She felt his eyes drop to her hand, now also supporting the towel at her breast. “Ah, yes - he’s someone I’ve actually seen naked.”

“Eurgh -” Theo’s eyes rolled, lip twitching upwards in exaggerated disgust, “Can’t believe you used to date that wanker.”

“You’re just scared he’s better than y-”

“Lillith!” He pinched her chin, her lips pursing into a little, surprised pout, “You shall not utter such slander!”

Lillith’s brow furrowed in feigned thought. “I mean… Comparing from memory… He did look better than you naked…” She mumbled through puckered lips.

He pulled her face to his, “We were kids.” She smiled through his fingers and squashed cheeks. He grinned back. “Cute.” He muttered as he released her, the feeling of dried champagne stuck to her face.

“Dinner?” He asked, watching her shuffle the towel up her chest again.

“I’ve got room service, a glass of wine and a healthy serving of sleep deprivation coming my way. Don’t you have a Ferrari party and some beautiful, long-legged, golden-skinned fan to attend to?”

Theo hummed, “I wouldn’t say Carlos has especially long legs but… he is quite beautiful, I agree.” He shuffled on his feet, “I thought you’d like to come with -”

“And have the Ferrari logo stamped on my forehead? Lupin would kill me.”

“We’ll stamp one on him too.”

“Hah, press would love that. I’m alright, Ted - I’ve seen enough red for today.”

“You’d look lovely in red.” He murmured.

“I look better in black.”

“Yeah? Show me.” His voice, velvet.

Lillith swallowed. Her mind flickering to her black and violet racing suit, her black undershirt, her black lingerie -

Wildfire.

She paused a beat.

Let the fire spread.

“Next time.” She managed.

He exhaled silently. Less than a second’s worth of pressure released. She heard it, though. “Hmm, alright but - you know the deal - P1 buys P2 dinner. So, claim that any time, yeah?”

She smiled, grip unconsciously loosening on her towel. “I will.”

He held her gaze for a little while longer. Moments like these felt controlled. Quiet. The eye of the storm. Safe.

That deceitful security of friendship and a life-long bond. The safety blanket they’d rip to shreds with fresh, hard tires on the regular.

And then he broke the tension - sighing dramatically, kneading the back of his neck, his stance relaxing back into a gentle recline into his spinal muscles. “Enjoy your sleep deprivation, then.”

“Enjoy Carlos.”

He smirks again, that annoying toothy grin. “I’ll try, my love.” So annoying. “Goodnight, Lillipad.”

“Goodnight, Teddy.”

His foot retreated from the boundary of her hotel room, the door shutting slowly with his gaze lilting through the gap, his lower lip adorably set beneath his teeth.

The door clicked shut with Lillith’s fingers lingering on the doorknob. She chewed the inside of her lip. Two taps of her nail on the brass and then she was on her toes, peering through the peephole.

The fish-eyed vision of Theo still stood there, his head hung low, matted curls taking up most of the window. There was a hesitancy - something she rarely saw from him on the circuit. When things moved at two hundred miles an hour, two or three seconds felt like life captured in slow-motion. She watched his fingers rap on the cap still pressed to his chest, the slow blink of heavy lashes. She logged it all for later.

Then, she saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath as he slipped the cap on his head and left down the corridor.

Lillith stepped back from the peephole, resting back on her heels. A puddle of water now pooled around her, her hair still dripping. She re-adjusted the towel over her chest again, somehow still feeling conscious as if he might still be watching. As if she might be on his mind too.

The doorbell rang again.

She jumped for the peephole.

It was room service.

She was…

Hungry.

Chapter Text

Brussels Airport, Belgium

“Lilli - look.”

Lillith slowly peeled her eyes from her phone, grateful for the interruption - anything to stop the self-inflicted torment of scrolling through endless Tiktok reels of a red Ferrari car streaking past Mercedes and Red Bull. A leader battle gone viral. If she watched it enough, the sting would dull. The burn of the salt in her wound would numb. That’s what she told herself, at least.

Ben was stood in a toy store holding up a plump yellow canary plush - an excited, crooked grin on his lightly stubbled face. Inked waves peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his black polo, his tattoo winding over his bicep. His calloused fingers and tattooed neck stood in stark contrast to the bird cradled between his fingers. He chuckled, “Cute, eh? Might get it for Hes.”

“Hes? Isn’t Hesper - like, sixteen now?”

“Yes, and?” Ben nodded over at a lemon-sized crochet frog, “I’d get that for Theo.”

Lillith smirked, adjusting the strap of her Coach carryall on her shoulder and stepped into the shop. “Somehow, I think Theo would enjoy a plushie more than Hes would.”

She picked up the little frog, her head tilting subconsciously, admiring the squish of its' soft cotton belly and its’ black jelly eyes - she felt herself smile.

“She’s gotten into Formula 3…” Ben muttered, his thumb playing with the canary’s beak.

She glanced up at him, her smile turning sympathetic. “I’m guessing you’re not looking for me to say congratulations?”

“She doesn’t even have her road license yet. You know how risky racing can be - you know how risky SHE can be -“

“Risk is necessary in formula racing, Ben.” She leaned forward, resting on the plushie stand. The frog pressed between her cheek and palm.

“The girl doesn’t even understand the meaning of the word.”

“She’s got the talent and the drive-“

“And no logical thought.”

Lillith snorted. Ben was the calmest presence on the Mercedes team - a lumbering giant with lightning-yellow eyes and hands as warm and worn as old leather. He was the only person who could truly settle her nerves on the track; keep her focused and alert - the only person she trusted fully. A big brother who shielded her from the worst of the storm, guided her though sharp turns and turbulent updrafts. Methodical and sharp, he knew exactly when to go on the aggressive and when to concede - a roaring wave that rushed to the shore, then tugged you gently into the safety of his undertow. He spoke with quiet, deliberate control - steady, adaptable, unshakable.

Except, of course, when it came to actually being an older brother.

He raked his fingers through his hair, the loose strands slipping further out of the twists of black gathered in his messy topknot. The wrinkles around his eyes carved slightly deeper today. He was probably beginning to lose sleep over this - or it was the jet lag.

“She’s just - she’s still my baby sister. I don’t want her getting hurt. Don’t get me wrong, Lilli - I would feel the same about you if you got into an accident, but… “

“But… I never get into accidents.”

“You rarely get into accidents.” He corrected.

“And with some solid training and an even better race engineer,” she lifted her brow, gesturing at him in compliment, “she’ll rarely get into accidents too.”

“Lilli - you’re a veteran. I don't need to tell you what is or isn't too risky. I can trust you to think.”

Lillith grimaced, “Some would argue I think too much…”

“Better than thinking too little.”

“Theo thinks too little and he’s a world champion.”

Ben shot her a flat look, “And how many accidents has he gotten into?”

Lillith glanced back at the frog in her hand, “Honestly? I think he does it on purpose so that I’ll bring him cake at the medical centre. I should stop doing that… Rewarding that behaviour." Her eyes narrowed, the frog looking innocently back at her. "Or maybe do it more… Eliminate the competition and all that -”

“Lil.” The canary bounced off her forehead - a flawless three-pointer, tossed with impeccable precision. A deadpan smirk on his face.

“Os~” Lillith turned at the sound of Kai’s voice approaching from behind, clear and deep like water running over dark steel. His black duffel bag strapped across his chest, his cobalt blue hoodie pulled up and over a Red Bull cap. “Were you guys waiting long?”

“Yes.” She sighed, very subtly sarcastic.

“Good.” His lip curled, the scar hugging his lip splitting over his teeth. “You buying that for Theo?”

He tapped the chin of the crocheted frog - now practically sewn to her fingertips, the way she clutched it. Lillith gave it another absent-minded squish, felt herself smile again.

“Might get to his head if I buy him a gift unprovoked.”

“Might get bigger than it already is.” Kai quipped. “Might explode. Sounds good - I’ll chip in.”

Ben leaned over, placing the canary plush back on its’ shelf, the expression of a tired father scribbled on his face. “Play nice, kids.”

“We always do, mate.” Kai tipped his navy cap off, hood dropped back, ruffled his slick black hair and swivelled his cap backwards - Red Bull logo out of sight, though the real show clearly meant for whoever was watching from behind. He rolled his neck to one side, a series of cracks audibly clicking through his spine. He groaned, “I had the absolute worst sleep on that flight. Think I did my neck in.”

“Perks of flying commercial - bonus training for those tiny neck muscles of yours.” Lillith said, no sarcasm required this time.

He gave an unamused pinch on her trapezius. She didn’t flinch. Much. “Just because I’m not a thumb like Ben -”

“Thumb??” Ben peeked up from the canary shelf, his carotid pulsing heavily over a thick rope of sternocleidomastoid for added emphasis.

“Extraordinary neck.” Lillith hummed.

“The goal, really.” Kai mused.

“完璧じゃん~” [kanpeki jan. = just so perfect] Lillith sighed.

“言えてる。” [ieteru = You said it.] Kai nodded.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ben finally plucked a particularly fluffed up canary from the shelf and gave it a squeeze for good measure. “Come on, then. Let’s get to the hotel.”

Lillith subconsciously smushed the frog in her palm, skipping out of the shop - via the cashier. If Theo's head exploded, well - purely in a competitive sense, of course - that wouldn't be the worst thing.

Race Weekend: Saturday - Qualifying

“And that is pole for Lando Norris!”

Malfoy’s voice crackled through Theo’s phone, echoing faintly through the lightly wooded clearing just off-track. He had already changed out of his race suit; his skin still salted with sweat. The breeze felt cool on his forehead, the grass soft beneath crossed legs.

He let out a frustrated sigh.

Lando’s green helmet glinting with rain water, his orange McLaren driving across the screen of his phone.

He scrolled.

“Get ready with me for the Belgian Grand Pr-”

Scroll.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t even see him.” Potter’s glasses askew on his nose.

Scroll.

A white Haas car carefully overtaking Alpine’s Gasly. “And Thomas slides into P10 with-”

Scroll.

“5 hidden cafe’s in Spa-”

Scroll.

Lillith with her hair tied up, stray hairs wrapping over her face, one damp strand curled in a perfect “S” over her neck.

Monza Race Day, he thought.

“How did you find that race?”

She scoffed lightly, “Slightly frustrating, but I can’t be too disappointed. Theo deserved the win.”

“You were very close in the last few laps, do you think you could’ve caught up?“

“My tires were essentially wrecked by the end, but I’d say yes - if I had a few more laps.” She laughed - her perfected camera-ready laugh. “Would’ve gladly blown a tire if it meant overtaking him.”

The corner of his mouth curled.

Double tap.

Scroll.

A stream of clips of Carlos.

Scroll.

“Daniel Ricciardooo-“

Scroll.

“AND NOTT GOES THROU-”

Scroll.

A shaky fancam of Lilli in her typical airplane mode attire - beige trackpants, a lilac crop. Her hair tied into a loose bun. Her neck pinched between the fingers of a taller man. A Red Bull logo stamped on the back of his head.

Theo tapped on the caption.

“Will they - Won’t they?? #kurolock #kaili #formula1”

Click.

His screen went black.

He let out another heavy sigh.

His eyes wandered over the horizon. It was quiet here - tucked away from the post-qualifiers chaos. The hustle and bustle of a caffeinated crowd, the post-race arguments, the inevitable gossip - all reduced to a hazy white noise from this distance. Spa offered rare reprieve with its quiet, secluded pockets of green - hillsides and hidden clearings that provided a healthy serving of space and oxygen. A luxury in Formula One.

Theo always looked for a place to disappear to after a race, especially if he finished below P5. Sure, he loved the attention - crowd-pleasing was imprinted in his genes - but the pressure, the stress, the sheer volume of the voices in his head like a deafening hum of static echoing against his skull. It was overwhelming, and intense and he would never get used to it.

Rosier barking orders in his ear, most of which he didn’t agree with. His name buzzing through a swarm of paparazzi. The songs and chants of a bright red ocean of fans overpowering the roar of his engine. The screech of his tires biting into a bend. The shattering crunch of a collapsing chassis. The grating grind of a titanium halo scraping against tarmac.

“Ready to lose, Ted?”

“Damn frog…”

“See you on the podium, Froggy.”

“Teddy… Why did you do that…?”

“Teddy -“

“Ted -“

“’Sup, loser.”

Theo’s eyes snapped open, the voice in his head materialising in his ears. Sweet like blueberries, airy like an open-roofed drive at dusk.

Lillith ambled over, hair twisted in a braided ponytail, the high collar of her racing suit slightly undone, the small blue mole on her neck covered.

“Don’t rub it in.” He groaned, kneading his knuckle into the tender spot at his temple.

She chuckled shyly, “It’s not that bad…”

“God, you’re a terrible liar.” He watched her through his lashes, his gaze smoothly tracking the trajectory of her hips as she crouched down to sit across from him. He reached for her, tugging her towards his right. She stumbled forward, aforementioned hips plopping roughly on the tree roots beside him with a small “oof-”

He let go of her wrist, gesturing at the wet grass in front of them. “Wet.” He said flatly.

She adjusted, muscling her back into the tree bark they leaned on. “Ah - thanks, but my suits' already soaked. So is my underwear, so what’s another puddle of water.”

He nodded blankly - mind momentarily detouring. Just a moment. “Hm - Didn’t rain that much today, so - I’m guessing sweat or… Pissed your pants?”

She scoffed. “I’m not a heathen. Unlike you.”

“It was one time and entirely necessary.” He tilted his head in her direction. “I got P1 that race, didn’t I? Wouldn’t have if I was fighting my bladder the whole last lap, rather than fighting Kai.”

“Mmhmm. I’ll let Ben know to add that to the strategy list.”

His lip curled, flashing his favourite tooth at her. She smiled back - fair, ivory skin crinkling around soft periwinkle eyes - slightly pink and blood-shot today. Pretty. She was even prettier up close.

He couldn’t quite pin down exactly when she became this pretty. She had always been pretty, but when had it started to play on his mind? When did his gaze begin drifting a little too often towards the Mercedes garage? When did that easy, black and teal friendship she had with Russell start to itch under his skin? When did he start gnawing at his thumbnail every time Kurokawa slung his arm over her shoulder? When did his teeth start to ache watching Red Bull race behind Mercedes as if the bellend was chasing her like a pathetic, lost puppy?

Her blue lashes fluttered minutely. The corners of her mouth drifted downwards ever so slightly.

He had been staring. Again.

He cleared his throat, turning back to the patch of wet grass at his feet. “What position did you get?”

“P4. Right behind Kai.” She sighed. Theo blinked, his right eye felt oddly dry. “The road was wetter than it looked - struggled a bit too much with tire grip and understeer.”

“Yeah - tell me about it…” The jolt of a car spinning into a barrier wall shooting down his spine, a flash of loose debris shooting across his mind. An irritated itch creeping into his neck.

“You’re alright, right?” She asked, her fringe slipping into his field of view. A tickle of her fingernail on his knee. His pulse stuttered. “It was a pretty good going crash -”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He scratched at his neck; the collar of his polo was folded wrongly.

“I almost went to the medical centre to look for you.” The pad of her finger flat on his patella.

“Yeah - well...” He tugged at his collar. It pointed stubbornly back at the sky.

“You’re not hurt?” A few more fingertips crept on to his knee.

“No.” Why won’t his collar sit straight?

“What’s wrong?” She reached for his collar.

“Nothing.” He ignored her hand on his knuckle. Soft, warm fingertips.

“Let me-“ Her nail curved under his palm.

“I’m fine.” He pushed her hand away.

“Teddy-“

“Last position, Lil.” His head snapped towards her. She blinked, her jaw tensed reflexively. His pulse stuttered again. He turned back to the patch of grass, pressing his fingers to his eyes. Still dry. “Last fucking position - I was - Ugh… I was doing so fucking well, too.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, you said.” Itchy.

“You’ll catch up.”

“Okay.” Burning.

“Teddy, look at me.”

He looked. Her body was fully turned towards him, knees folded to her chest, head tilted. Soft. Composed. Neck still hidden from him behind her collar. The neck Kai pinched at the airport. Hidden from him.

His pulse was jittering, his leg shaking. He turned back to his comfort grass patch.

“I’m just pissed off at myself.” He exhaled sharply, his breath heated. Green eyes staring at him through blades of grass. “Another car wrecked courtesy of Theodore fucking Nott.”

Why the hell was he so bloody itchy?

“Teddy, I said look at me.”

He blinked hard and turned. Eyes locking with hers, softening as they touched. Her hand flat on his leg, warm through his trousers. He breathed in time with her.

His knee stilled.

His heartrate slowed.

“I can’t.” He whispered, but not looking away.

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because you’re distracting.”

She hesitated. “I- I am?”

His leg started to twitch again. “Am I not distracting to you?”

“I - I don’t-”

“Is he?”

“Is who?”

“Kai.”

“Wh- why-”

His leaned in, shoulders squaring towards her. “Do I distract you as much as he does?”

“He doesn’t distract me.”

“And me?”

“Why would-”

“I want to.”

“You want to -”

He inched forward, her head backing into the bark.

She swallowed - his eyes dropped. Her throat dipped below her collar. That goddamn collar.

His eyes dragged up to her lips, watched them part softly, mouth out a whisper. “Want to what?”

It snapped. Resistance bands strapped around his helmet released at full stretch. She hadn’t blinked yet. His mouth was on hers. His tongue on her teeth. Seeking that sense of relief. Her bite on his lip. Her nails on his scalp. Her breath in his lungs. Her taste in his throat. Whatever will stop that fucking itching. He searched deeper. Hungrier.

His hand reached for her collar. That stupid, fucking collar. Ripped the velcro, tugged hard at her zip. Suit still wet. Her nomex undershirt mouth-wateringly damp. Tight on her skin. Her fingers clutched at his polo, her breath cool on his cheek, little, delicious sounds escaping her mouth, licking at his tongue. The zip glided down her abdomen, halting over her pelvis. He reached in, hand slithering beneath the hem of her undershirt. His body rolling over her, his knee slipping over her legs, caging her in against the trunk. He pressed her head into the bark, pushing deep into her open mouth, his thumbs slipping under the strap of her bra, forearms flexing with restraint, pulling her body towards him. His hands grasped at her skin, the crevice of a faded scar running under her rib, the bump of a small mole on her back. He felt her arch into him, the damp seeping into his fresh polo, her hands snaking up his neck, into his hair. He wanted her to grip onto him, pull at his curls, rip his fucking hair out if she wanted -

His phone rang.

He paused. His mouth agape, panting over her, his breath fogging on her skin. His eyelids heavy, her eyelashes fluttering through his fringe.

He let the phone ring a few more beats. His fingers savouring the sweat on her spine.

He pulled his hand from her suit, memorising the feeling of her skin as he went, feeling her shiver at his touch.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped blindly on its’ screen, forehead still leaning against hers for support.

“Yeah.” He said, breathing poorly controlled.

“Where are you? We need to discuss strategy for tomorrow.” Reyes’ heavy accent cut through the line.

He sighed, hoping his team principal wouldn’t hear. “Yeah, sorry. I’m coming.”

“The press is waiting too - for the post-race interview.”

He rocked back, sitting on his haunches - her legs still nervously between his knees. His eyes rolled just enough for Lilli to catch. She did, of course. “Yeah,” he repeated. “I’m coming.”

The line went dead.

She was looking at him, fists curled in her lap, suit loose on her shoulders, sleeves slipping over her knuckles. Her lips slightly parted. Pink, puffy and wet. Inky blue hair dripping over her forehead, kinked from her braid. The mole he sought like gold still hidden behind the high neck of her undershirt.

He licked his lips, bowing his head coyly. “I- I have to go.”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said - though it came out more like a question.

Another nod.

He stood slowly, leaning close in the process. A silent gasp brushing against his ear. He cleared his throat and offered a hand.

“I’m alright -” She said, her voice quiet. Still out of breath.

He retracted his hand awkwardly. “Right. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Yep.”

He turned on his heel and walked back to the paddock, his gait stilted and stiff.

“You too!” He heard her call after him.

He reached for his collar - still standing annoyingly upright.

Race Day

“Radio check. Radio check.”

“Yeah, I can hear you.”

Annie’s voice crackled through the radio, the line slightly fuzzy on the ear today. Theo took a slow, deep breath, fingers flexing on the wheel, tires warming through a steady formation lap. The vibrations of the engine crawling up his legs, seeping into his chest - his body tuning in with his car - practically built new for today’s race, he reminded himself.

He took another breath. A long line of cars stood before him, their rear wheels taunting and reminding and quite frankly, irritating. There was a light drizzle this morning, a fine film of rain water spraying over his visor.

“-struggled with tire grip and understeer.”

His forearm twitched, testing his muscle memory for the first turn - his car gently weaving in a subtle zig-zag as it rolled forward, adjusting his senses for track feel. He tugged on his helmet, double-checked the fit, bit the nozzle of his drink straw, didn’t take a sip. He didn’t sleep well last night. His mind felt slightly foggy. He’d have to adjust to that too.

“It’s not that bad.”

He blinked, a sharp exhale of clouded carbon dioxide. She’s right. He nodded to himself. This is nothing. She’s right. I’ll catch up. She’s always right. Yes, she’s right. God, she’s right. She’s just right. She felt so right. Felt so bloody right.

“Theo? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah - sorry.” He took a sip of water. “I can.”

“Then answer me, you doughnut.”

“I maintain my desire to have you replaced as my race engineer, Annie.”

“Negative - no one else can deal with your whining.”

Theo rolled his eyes - just lightly. Lilli would have caught it.

His car rolled to a stop, tires sat obediently behind the white line. The last white line.

“You’ve got this, Theo. Keep it clean and we’ll be in a good place.”

He took one more breath. A warm hum, like lit petrol, boiled in his blood, radiating up his spine. A quick check of his wheel, a silent prayer to his mum, a flex of his ankle. The roar of the crowd dimmed under his helmet, white noise buzzing in his veins. His heart rate slowing a few beats, oxygen surging in his lungs.

Ignition.

[RACE MUSIC: Renegade - Raja Kumari, Stefflon Don, Jarina De Marco]

“Copy.”

He exhaled, long and slow. Forced all the air and noise and static out of his lungs.

He held it there - fully decompressed.

Five red lights.

Let it build. Full focus.

Four red lights.

He could feel it.

Three lights.

The burn.

Two lights.

The itch.

One light.

Adrenaline.

He gasped for breath.

Gas pedal.

LAP 1

His car lurched forward, steam curling from his tires as they sunk teeth into tarmac.

His vision tunnelled - a green Kick Sauber in easy reach.

He ducked down, tucking into the slip-stream. Latched onto the momentum.

Clutch release. Launch.

One. Two.

P18 to P16.

Cars clustered ahead - early chaos, elbows out.

His lip twitched. This was his playground.

He leapt forward.

A flat stone skipping over water.

His right tire kissing the track edge, slicing through run-off.

A spray of water fanned behind him - a fine mist lit on fire.

The engine snarled - caged, furious.

Three. Four. Five.

P13.

He zoned in on the first hairpin. A sharp right turn.

Tire still hugging the right.

He felt the water beneath his tires.

Felt the slick on his wheel.

Dug his grip into the wet.

Quick spin to the right.

Clean drift left.

Tight through the bend.

Tires carving a precise, surgical fissure down the track edge.

Six. Seven.

P11.

“CLEAN, Theo! Seven up already. Keep it steady - it’s still early, stay in mode 3.”

“I know.”

He had a goal.

And Gods just try and stop him when he had a goal.

LAP 3

Textbook drive-through on Diggory.

No DRS needed. No drama.

LAP 7

Slightly less textbook overtake on Alonso.

Bit of tire rub. No penalty.

LAP 9

Verstappen didn’t make it easy.

Theo went wide. Grit, not grace. Still got the move done.

LAP 15

Potter next. No Mercedes in sight yet. No second Red Bull. Not even another Ferrari.

Just fifty metres of track and a misted visor.

The forecast predicted heavy rain later, which could mean next lap, maybe lap thirty. Overtaking would just get harder - and riskier.

Not that risk was off the table.

“Teddy… Why did you do that?”

He exhaled sharply. Static expelled. Focus.

“Gap to Potter is 0.5. DRS is available.”

“Copy.”

He slid into position behind Potter, his car like a key clicking into a lock, swallowed by Potter’s slipstream. Theo felt the resistance drop, the spray of Potter’s rear wheels spitting up onto his helmet, his vision dropping dramatically. The rough shape of the Williams car filling the blur ahead.

His nerve-endings activated, ears twitched - tuning into the hum of his tires. His senses filling his blind spot.

“0.4, push now on the straight.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You can use DRS!”

“Shut up. Let me do my job.”

He zeroed in.

Pressure on the throttle - measured, precise. Closing in on Potter.

Kemmel Straight ending. Les Coumbes chicane approaching - a quick right-left-right.

He felt it before he saw it. Potter preparing to brake.

Theo pounced.

His nose dipped left -

Potter reacted, swerving to block -

Hard turn into the right.

DRS open.

His speed surged - head shoved back with a burst of g-force.

Accelerated around the inside of the turn.

Clean. Clinical.

He cut into the inner edge of the next left turn, speeding past a white Haas.

His tires skimmed over the curb.

He clenched his jaw. Brake. DRS de-activating.

Regain control.

He curled into the right turn, gaining distance on the down-hill.

P6.

Finally -

Mercedes in sight.

Not the Merc he was looking for though.

LAP 18

Let me in, for fucks sake.

It was getting harder. Rain was getting heavier.

Russell was on the defence. Walls and spears up. A guard to a Princess. Protecting her position - her crown.

Protecting her from him.

The monster clawing at the gate. The thunderstorm chasing her heels. Not the hero. Not this time.

But, she didn't need a hero. And he had a goal.

Get out of the fucking way.

“Box for wets, Theo.”

“Where’s Lilli?” He grinded out, swiping his glove over his visor, vision clearing for a short second.

“It’s Russel ahead. Come into the box.”

“I know it’s Russell - Where’s Lilli.”

“Further ahead.”

“Yeah - no shit.”

“Just focus on Russell, Nott.”

“I am - tell me.”

There was a slight pause.

“P3.”

“Gap?”

“Theo.”

He didn’t respond. Just waited.

“26.4.”

Senses adjusted. He slipped into the pit lane.

LAP 19

Russell’s tires slipped.

Opportunity.

“Opportunity for overtake.” Rosier crackled in his ear.

“I know.”

He accelerated, air resistance multiplying with the rain, his tires sliding more on the track. He could barely see.

Just a tiny window to slip through. A sliver of track widening before him.

He dove right, taking advantage of Russell’s loss of control, oversteering to counter the wet.

His tires hugged the curb, crushing it beneath, trying to find purchase.

The flow of air sweeping under his front wing.

Theo gripped down on his wheel, fighting the turbulence.

That familiar electric shock - his front wheel losing traction.

His heart beat skipping into erratic ectopics.

“You’re not hurt?”

He spun his wheel hard, reacting to the spin.

Rough gravel.

Grinding friction.

His back tires firing past his front.

Car spin.

FUCK.

He slammed the brakes, his car facing the track at an angle - the wrong direction.

A blue Williams closing in the distance.

“Reset, Theo. Reset!”

“Yeah - I fucking KNOW.”

LAP 26

Good recovery. He managed to slip back onto the track – maintaining his position in front of Potter.

But, stuck behind Russell. Once a-fucking-gain.

How many laps had it been?

Nine? Ten?

“Lilli?”

“P2. Gap is 31.” No hesitance this time.

The bugger was doing his job, alright. Letting her run away from him. Letting her tires ruin the track, eloping with a raging bull.

He wet his canine, bit down on his drink nozzle.

“You’ll catch up.”

Yes, I will.

I will catch up.

I will get to you.

So, stop hiding from me.

The rain fell thick, a curtain hanging over his visor - vision limited to his gloves and the buttons on his wheel.

The drivers would slow down with vision this dark - gaps would shrink, blind spots would grow.

He was coming up to Radillion - the tight chicane followed by a straight. A choke point designed to bleed speed, bunch up cars, before unleashing full velocity.

Rain slicked the asphalt, darkness thickened, pressure mounted - most would slow down.

He wouldn’t.

He never did.

It was his fucking favourite.

His eyes narrowed, funnelling every drop of focus into his fingers, his legs, his spine in his seat.

He could feel it.

Russell ahead. And whoever lurked in front of him, closing fast.

“Careful with this, Theo.”

He saw. Saw the opening.

His hind legs coiled, ready to leap. The lily pad across the expanse of blurry lake - ready to take his weight.

He heard it.

“Mode 7 - push.”

He twisted the dial on his wheel.

Gear engaged, a growl thundering through his body.

Swerve left.

Light touch.

Re-adjust.

Past Russell’s gates.

Straighten. Turn.

Slip through the gap.

Jump past the orange blur.

Norris - cleared.

“DRS available. Gap to Carlos 1.2.”

Hungry.

Impatient.

He was done waiting.

Carlos would have to give him way or so help him - he would take both of them out.

LAP 30

“Box, Theo. Box this lap.”

“What- I’m so close to-”

“Fresh tires will get you to her. Carlos will switch positions with you.”

Theo turned hard into the pit lane. A prickle began to twitch in his calf. He slid into the stop. Pit team armoured and ready.

One second. Two seconds.

Go.

Catch up, Froggy.

He burst out of the pit lane. His tires feeling strong and steady.

“Carlos 1.5, switch positions on next turn.”

He grinned beneath his helmet.

LAP 35

“9 laps to go. Gap to Kai is 1.2.”

He was suppressing it - the restlessness in his leg. It was oozing into his tailbone, up his spinal cord, bleeding into his neck.

“And Lilli?”

“2.5.”

So close.

So fucking close.

The ground beneath his tires shivered. The shriek of rubber more aggressive in the last few laps. He could feel it. Lilli’s V6 hybrid engine devouring every inch of the track that stood before her. He knew the feeling boiling in her veins. He knew she was hungry. As hungry as he was.

And he was starving.

He could taste her.

He had tasted her.

He wanted to taste her again.

And again. And again.

Sugar and white tea and pears and caffeine.

His heart pumping a dusky lavender oil through his brain, his lungs, down to his legs - through his groin.

She was on his mind. Haunting. Relentless.

Her voice. Her stare. That braid. That neck.

And then - him. Neon blue hoodie. Backward cap. Taunting and perfect and pristine - an untouched glacier.

He was going to split it wide open. Shave through the ice and destroy.

He didn’t want to chase her anymore.

He was going for the head.

He wanted her to see him.

To notice him.

To lose focus.

“Yeah - he was distracting.”

“He doesn’t distract me.”

“Want to what?”

“THEO. DON’T-”

He lunged before he before he even realised. Running his car straight into Kai’s path. Turning loosely, full intent on shouldering him out of the way.

Kai swerved onto the curb, Theo’s tires bumping hard into the indigo chassis, both cars recoiling, Kai sent off-track.

Theo shot forward.

P2.

He thought he could hear Kai swear through the gravel. He grinned at the thought.

The crowd drowned him out. Furious. Excited.

“NOTT. Give Kai the position back.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’ll get a penalty for that move.”

“Then I best gain some time on him.”

“Theo - we advise giving the position back.”

“Leave me alone.”

LAP 44

She was fast.

A master on the wet.

She didn’t fight the rain - she danced with it. Rode the wind on instinct, drifted over water like breath on glass. Dirty air spiralled behind her, each droplet bending to her will.

She didn’t just race in the storm - she belonged to it.

A water lily. Graceful. Deadly. Born from rain, blooming in chaos. The paddock her canvas. The water beneath her wheels, her paint.

Delicate and disciplined. She took no risks - she didn’t need to.

But Theo did.

A wave in her rear-view mirror wasn’t enough for him. A looming presence wouldn’t quench his thirst.

He was nearing the end of the final lap. His final chance. His tires were fresher. His fangs, sharper. His claws, unsheathed.

Look at me.

They entered the last chicane, his trajectory turbulent, rippling over the waves carved in her wake.

His drift bumpy, his methods scrappy.

Her black and teal chassis swung into view, her back left wheel aggressive on the right turn.

He grinned, bit his lip and pushed deeper.

He wasn’t afraid.

She was.

They curled round the sharp right, swiftly zig-zagging into the left. His tires hunkered down, catching grip on the inner line.

Tire to tire. Nose to nose.

He saw her helmet turn towards him.

Saw her gloves tighten on the wheel.

And then she was accelerating.

Her engine rasping through a final burst of throttle.

Her visor snapped forward.

The Mercedes splitting the river ahead, a plume of water arcing from her tires; washing directly into his cockpit.

Precise. Deliberate. Merciless.

A chequered flag.

His front tires behind her rear.

She looked at him, though.

He licked his canine.

Chapter Text

Practice Day 3

Lillith leaned forward, head between her knees, ponytail flipped over her head, the ends dancing on freshly cleaned cement. She stared at the upside-down Pirelli logo inscribed on the tire she perched on, feeling the blood rush to her head.

She sighed.

“Lil - that’s the third sigh in the last five minutes.” Achilles’ voice echoed from under the chassis of a tangerine-glossed Lamborghini Revuelto. She peeked up through her fringe, his legs poking haphazardly out from beneath the sleek undercarriage. One foot tapped absently to a rhythm only he could hear - always the most at peace when tinkering on cars, even if it was voluntary work in his down time. “Have you talked to him since?”

“Obviously not.” She muttered. Not a word. Not even a text. Not that she’d made any effort, either.

Almost a week had passed since Belgium. Since she had butterfly-kicked her way through the torrential rain into P1. Since she had tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze as she walked off the podium - even if it had been directed at a champagne-flavoured Kai, who trailed territorially close behind her.

She had tried to feign ignorance and just enjoy the spray of champagne, the weight of the trophy. Tried not to stare at him after. Tried not to think about him during her practice laps in Monaco. Tried not to think about that kiss. Or his hand up her shirt. His fingers tracing her spine. The taste of salt on his tongue.

She groaned. Loudly.

It echoed through the Red Bull garage. Though technically branded a traitor, the garage still felt like home to Lillith - as long as strategy wasn’t being discussed. It had been five years since she left Red Bull for Mercedes and left Achilles as her race engineer to Kai. They’d worked together during her time in Red Bull - he saw her through her rookie seasons and she watched him climb from mechanic to performance engineer to race engineer.

So when it came to life stressors unrelated to racing, Achilles was her man.

Though, one would argue that this was very much related to racing.

“Mon dieu, Lil. I’ve never heard a sound like that come out of you. Does Ben know about this?” Achilles asked, the metallic clink of a socket wrench against metal echoing beneath his voice.

“No… Ben’s too… Politically involved.”

Ben also had his own views on her relationship with Theo - or perhaps more aptly put - her subtle, not-so-subtle obsession with him. With beating him, that is. He was oddly supportive - mostly because he used Theo as fuel to stoke her competitive fire.

“So you guys kissed - so what?” Achilles slid out from under the Lambo, forearms pumped and slick with grease, waves of golden hair loose on the floor. He swiped at a bead of sweat on his cheek, leaving a streak of black in its stead. “About time, I’d say.”

“About time?” Her head snapped up, ponytail whipping dramatically across her face. “The hell do you mean about time??”

“You two have been eyeing each other up ever since you started winning championships.” He shrugged, turning his palm over and frowning at the smear of oil now dragged across his face.

“Yeah - as competitors, Fontan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I - for one - have not been thinking about kissing him.”

“Yeah?”

“Smacking him, maybe. Sometimes.”

“Of course.”

“But kissing him?? I haven’t been thinking about that at all.”

“Why would you.”

“What is he trying to do to me? Huh?” Lilli was on her feet now. Pacing. The speed of her pacing a sensitive indicator for which gear her mind had shifted into. “Kiss me, take some mystery phone call, then ditch me in the grass?? A day before race day? Where the hell did that even come from? What’s his play -“

She gasped. Lightbulb. “He’s playing with me. Oh Gods - he’s playing with me, isn’t he? Am I a distraction? He wants to distract me.” She laughed - slightly maniacal. “Oh my God, Achilles - you are so right. That makes so much sense. All his inappropriate comments throughout the season, the flirting, the staring, the escalating.”

She began nodding to herself, muttering, finger twirling subconsciously in her hair. “Thinks he has me all figured out... Thinks I'll just buckle under his weight. Oookay - this has gone too far - Two can play at this game. You just wait. I can play dirty. Drag you through the dirt. Show you how it feels. I’m sure you’d love to know how it feels.”

“Who are you talking to?” Achilles sat cross-legged on his creeper board, his chin on a greasy palm, his heels gently rolling himself back and forth.

“You!” Her head snapped towards him, her eyes a frenzied fuschia, fringe flicking upwards at a perfect right angle.

“Ah - In that case - I don’t want to know how it feels…”

Her phone pinged.

Lillith’s steps halted. Mind blank for a split second. She flipped her screen towards Achilles - who was too far away and far too non-chalant about the whole situation for her liking. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Nice.” He replied.

“He’s asked me to dinner.” She stated, her emphasis laced with suspicion.

“Nice.” He repeated.

“Not a single word since Belgium and now DINNER.”

“I think you’re losing the plot, Lil.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re useless. I should’ve looked for Annie.”

“Theo’s race engineer?” Achilles sat up a little straighter.

“Yeah, but I thought a third party would be the safer option -” Lillith’s voice trailed off as she focused on her screen - typing, erasing, re-typing.

“I heard she just got promoted from performance engineer after only one year.”

“She did.” Her mind elsewhere. Plotting.

“She’s sharp. Great with data models.”

“Needs to work on her radio comms.” Lillith replied absently, now hunched over the phone in her hands. Achilles’ voice now a distant breeze beneath the heavy dusk that was her new hyper-fixation.

[Music: Jammin - RUBII]

The Lamborghini showroom wasn’t just a showroom. Not in Monaco.

It was theatre.

An open-air stage of marble and terracotta perched on a cliffside overlooking Port Hercule. The sea glittered beyond the polished tarmac test road, cordoned off by a glass balustrade. Lamborghinis lined up, bathed in warm haloed spotlights, kissed golden by a setting sun. Red Bull and Lamborghini logos glowed in crystal and neon above the heads of VIPs, VVIPs and the terminally wealthy hopefuls.

Lillith tugged at her earring - a Chrome Hearts dagger with an inlaid red gem stone, a diamond stud on her other ear. Its’ sterling blade cool against her thumb; her nail dipped into the groove on the small cuff looped through her lobe - unclipping, re-securing, again and again.

Nervous.

She played with her earring when she was nervous. She knew this. She didn’t know why she was nervous, though. It was just dinner. They’d gone to dinner all the time. A promise made between them whenever they both took positions one and two - which was often. It kept the friendship strong. Kept the rivalry burning. Kept them competitive. Successful.

It was normal. Casual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet - there was nothing casual about how she looked.

A black leather jacket thrown over a frilled white dress - a little too short for the weather, a little too tight for a friendly dinner. A few meticulously placed pearl pins tucked into a high ponytail. Winged eye liner, sharp enough to draw blood. A tinted gloss like armour on her lip. White strappy heels - stiletto blades staked into polished concrete. Dressed for an off-road war she fully intended to win - just as easily as she dominated on the track.

She shifted her weight, stretching the arch of her foot, blood blooming back into her toes.

She glanced down, the sting of an early blister burning beneath her toe. Were heels a step too far?

Her nails tapped idly on the metal barrier pressed beneath her ribs, white nail polish now beginning to chip where her teeth would scrape at its’ ends. A little too long for her liking. A touch too imperfect. A thick silver ring engraved with thorns and roses looped loosely around her first finger.

Her fidgeting drifted downwards from her ear to the ring. The restlessness rerouted into the slow, mindless motion of turning metal. Her internal debate channelled into the sensation of cold silver swivelling over her skin.

Then - the growl of an engine.

A bright yellow Huracán lazily strolling across her vision, pulling Lillith’s attention along with it. Her gaze caught on the blur of a well-dressed couple easing its’ V10 engine into motion, test-driving with the kind of smug inexperience only money could buy.

She dragged her eyes across the terrace. Ambient jazz floated through the salted air, quiet conversations in clipped French and Italian, posh laughter and delicate clinks of champagne flutes - all elegance and illusion.

An illusion she would take advantage of.

The gold-dusted glamour of Monte Carlo was the perfect camouflage for the sleight of hand she was about to attempt - a master plan to wrench back control of something she’d never really held to begin with.

Lillith hated not having control. And if there was anyone that would challenge her for the reins - it was Theo. She looked down at the ring on her finger. Thought about her pearl ring on his. She bit down on her lip.

She did love a challenge, though.

She pressed her lips together, smacking them with a satisfying pop - gloss intact, armour still secure. Then she found her chipped nail between her teeth - self-soothing; a small comfort before the trick.

Her thoughts swirled like smoke in a wind tunnel. An unorganised back-and-forth of confusing plans of attack, rapidly shifting into panicked defence. Illusions rehearsed, re-written, second-guessed. Would he see through it? Was he already expecting it? Was this even necessary?

Blood rushed in her ears, pulsing in the back of her head. She took a steadying breath, trying to clear the board.

Her mind stalled, hovering at the edge of the curtain, waiting on her cue. Anticipating the entrance of her charming assistant - stormy-eyed and sharp-tongued. A thorn in her side who didn’t know he was part of the act… and yet would still act like he’d written the bloody script.

“You look nice.” Her ear perked to the voice - not a gravelly storm, but a familiar black ice instead. “As much as I’d like to think you’re dressed up for me… Who’s standing you up?”

Kai approached from across the metal barrier. Smart leather shoes on clean tarmac. A fitted racer suit in copper and burnt charcoal. Red Bull and Lamborghini logos embroidered on his chest amongst a patchwork of sponsoring brands. A show suit - tighter and less practical than his usual racing attire.

“No one. I came to support your little car show.” She tilted her head at his raised brow, still not buying that she was here alone. “I’m also a little early. So, not stood up just yet.”

He tugged at the cuff of his suit, the way he would tug on the sleeve of a tux. “Well, that’s your dates’ first mistake, then. Didn’t tell them Hemlock Standard Time runs an hour ahead?”

Lillith smirked, her eyes sly. “Nah, I wanted the preparation time.”

“Preparation time?” His eyebrows raised, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the bannister, shoulder pushing into her pocket of air. “やべぇ… (Yabe: oh shit) What’s the bloke done to deserve what’s coming?”

“Tried to kiss me before dinner.”

Kai chuckled, his head bowing forward, silk black hair falling over his eyes. “Second mistake, then.”

She caught his eyes flick through his fringe - not quite at her, but just beyond. Her eyes followed the path of his gaze, following just far enough to glimpse a group of satin-wrapped girls in her periphery - phones and cameras shamelessly aimed in their direction. She turned her back towards them.

“And what mistake is that? You used to do that all the time.” Her ponytail swung over her shoulder, adding to the curtain blocking them from view.

His eyes softened over her, one a light pistachio in the dying golden light, the other a heavy moss in her shadow. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Hm... True… I must be out of practice.”

Lillith looked at him, all plans of illusion and deceit temporarily dissolved under the low growl of nearby engines. Her smile faded at the flicker of a lost relationship etched into his irises, printed in the scar carved on his lip. The taste of icy calm returned to her - a soothing poison on the tip of her tongue. Its’ sting a distant memory that they frequently revisited, sometimes re-lived for one hazy night, then swore not to anymore.

“Kai.” She warned, her whisper quiet. He didn’t respond, just looked back. “Don’t.”

“I’m not.”

He just looked and looked. The way he did when he was missing her, remembering her, wanting to remind her.

Her shadow crept over his face - dusk and midnight in his gaze, a familiar swirl of lavender and indigo painted soft across his features. She saw his eyes dart minutely past her again. The phones. The cameras. The irritating giggles of satin girls.

She felt herself suck the inside of her lip between her teeth in response. A reminder that she was always second. Second to the glory of the podium. Second to the rush of fame. To the high of clawing your way up through the ranks.

She knew it well - the thrill of rising. The way the sky shifted from hazy grey to searing orange as you flew closer to the sun. And Kai flew fast. Chasing a win. Chasing her. Chasing a dream.

She was part of it. And once, she loved being part of it. But she learned soon enough that she wasn’t the star shooting across his eyes - she was the blaze in its’ wake. The bright, beautiful afterthought. He would never say it, never think it. But she knew, deep down, she would always come second.

And Lillith didn’t settle for P2.

His gaze flicked forward, as if sensing something acidic in the air. His jaw tensed. He let out a low hiss.

“ふざけんな… (Fuzaken na…: You’ve got to be kidding me) ” Kai’s eyelids dropped over his pupils, a lazy roll as he looked past her shoulder.

She smelled his cologne first - smoked oak, patchouli. Slightly sweet. Smooth like butter.

She gritted her teeth.

“Mr Rising Bull - nice suit.” Flint. Gravel. Morning thunder.

“Fuck off.” Kai met Lillith’s gaze before rolling his eyes harder. Slower.

She felt Theo’s fingers touch her waist lightly, just under the cropped hem of her leather jacket. Her nerves sparked.

“Was a genuine compliment, mate. You look good.” His voice brushed over her head, just above her ear. Calm as a backstretch.

“I dropped to P3 because of that move you pulled in Spa.” Kai didn’t look at Theo. He looked at her when he said it.

“And I got P4 because of the move I pulled.” He shrugged, unbothered. “I’ve forgiven myself.”

Kai stood straight, his shoulders squaring. Not as broad as Theo. Slightly taller. Lean and lithe like a panther. He glared at him through disinterested eyelids. “Guess you’re a better man than me.”

“Guess so.” She heard the grin in his voice. Saw it reflected in Kai’s eye contact with her.

Lillith sighed, loud enough to blow away the smoke from the kindling fire. “Alright, children. Enough.”

She stepped between them, still refusing to grace Theo with the dignity of a glance. Her chin lifted slightly over Kai’s shoulder. “I think they’re ready for you, Kai.”

He turned - Verstappen, Fontan and Lambiase (Max’s race engineer) in quiet discussion between a familiar tangerine Revuelto and a white Countach LPI. Max dressed in a similar show suit to Kai’s - all branding and no breathability. He tugged at his collar impatiently.

Kai turned back to Lillith, his eyes momentarily acknowledging the cluster of phones and cameras lingering on the edge of intrusion. He reached across the barrier, long fingers gently grazing the leather over her shoulder, and leaned over to plant a brief kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll be in the orange car.” He said.

A statement meant for Theo. A gesture meant for the media.

He gave her a wink as he turned, strolling towards his team.

“Wanker.” Theo’s whisper brushed through her hair.

She spun on her heel, looking at him for the first time since Belgium, placing a finger on his chest. Black silk on her finger tip. She faltered backwards slightly, her back pressing against the barrier, realising now how close he was stood behind her.

“You.”

He leaned into her finger, his head tipping forward, sunglasses dipping just below his eyes. Graphite and ash. “Bonsoir.” He said innocently.

She exhaled, all her mental preparation lost to the fading sunlight. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His head hung loosely to the side, his eyes dragging upwards in exaggerated thought. “I think… I’m picking you up for dinner.”

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble with all this nonsense with Kai.”

“I thought I was quite well-behaved there, actually.” He leaned forward, his arm bracing himself against the barrier behind her, his shoulder blocking out the ever-present cluster of phones to her left. “Not a single foul word. Pretty good for me.” He shrugged. “Except at the end, but that was just for you.”

Lillith felt herself back into the barrier, the cold of the metal oozing through her dress onto her skin. His hand flexing on the banister to her left.

His casual grip on the wheel.

She swallowed.

Understeer.

She adjusted her position, her legs stretching forward between his feet, her shoulders melting back into her spine.

Hands back on the wheel. Regain control.

“Is there more where that came from?” She asked. His brow raised over the frame of his sunglasses. Grey eyes barely visible through tinted glass. “Words - just for me.”

His dimple dipped. “Plenty.”

“Go on then.”

“What would you like me to say, ma jolie?” His voice dark like velvet in her ear. Slippery. Wet tarmac.

“What happened in Belgium?”

He hummed, a deep breath. She felt the air sucked out from under her nose. “I turned a bit wide… Slipped on the track, bit of understeer… You know how it is. Accidentally bumped into a Red Bull - I think it was Kai - Got a ten second penalty and lost my P2 position.” He shrugged, “Unfortunate, really.”

Lillith rolled her eyes. It was such a stark contrast from Belgium— this non-chalance. The way Theo fidgeted with his collar, replaying his car flip in his mind, scratching at his wound out of frustration over losing his position, rather than any real fear of nearly losing his life. Theo made mistakes - lots of them. But, most of them, he did on purpose. Unapologetically. And he accepted the consequences when they were intentional. P4 was certainly not his intention.

What was?

“Common knowledge.” She said. “I said words just for me.”

His smirk widened. “Such as?”

She waited for him to continue. She knew she didn’t have to say it. He wanted her to.

She reached for his sunglasses, pulling them off his face. “Take those ridiculous things off and look at me straight.”

The corners of his eyes were crinkled, irises shaded pink with amusement. His bottom lip clipped beneath an incisor. She slipped his sunnies into her hair, resting them on her head.

“The kiss.” She said blankly.

His grin was devillish. More of his lower lip curling beneath his teeth. “Still thinking about that, are you?”

Distraction.

Trying to get under her skin, keep her mind off the track, off the win.

Unapologetically intentional.

Her teeth clicked together, grinding into each other, fangs emerging from swollen gums. She knew how to play this game - had good game sense, decent aim, fast reactions. It wasn’t new to her. She knew how to min-max her armour, build into the right stats, buy the right items. The right weapons.

But this felt new. With him, it was all new.

She thought she had seen it all. Thought she knew how to read him. Navigate the storm. But the storm was shifting and so was she - altering her course within it.

New didn’t mean inexperienced, though. Her skills were transferable.

She took a breath.

“Yes.” Air whistling through her teeth.

She watched his eyes drop to her tongue flicking over her lip, round to the dagger she tugged on her ear, then her throat dipping over her bare neck. Leading his gaze where she wanted.

Distraction. A crucial element for the perfect sleight of hand.

She slid her hand up the collar of his shirt, tracing over the pulse in his neck - still a little too slow for her taste. Dug her nail beneath his jaw, felt him tense. Pressed her thumb under his chin, watched his head tip upwards.

Beep - beep -

Lillith turned over her shoulder. A revuelto in burnt ochre swerved past. Kai eyeing them up through a tinted window on a drive-by, then looping out towards the edge of the cliff. The cameras past Theo’s shoulder now obediently trailing after the Red Bull drivers as they revved their engines against the Monte Carlo skyline.

When she turned back, Theo was still watching her. She knew he hadn’t looked away. He was transfixed. Caught in the illusion. Control successfully swiped from his pocket.

She would have felt sorry for him. Felt a sense of pride with her minor win.

Instead, she felt scared.

His eyes bore into her - fresh charcoal burning with something she had only glimpsed before, but he was no longer hiding. He didn’t say anything, but she could almost hear the crackle of his thoughts in his breathing. Something warring within his mind, in the nerves behind his eyes, swirling in his head.

She thought he might kiss her again.

It scared her.

She wanted it.

That scared her more.

His hand wrapped around her finger now resting mindlessly on his chin.

“Seen enough?” He asked her, his head pointing minutely to the car show behind her, his eyes unmoving from hers. He had been waiting. Letting her show her support for her friend, letting her take what control she wanted, letting her realise that the only one that could hold her attention - was him.

She nodded.

He smiled.

He held on to her hand and turned to the exit, not a single glance in any other direction or towards anyone else.

All of it - completely intentional.

He was good.

She followed behind him, let him lead.

She entwined her fingers with his. Felt his hand tense and then relax. She skipped into step beside him.

She was better.

Chapter Text

His eyes roamed over her — smooth, porcelain skin marked by the occasional old nick, a faint bruise or two dotted across her legs. A frilled skirt rode high on her thigh. Her leather jacket hung loosely over the back of her chair, delicate lace straps now exposed on her shoulders.

Her hair had begun to slip from her ponytail, strands dripping over her neck - fair and speckled with moles like an inverted night sky. One blue mole sparkling like the brightest star in a constellation just above her clavicle.

He ground his teeth together.

She perused the menu, his signet ring on her finger. His own menu remained closed on the table.

“You’re buying, right?” She asked, not looking at him, her thumbnail between her teeth.

“Ah - Was that what I said?” Theo feigned a reach for his phone.

She turned to the waiter before he could touch his pocket, a disarming smile sweetening her voice. “The lobster pasta, please.”

“Of course, madame. And for you, monsieur?” The waiter replied, his french accent thick and curled.

“The same.” He handed over his menu, his eyes fixed on Lillith’s thumb between her lips.

“Parfait. And wine?” The waiter gestured with a gloved hand towards the untouched drinks list between them.

Lillith raised a hand, poised and feather-light. “None for me, thank you.”

Theo followed with a polite shake of his head - Reyes would not be pleased if he turned up hungover to qualifiers - again. The waiter bowed and slipped away.

She watched him leave and then painted her attention over the interior of the restaurant - large glass windows overlooking the port, a night sky and twinkling lights expanding beneath them, high ceilings arching overhead. Her thumb drifted instinctively towards a familiar dagger on her ear. Tugging on her lobe, fiddling with the blade. Clipping and un-clipping.

She was nervous.

His palm rested on his knee, steadying the habitual bounce - she didn't need to know he was nervous too.

Something had changed between them in Belgium. Yes, he was the one that pulled the trigger, possibly even the one who aimed the gun. But this wasn’t the outcome he was expecting. He didn’t really know what he expected. He didn’t even fully understand why he did it at the time. It just felt right in the moment. Necessary. Inevitable.

Sure, he’d noticed it before - this craving for contact, the saliva pooling on his tongue. But he’d kept his distance, admired through the bars of his cage, kept his quiet crush exactly that - quiet. Drowned it beneath the rumble of his engine, chalked it up to the side effects of an unintentional three-year vow of celibacy.

But then he tasted it, felt the key click into the lock. Felt her fingers on his neck and her tongue in his mouth. The unholy weight of her full attention pressed against his chest, trapped in the heat between his legs.

It felt so right, so maddeningly perfect. As if she was designed for him - every breath, every curve, every sharp edge meticulously engineered to fill his fractures, to slip into every splinter crack and fuse him shut.

And what followed was a spiralling hunger. A blazing inferno ripping through dry fields of wheat, leaving behind a haze of ash and smoke that scorched the lungs and melted bitter-sweet on the tongue. He tried to smother it - let the embers cool, let the smoke dissipate. But it just continued to catch, the edges of his mind continuing to curl into blackened charcoal. It was something too hot, too tender to touch.

But Gods, did he want to touch it again.

Her eyes strolled across the ceiling, then down over her napkin, then to the plate on her table and then finally towards him. She seemed to take a second to adjust herself, glanced down at her hands folded on her lap, then back at him again. The colour in her eye shifting - powdered lavender to a frosted dusk. Her exterior visibly hardening as she appraised his attire - charcoal grey chinos, cut above the ankle, gunmetal silk shirt. A pearl ring locked tight on his pinky.

Not a spot of red.

He could see the internal battle flickering behind her eyes - the way her irises quivered, rapidly scanning over his features. Her toe tapped restlessly on the table leg, strapped in white leather heels he was certain were meant to make him stare - which he did. Both of their minds tangled in a silent miscommunication through charged eye contact, telegraphing thoughts that neither understood.

“Tell me.” She said finally. He cocked his head to the side. “Those pretty words you saved for me. Tell me.”

His lip curled. “I believe I described those words as foul, rather than pretty.”

“I’ll take them dirty too. I just want to hear them.” She sipped at her sparkling water, her lips mauve and wet. Her tone soft, low. Her cadence lilting, slow - dusk waiting for night fall. “Well? Why did you kiss me, Theodore?”

The skin over his forearms tingled at his name on her tongue, the hairs beginning to stand to attention. He had seen her flirt before - casual, playful, sometimes with other men, with Kai, sometimes with him. But this wasn’t the same.

This was careful. Deliberate. Darker. A devil slipping into silk - temptation incarnate. She was Lillith in every sense of the name.

She was trying to gain control.

And try she would.

“I wanted to.” He said simply.

“Why?”

“Is that really a question, my love?” He leaned forward on the table, his loose shirt falling forward. Her gaze dipped - chest, collarbone, before quickly re-locking with his eyes.

She exhaled softly, not quite a sigh. “Were those words you promised me all a lie, or are you going to finally give me an actual answer?”

“Tell me you haven’t thought about fucking me before Belgium.”

She stalled.

He grinned, “Told you they were foul.”

She blinked once. Calm. Her hand steady on the wheel. “I may have.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, tasting the admission. Delicious.

“Once or twice.”

“What do you think about?”

“How inappropriate it would be. How messy. How…” Her nail carved along the crystal grooves of her glass, condensation pooling on her fingertip. “… Distracting.”

“And?” He was coaxing now. If she wanted words, he would get them first.

“And then I stop thinking about it.”

“And there’s the difference between us.” He rested his cheek in his palm. “I don’t stop.”

She shifted her gaze towards her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Early buds of pink peony beginning to bloom behind her ears.

“I let it fester. Let the smoke fill my skull.” He continued. “Let it spark the adrenaline in my blood. Let it fuel my engine on the track. Let it feed the high after a race… Let it -” He took a quiet breath, eyelids fluttering with memory. “Settle me at the end of the day…”

Her eyes snapped up. “You what?”

No turning back now.

“I’m just trying to be fully transparent. I don’t think there’s a point in me hiding it now, is there?”

Her fingers pressed into her glass. Her eyes searching his face for any sign of a bluff. “You - think of me?”

“It’s hard not to, Lillipad.” He leaned back in his chair, his knee starting to bounce, his words beginning to tumble out uncontrollably. “You know how it is - on the track, before a race, after. The rush is intense; the adrenaline burns your skin. The emotions are high, the voices loud. I see you on the podium, dripping in champagne. I get competitive. Thirsty. Impatient. Desperate. And sometimes… Sometimes the wires get crossed.”

She scoffed, disbelief in the colour blushing over her cheeks - her adorable flush tugging something reckless out of him, drawing out this confession he never knew existed, unravelling it like a string.

“What the fuck…” She muttered to herself.

He almost laughed.

“How long?” She asked, her eyes sharpened. “How long have you been doing that? Thinking of me?”

He held her stare, jaw ticking once. “Recently.”

“This season?”

“Maybe slightly before.” He glanced down at the table, now vibrating in time with his heel against the floor. “I’ll be honest, this revelation is relatively new to me as well. I… Thought it was just -”

“Crossed wires.” She offered.

He nodded.

“But it isn’t.” She stated.

He shook his head.

“Then what is it?”

He paused, searching for the words, actively trying to make sense of a feeling that had slipped out before he even knew it was there. His thoughts of her. Her with him.

It made perfect sense and yet none at all. Their relationship had always danced on the edge - friendly, teasing, daring, but never quite crossing. Competition was a difficult dynamic to balance - it intensified everything. Minor irritations cut deeper, small victories were more euphoric, insignificant mistakes spiralled into self-doubt. Friendships were stronger. Rivalries, deadlier.

Interest would bloom into lust. Lust curdled into ruin. Reckless, inconvenient and utterly inescapable.

Inevitable chaos.

Theo thrived in chaos.

His voice dropped, the word catching in his throat.

“A need.”

There was a long pause. Unusually long - even for people whose lives didn’t run at 300 km/hr. The air static and crackling between them. Her breathing was slow, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the amplitude of her breaths giving away how much oxygen her muscles were demanding.

She dropped his gaze, her brow furrowing, lashes fluttering. Thinking. Re-calculating.

Theo swallowed. For once, he doubted himself - wondering if the move he’d just pulled was too risky. It felt like car spin - tires skidding over a curb, skimming the barrier, clipping his front wing. The razor-thin moment of uncertainty - contemplating whether to wrestle back control or let the momentum carry him. He had wrecked a fair amount of cars in his time. But this - her - this wasn’t something he could afford to crash. It was too expensive, too precious, too beautiful, too meaningful. One dent and it might never drive the same again.

And he may have just scratched the paint.

She tapped the silver ring on the rim of her glass, then flicked her eyes back at him. Her stare narrow and searching.

“Don’t fuck with me, Theo.”

He actually laughed this time. The paint coat was still intact. “I’m not, Lillipad.”

“How long has it been for you? That you’re now having to resort to thinking about me?” Her thumb absent-mindedly slipping the ring off her finger and back on again.

He scoffed, “Just under three years, but that’s irrelevant. My first thoughts of you were long before that.”

“You said you started -” She cleared her throat, “Thinking about me only recently.”

“I only started thinking about you when I’m wanking one off in bed, recently.”

“Fucking hell, Ted.” She was well and fully flustered now.

Laughter fell out of him. Their conversation strangely veering back into "friendly" territory - their stupid, infuriating, familiar chaos they called friendship.

“Tell me, Lil - I’m just curious - and be honest - have you ever thought about me?” His fingers tapped the table between them - casual and not at all casual, “Used me?”

“Teddy-” Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for peering ears, microphones, her older brother Lucifer watching from the corner.

“I was honest with you - we run this friendship on full transparency.”

“I don’t - That isn’t necessary information -”

“All information is important when deciding on strategy.”

“And what strategy are you planning exactly?” The ring slipping and spinning on her finger more vigorously.

“I don't know yet - I need the data first.”

“I already told you.” Her ears were a bright rose.

He quirked his brow. She took a breath, licked her lips.

“Once or twice…”

He could feel the muscles in his eyes contract around his lens. His vision blurring with pupil dilation. The tip of his tongue caught between his molars. A flash of her in bed, her hand below the sheets, his name in her mouth.

A plate of pasta slid between them. Topped with a red lobster shell. Another plate. The waiter murmuring something in french, he couldn’t hear. A small bow which he couldn’t see. He was far too distracted.

She shifted under the weight of his gaze, her legs rubbing together under the table. She bit down on her lip, closed her eyes. Exhaled.

She was losing control of the situation - and he was getting so close. So, so close. Crawling under her skin, buzzing in her bloodstream, making her itch like he did.

“Alright, enough.” She said on a heated exhale, reaching for her fork. She took a bite of lobster, her teeth clinking against metal, spaghetti sucked through her lips. He suppressed a smile, mirrored her - couldn’t taste the food.

Her eyes fluttered as she chewed, a pause to reset. Change her tires, replace her wing, increase her grip. She was buying herself time, forming her own strategy.

He let her.

“You realise there are consequences to this behaviour.” She said between her bites.

“When have you known me to fear consequences?”

“So we fuck and then what?” His lip twitched, she was thinking about it. “You get me out of your system, then leave me on the road to dry?”

Theo cocked his brow. “There’s no exhaust pipe here, Lil. No exit for the smoke.” He watched her take another bite. “Once the engine starts, I don’t intend for it to stop.”

“You think you can take that pressure? The extra heat?”

“I do.”

“If you push an engine too far, it’ll explode.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

Lillith’s mouth paused on her fork. The corner of her mouth twitching.

“You really don’t think it’ll get to you on the track? That I’ll get to you? I’m sure Reyes has enough on her hands managing you without you being distracted by me.”

Theo offered a thin, ironic smile. “Lil, you don’t seem to realise that I’ve already been distracted by you. In fact, I find it adds fuel to my fire, makes the car drive faster.” His head slanted, gaze probing. “You should try it some time.”

She twirled the pasta on her fork. Watching it spin and collect neatly, obediently - unlike the washing machine of thoughts in her head.

“This will get messy.” She murmured.

“It will, will it?”

“It’ll bleed onto the track, affect our results.” She was looking back at him now. Her eyes seething with a blue flame.

“It already has.” He wanted to touch it.

“Yeah?” Her voice dripped like oil over fire. “Do you hear me in your engine? Feel me in the vibrations through your seat? Think of me when you grip hard onto your wheel? Taste me in your drink straw? See me in the sweat on your visor?”

He swallowed. He would now.

“You don’t know what thinking about me feels like - until I want you to.” Her toe lifted the hem of his trousers. “And you have made me want.”

“Good thing I have impeccable control over a car when I drive.” Theo inched his leg forward, touching his shin to the sole of her heel.

“Teddy.” She purred, dragging her shoe up his leg. “When you’re in my car, you won’t be driving.”

He felt a shiver run up his leg, pulse along the inner seam of his thigh. His brain shooting signals into his foot, to press down on the throttle and push forward.

She took one more bite from her plate - food mostly finished. He hadn’t even realised she’d eaten.

She stood, prowled around the table, stepped behind him. Then, her hands crawled onto his traps. Steady. Possessive. They slid slowly down over his chest, the silk of his shirt an unwanted barrier pressing into his skin. He didn’t move, but his muscles tensed - cautious that any sudden movement would scare her away.

Her breath was warm against his ear. She could probably hear the blood pumping in his ears, if she hadn’t yet felt it in his chest.

“When you’re strapped in your car tomorrow...“ her arms looped low over his shoulders, the pressure increasing like a seatbelt.

“And they’re kick-starting your engine,” her whisper ghosting along the nape of his neck.

“Your gloves on the wheel,” she slid her fingers down his arms, tracing over his veins, then curled them between his - palms pressing softly over the backs of his hands.

“Your helmet tight on your face.” She pressed her lips to his temple, his head twitched towards her.

Her nose nudged at his ear, a silent cue.

Turn.

He obeyed.

Jaw clenching with restraint, self-control fighting against the muscles in his neck.

“I want you to think of me - like really think of me.” She paused, a deep lavender in her irises - hypnotising, intoxicating.

“Show me how you’d handle me.” She murmured.

He clenched his fists, wrapped her fingers tight in his.

He would show her right now.

And then she slipped away, her nails lingering on the back of his neck as she whispered into his other ear. “Thanks for dinner, Froggy.”

She crossed back to her seat, slid her jacket off the chair. “Maybe I’ll think about you tomorrow, too.”

And then he watched her leave. Her dress cinched at her waist, her legs long and delicious, heels slicing across the floor. A passing glance back at him as she turned out the door, a smug crook in her lip, his sunglasses still on her head.

He sat frozen. Electricity haywire and frenzied through his nerves. He glanced down at his plate - his food barely touched.

She won today.

But she wouldn’t tomorrow.

She thinks she will. But, she really - really did not realise that this was exactly the type of petrol his Ferrari fed on.

Qualifying Day

The sunlight streamed through the commentator’s office window. It was still early — the pre-race hustle and bustle just beginning to stir down below.

Scorpius sat curled on Hermione’s lap as she flipped through her notes, her fingers drifting absent-mindedly through his hair. Pale and wispy like his father’s, his eyes slightly bluer. A spitting image of Draco — but with the delicate rice-paper skin of his mother, Astoria.

Both, loving parents - who just didn’t love each other.

Hermione might’ve felt sorry for Draco, having watched him go through his divorce a few years back — if he wasn’t so irritatingly pleased about the whole thing. Astoria wasn’t much different.

So Scorpius had taken a quiet liking to Hermione, even if it was to escape the constant bickering of his parents. And Hermione loved Scorp, even if it was because he was the only one who listened — truly listened — to her ramble about engineering designs and race strategies that he likely didn’t understand at six years old.

“Aunty Hermione, why is everyone so excited today?” Scorpius asked, leaning forward on her knees, craning his neck to look out the window. “Race day is tomorrow.”

“It’s Qualifying day, Scorp.” She smoothed his hair back. “It’s just as important. It decides where each driver starts on Race day.”

“But last race, Uncle Theo started in last place and it didn’t matter.”

Hermione chuckled. “It might not have mattered for Uncle Theo — but he’s a bit of an exception.”

She pulled out a map of Monaco’s circuit — a maze of tight corners and twisting streets crisply inked on paper. “And Monaco is different,” she continued, tracing her finger along the winding track. “Even your Uncle Theo can’t jump around the track like he normally does.”

“Why not?”

“The roads are so narrow it’s almost impossible to overtake. So if you start in a bad position, you usually stay there. That’s why today matters so much — because it could decide everything.”

This was Scorp’s first year shadowing Draco around the F1 scene, and he'd developed an undeniable interest — particularly with watching his father’s friends zoom around the track in colourful, fast cars. Red, to his father’s contempt, being his favourite colour.

“Oh,” he mumbled, leaning forward on the table, resting his chin in his small palms. “So... how does it all go again?”

Hermione smiled, shifting forward and pulling Scorp more snugly into her lap. She reached for a pen and began scribbling on the edge of her notes.

“Alright. So in qualifying, every driver’s goal is simple: set the fastest lap time. The faster your lap, the higher up you start tomorrow.”

She grabbed a red pen and doodled a little smiley face with wild curls. “If Uncle Theo here, sets the fastest time, he’ll start in first position.”

“And that’s pole!” Scorp chirped, proudly pointing to his cartooned uncle.

“It is, indeed.” Hermione grinned, ruffling his wispy blond hair. She continued, sketching a column marked from P1 to P18. “Now, qualifying is split into three sessions — Q1, Q2, and Q3 — with quick breaks between them. Like little pit stops.”

She circled Q1. “Q1 lasts eighteen minutes. Everyone goes out and tries to clock their best lap. But by the end, the five slowest drivers are knocked out — that’s P14 to P18.” She drew a red box around the last five positions.

Scorp tapped P18. “That’s where Uncle Theo started last race,” he said with the certainty of a seasoned commentator.

“Spot on,” Hermione nodded. “Then comes Q2 — fifteen minutes long, thirteen drivers left. And again, five get knocked out.” She switched to a yellow pen and boxed P9 through P13.

“And then finally,” Hermione continued, “we have Q3 — just twelve minutes. The remaining drivers do a shootout for their best lap to grab that pole position.” She picked up a green pen and circled P1, decorating it with little stars.

Scorpius slid off her lap, bouncing to her side. “If I was racing, I’d block everyone’s way! Then I’d get the best time!”

Hermione gasped, mock-offended. “Scorp! The stewards would toss you straight to the bottom for that!” She reached out and grabbed his cheek playfully. “No blocking in Qualifying. It’s not about fighting or defending — just pure speed. Your best lap.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped, the drama of it folding into his little frame before he began to pace — restless, twitchy energy radiating off him. Just like his father.

“I like it when they’re pushing each other!” he went on, arms flailing for emphasis. “Like—like when Aunty Lilli and Uncle Max were trying to get past Mr Kai! And then - And then!” He darted around the table, mimicking a tight swerve, baring sharp little teeth which she was certain were inherited from Theo, “Aunty Lilli went woooosh and got wayyy ahead!”

Hermione laughed, heart full at the spark in his silver-blue eyes — the same light she’d seen flicker in Draco’s whenever the lights went out on Sunday.

“Qualifying’s just as fun, Scorp.”

The voice came from the doorway. Smooth and clear. Familiar. She turned to see Draco standing there, arms crossed, leaning lazily against the archway. A white linen shirt clung softly to his shoulders, half buttoned, half creased — looking every bit the off-duty aristocrat. A quiet pride tucked into the curve of his lips.

“You get to see how fast they can really go.”

He gave Hermione a brief wink, dropping down to his knees. Scorpius launched himself straight into his arms.

“All the drivers have an out lap first— one slow lap where they warm up their tires, pick up speed, get in the zone… And then, as soon as they cross the line -” Draco scooped Scorp up high above his head, whistling like wind through a tunnel, “Bam! It’s the flying lap. They fly as fast as they can!”

Scorp burst into giggles as Draco swung him through the air.

“No traffic, no blocking—just them and the engine—brrrrr—all the way to the finish!” He set a thoroughly tickled Scorp back on the ground, now doing frantic jumping jacks around him.

“And that’s their fastest lap!” Draco declared, dusting imaginary chalk off his hands.

Hermione watched them, an amused smile playing on her lips. There was always something oddly peaceful about watching Draco with Scorpius—something that tickled the back of her throat in a way she could never quite explain.

“And then, Scorp,” she added, “they do an in-lap—cool down, go back to the pits, reset—and try again. But faster.”

“So they’re not just racing the other drivers,” Draco said, crouching down again, Scorp now perched on his knee, “they’re racing themselves.”

“I think Uncle Theo or Uncle Carlos will be the fastest today!” Scorp announced.

Draco rolled his eyes at Hermione, clearly disappointed at his son’s blatant betrayal of his old home team.

“What about Uncle Fernando, Scorpy?” she offered sympathetically.

“Nah.” Scorp dismissed it instantly, already racing to the window, hands pressed to the glass, his little body buzzing now with Qualifying excitement.

Draco sighed, standing and strolling over to Hermione. “If you ask me, my prediction is that Uncle Theo’s going to go too fast—” he pulled out his phone and dropped it onto the table in front of her with a satisfied smirk, “—and crash his car.”

Hermione scrolled through the messages, an amused concern written on her face.

“Think he’s lost a few screws.” Draco muttered, one eye fixed on Scorpius, who had plastered himself dramatically against the glass.

“Oh, I can bet you Lillith’s lost a few more.” She said, leaning back in her office chair. “If she’s really said what Theo’s implying in that deleted message - she’s possibly lost them all.”

Draco perched himself on the edge of her desk—squarely on top of her notes. Hermione’s eye twitched as she watched one of her neatly stacked sheets crumple beneath the crease of his chinos.

“I dunno,” he said lazily, stretching his arms out, crunching the paper further, “Theo does hallucinate when it comes to Lil sometimes.”

“Move.” She jabbed a finger at the offending document.

He ignored her. “Still think I’m right. He probably just needs to get laid.”

Hermione gave him a flat look. “Is that really all you boys think about?”

“No,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “I’m also thinking about dinner tonight.”

His gaze flicked to Scorpius, ensuring he was still entranced by the mounting buzz on the track below. Then, with a slight lean and a voice lower than a downshifted engine, he murmured near her ear, “Scorp’s with Tori tonight.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Shame, I like him more than I like you.”

Draco smirked, skin crinkling smugly at his nose. “You like me, do you?”

Hermione slid her hand to his chest, gripping his shirt and tugging him forward. Her mouth brushed just past his ear, her curls ghosting across his cheek.

“I have a race to prep for, Malfoy,” she whispered.

He hummed, the vibration thrumming deep through his chest.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Granger.”

Circuit de Monaco

Q1

“Alright, Lil. Take it easy, set a good pace. Warm up and get comfortable with the track.” Ben’s voice poured into her helmet like warm water. Her radio was unusually crisp today. Or maybe her senses were just heightened. Nerves stripped raw.

She had felt on edge all morning. Could've been the stress of Monaco qualifying, or the sting in her eyes from a night spent staring at her phone screen. Could've been the sight of Theo’s sunglasses sat on her table, angled towards her bed as if he’d been watching her sleep. Could've been the fact that he had the nerve to find her in the Mercedes garage before she climbed into the cockpit - had the audacity to whisper, “I’ll be thinking of you.”

Straight into her visor.

Absolute. Prick.

Or - very possibly - it was the fact she had refused to give in to the temptation of her vibrator, knowing she would be plagued by thoughts of him. She had refused to cave. Admit defeat.

Sleep did not ease the feeling, just worsened it. Made her inner thigh twitch. She had never had that muscle twitch before.

“How does it feel?” Ben asked, water in her ear.

“How does what feel??”

“… The tires.”

“Ah - uh. Good.” She stuttered - along with her engine.

The static clicked on and off. “You okay?”

She took a sip on her straw. No water. Swallowed on dry air. “My drink isn’t connected.”

“Oh - we might have forgotten to-”

“Fuck, I’m thirsty, Ben.”

“Uh - Yeah - sorry, Lil. We can try and hook it up after Q1.” A short crackly pause. “You good?”

Lillith’s nerves were firing like sparks creeping up a string of firecrackers. Her engine was slamming uncomfortably against the back of her eardrum. Her seat was a live wire, a current burning up her spine, into her neck. Her fingertips tingling with an excess of electrolytes. She thought she might need to pee.

“Yeah, fine.”

[Music: Seven Nation Army (Glitch Mob Remix) - The White Stripes, The Glitch Mob]

She heard Ben clear his throat in the radio - so clear, like he was looming over her shoulder, right in her ear.

“Okay, Xiao Li.” His voice deepened an octave. Yep, she was in for it now. “Listen to me.”

Lillith took a deep breath. Felt the oxygen fill every pocket in her lungs. Relaxed into her helmet, actively smoothed her wrinkled brow.

Let him in. Let the water flood over her. Let his voice envelop her like silk on skin.

“Hands on the wheel.”

She flexed her fingers on the wheel, willing the tension out of her grip. Letting the thrum of her pulse dissipate into her bloodstream.

“Foot on the throttle.”

She eased her foot down, the car responding with zero latency. Mutual trust between her and her engine.

“Wheels on the floor.”

She gently nudged her steering wheel. Left. Right. Tires gripping happily into tarmac.

“Focus.”

She exhaled, settling in. Filing away all thoughts of her disconnected water bottle, the heat in her abdomen, the ghost of Theo’s smirk tattooed on her lids. Sunglasses. At night. In her room.

Nothing.

Gone.

Just her. The car. The track.

And Ben clutching on to the talking stick, while her internal monologue burst into flames around him.

“Just a steady pace. No pressure for Q1.”

No pressure.

No pressure at all.

Q2

“Alright, we want a few laps in, Lil - lay down some rubber.”

“Copy.”

“We’re going to try mediums for this, save the softs for Q3.”

Lillith sat in the pit box preparing for her out-lap. The engine purred low, her fingers hovering over the wheel. The car was calm. She wasn’t.

She’d put in a decent time in Q1 — nothing outstanding, but outstanding wasn’t required just yet. The track was dry, grip was strong. And the track would only get grippier.

The laps would get faster, corners would get tighter. Less time to react, less margin for error. Every turn would rush at her harder than the last.

Monaco required full, ruthless concentration. So, of course now was the time her brain decided to call recess - and set the bloody playground on fire.

It was a volatile cocktail of stress and frustration, irritation and confusion. A blinding shade of scarlet and gold - this wildfire that she let spread. She had tried to fan it in one direction, but all she’d done was stoke it. And now the embers were beginning to lick at her heels, up her legs. Boiling sweat dripping between her thighs.

She closed her eyes, sunlight bled through her eyelids. The red of her retina funnelling through her optic nerve.

Red. Fucking red. Even when she closed her eyes it was red.

A distraction. An all-consuming, colossal, goddamn distraction.

She let out a sharp exhale. Tried to lure the fire back into its' cage. Her heart rate already faster than what she preferred in Q2.

“Let’s start, Lilli.”

She began her out-lap. Easy at first. The rhythm would come later. She would need to go full speed past the start/finish line to start her flying lap.

She edged onto the track, slowly becoming more familiar to her. Her muscle memory still re-calibrating. Still trying to adjust to the rattle of nerves in her leg.

“Albon on push lap behind you. Keep out of the way.”

Lillith obediently kept to the outer wall, slowing down into the first turn, the vibrations in the ground becoming a little more vigorous just as a blue Williams car shot past her right. Smoke off his tires. Sparks from his exhaust - a bright spiced honey.

She eased her foot on the throttle, warming her tires, building pressure in her engine.

“Weasley ahead, finishing an in-lap.”

She caught a sliver of blood orange as she turned the corner, speeding round the hairpin ahead. Lillith’s mind echoed with a vermillion trail lagging behind Ginny’s car. The light playing games with her mind, reflecting off her visor. She blinked it away.

She slid around Turn 6, her tires skidding downhill slightly - at full speed this would be a bit tricky on her wheels.

“Mediums are a little slippery.” She reported.

“Copy. Play it safe, we’ve got more laps.” His voice now flat, focused.

Zoned in.

She would have to follow suit.

“Sainz now approaching on a fast lap, give way.”

Lillith groaned under her breath. It wasn’t Carlos she was bracing for. But a red car was a red car. It would trigger her all the same. She almost wanted to close her eyes before Sainz shot past. She may have committed to it if it was Theo.

She kept her line, gave space - didn’t look away.

The bright crimson streak imprinted into her retinas.

A red race suit, stretched over broad shoulders, Ferrari emblazoned across his upper back.

A red cap over matted brown curls, it’s shade reflecting into the grey of his eyes.

Red tinged sunglasses, hiding sleepy eyelids - unfazed and completely interested at the same time.

He won.

The thought hit her before she could deny it.

She began chasing the Ferrari ahead.

He distracted her.

She pressed harder on the throttle. Her line narrowing, pace creeping up.

He got what he wanted.

But to be distracted meant you were trying to think of something else.

So what if she just let herself think of him?

That wouldn’t be distraction. That would be choice.

That would be control.

Intention.

“-Adds fuel to my fire, makes the car drive faster.”

Her speed dial ramped up, the g-force tugging at her sternum.

“Let it settle me at the end of the day…”

Maybe she had given him the advantage.

She’d take her advantage back.

"Maybe I'll think about you tomorrow, too."

She let the tingle spread from her abdomen, rise up into her chest.

Sainz’s Ferrari coming back into view as she turned the last corner.

She tracked his tail, closed the gap.

“You should try it sometime.”

She would.

She was.

She pushed the gas pedal flat. Her car slicing forward, engine snarling loudly at the build up of torque. Her steering wheel fought her over the residual turbulence from the Ferrari ahead.

She gripped tighter - like she had gripped him. Nails through black silk.

Tucked her head down like how she bent low over his ear.

Medium tires sliding gently into Carlos’s slipstream ahead.

Let the red fill her vision.

Fill her body.

Fill her lungs.

Flood her bloodstream.

Let it take her.

Give in.

“Strat 7.” Ben said.

Her lap started.

Q3

Better. Much, much better.

Smoother.

Concentrated.

Ice sliding down her throat.

Melting over her power core.

Liquid cooling.

She was tingling - everywhere. Fully attuned. Laser focus.

Fastest time in sector two. Really driving.

“We can get in one more lap, Lil.” Ben was steady, stoic. A deep rumble rolling through the back of her skull. “We want to go as late as possible.”

“When is Theo going?”

She heard a brush of air against a mic - either a sigh or a laugh. Probably both. “He’s probably going to try go last.”

“I want to go last.” She rubbed her teeth together. “I want him in front of me.”

“You’ll have to make him, then.” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re both on out-laps. He’s currently got provisional pole.”

Good.

She wanted proximity.

Wanted to see him. Feel him. Smell his scent in the smoke from his tires.

Taste him.

Use him.

Use his slip stream. Feed on the dirty air spiralling off the back of his car. Burn through the ash left in his wake.

He was right - he did make her go faster.

Everything felt faster when she thought of him - pulse, breathing, mind, engine.

She had spent so much energy denying it, fighting it, ignoring it. Resisting.

Now she could focus it. Funnel it where she needed.

Let it consume her.

Let herself want.

He made her fucking want.

God, she fucking wanted.

[Music: Dalai Lama - Shotgun Willy]

“He’s behind you.” Ben offered.

Her thigh twitched.

“I want him in front.”

“You’re too close to the start line - a swap won’t work.” Ben’s radio was beginning to crackle, static bleeding from her brain. “You’ve got clean air in front. Russell’s finishing his push lap - he can give you a slip stream.”

A flicker of red prickled in her rear view mirror as she turned the last corner.

Another twitch in her thigh - higher up.

Fine.

Change of strategy.

She planted her foot down - the car lunged forward, hunger surging through every piston. Russell ahead, closing in at full-speed.

She could sense the chequered flag rearing it’s head - she needed to cross the start line before it dropped for her lap to count. Maybe Theo wouldn’t make it in time.

She kind of hoped he would.

She spun her wheel, swinging her rear out behind her - churning the air into backdraft, spitting out a back spin. Let him work to catch her. Let him feel her slip through his fingers.

Then she tucked. Rolled. Tight behind Russell’s car.

His draft pulling her in.

Lock in.

Launch.

She shot past the start line, Russell peeled off immediately, clearing her path.

Her tires were molten, she’d set the track on fire if she needed.

The walls towered either side of her, whistling past - a ghostly blur in her peripheries.

Turn 1 approached.

She thought about it before she saw it.

Twisted her wheel before it came into view.

Soft tires plunging blades into the dust, clawing her way round the right turn.

Bit down into the tarmac. Climbed the hill. Engine screaming with her.

Nails scratching into his skin. Teeth biting into his lip.

“Kurokawa up ahead. Careful.”

She felt the slightest updraft. Kai’s suction - swerving to the outer lane.

Her tires fluttered, skittering over air particles.

His back tire flirting with her race line.

“Fuck. Tell him to get out of the way.”

She snapped left. Blew past.

Running back into the rhythm, foot on the throttle, the pressure in her toes completely calculated.

Re-focus, embrace the pressure.

Downhill now. Speed snowballing.

Hands sliding down his body.

Car curled right.

Fingers doing the same.

Slight release off the pedal through the Grand Hotel hairpin - the momentum threw her to the side.

Left tires desperately clinging to the curb.

Give up control. Get it back.

Carving into the tunnel, a torpedo on slick ice.

Dive in.

Frictionless.

Sliding all - the way - in.

Tight. Narrow. Relentless.

“Best sector 2 again, Lil - good girl, keep pushing.”

She felt him. The echo of the tunnel shifted, the wind swirling around her altering.

He was behind her. Not close enough for her slip stream. Not fast enough to catch up.

Just there. At the periphery of her mind.

Always there. Always at the edge.

Stalking. Hunting.

A second wind of adrenaline ignited in her veins.

Her heart kicked. A rush of heat.

Fight. Flight. All of the above.

She sped up.

“Lil - chicane coming up. Control.”

She didn’t answer.

She could feel him.

A finger on her back.

His breath on her neck.

Edging.

Coaxing.

“Control, Lil.”

She broke a bit late.

Pressed her foot down hard.

Her seatbelt strained across her chest.

Just like how she hoped his hands would.

Pin her down.

Full force.

Wide on the left, sharp curl to the right.

Wall dangerously close to her front wing.

More speed.

More.

Faster.

Faster.

Down into turn 12, curving round to 13. 14.

His hands now flat on her waist, thumbs hooked in the dips of her back.

Guiding.

Pushing.

Tight chicanes.

The sun flaring off the port water.

Blinding.

Ringing in her ears.

Final corner.

The finish so close.

Her breath was heavy.

Loud in her helmet.

She could hear him.

Foul, foul words.

So close.

So fucking close.

“A need.”

A desperate need.

Not just to win.

To devour.

Full.

Fucking.

Speed.

“PROVISIONAL POLE, LIL.”

Her heart stopped, her vision blanked, she let the car carry her to the side.

Couldn’t hear the crowd. Couldn’t see the lights.

The quiet echo of commentary floating through the paddock.

”Can he do it?”

She sensed it.

She knew.

”Will he beat her time?”

He was there.

Right behind her.

She knew.

“Just a tenth of a second is all he needs!”

He was hungrier.

He was prepared to show her.

Draco’s voice carried through the grandstands.

“AND NOTT DOES IT. HE GETS POLE.”

Chapter Text

Lillith stepped out of the garage, her arms and legs still numb, a low buzz humming under her skin - the post-race crash hitting her hard. Her mind, remarkably, was empty. The only time it was ever empty was immediately after a race. Her blood re-directed away from thought and toward recovery, focused on flushing the adrenaline from her body.

She tugged her arms out of her suit sleeves, letting them hang around her waist, helmet dangling from her fingertips lazily as she left back to her hotel room. The corridor was hushed, lit only by the soft spill of sunlight filtering in from the race track. Although Lillith enjoyed the noise of the paddock when she was behind the wheel, the quiet immediately after the storm felt like warm rainfall. Cleansing. As close to meditation as she would get.

“Lilli—wait.”

Ben’s voice echoed off the walls, his footsteps tapping lightly as he jogged to catch up.

She sighed. Meditation over.

“Talk to me,” he said, falling in step beside her.

“About?” She kept walking.

“What was that out there?”

“What was what?”

Ben gave her a flat look. “You’re not usually this—” He paused. “Irritable.”

“I’m not irritable,” She snapped, slightly irritated. His mouth pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she added after a beat.

Ben stepped ahead, cutting her off. Tilted his head. One eyebrow raised—half knowing, half frustrated. He wanted to help. Knew he could help. Was annoyed that he wasn’t helping.

She leaned back against the wall, the chill of the linoleum seeping through the nomex of her undershirt.

“It won’t be a problem anymore,” she promised.

Ben didn’t budge. One brow still arched.

“I did better at the end, didn’t I?” she offered, softer now.

“Is something on your mind?” He asked, golden eyes narrow and searching - twin spotlights honing in on it’s target. A few more seconds and he’d find it.

Lillith looked over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “Something like that… But like I said, it won’t be a problem.”

[Song: Bunker/Preroll - mynameisntjack, Tommy Richman]

And then the problem appeared—stepping around the far corner of the corridor, his silhouette cast long in the late light, a rose-tinged shadow stretching toward her across the floor.

She looked quickly back at Ben, eyes a touch too wide.

Ben saw it instantly—the flicker in her gaze, the slight, instinctive recoil. Panic. Or something close.

He turned, casually, to look over his shoulder.

Then back at her.

Slow footsteps padded behind him. Stalking through the corridor, careful not to make any sudden movements. The presence behind Ben stopped a safe distance away, leaning against the wall just like she was. Waiting.

“Ah,” Ben said, quietly.

“Ah?” Lillith replied, a little too quickly.

Ben smiled, the lightning in his eyes dimming into warm amber—resignation replacing curiosity.

“Get a good night’s sleep, yeah?” He turned, walking off with an attempt at a wink that she refused to acknowledge. “The drink straw will be connected tomorrow. Promise.”

“Ah—” she started, but he was already too close to Theo for her to finish.

Theo’s face was cloaked in shadow, but she could feel his gaze on her as Ben’s steps slowed beside him. There was a pause - silent, weighty - where they looked at each other, wordlessly. Ben eyeing him up and down, Theo watching back through his corner lashes, unbothered.

Ben turned over his shoulder once more to look at Lillith, eyebrow lifted in silent warning - or amusement. Then he walked away, the Mercedes logo proud between his shoulder blades.

Lillith gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening around the jaw of her helmet. A match striking in her chest again, a fuse vulnerable to the spark.

The sillhouette’s head was still turned. Tilted, listening. Waiting for her unspoken guardians’ footsteps to fade. His ear twitching with the echo of breath against the wall, a predator ensuring his prey was cornered. Alone.

Her brain was still on lockdown - post-race static. It hadn’t restarted.

No thoughts, just him.

Only him.

Race suit slung low at his waist, the curve of his bicep, the cut through his abdomen - his hip bone carving through the sunlight. Wide shoulders, wild hair. Relaxed, but only on the surface.

And then his head turned. Started pacing towards her.

Her last lap starting to flicker at the back of her mind.

A downhill slope, smooth like the silk over his chest.

A tight right turn, nails in flesh, rubber biting into asphalt.

Driving straight into a tunnel. Narrow. Fast. No brakes.

God, he knew how to drive.

And there was no bigger weakness Lillith had than a competent man.

“Well?” His voice bounced off the walls as he approached. Dark, salted butter. “What do you think?”

She pressed her arm further into the wall, trying to increase surface contact and bleed some heat into the cool cement. Ground the electricity threading through her limbs.

“What do I think about what?” Her voice was soft, airy. Just as she intended.

He smirked, the flash of a tooth in the shadow. “How I handled my car.”

He stopped just a few inches away, his head bent down to observe her, his shoulder mirroring her and pressed into the wall.

“I wouldn’t know.” She replied, holding his gaze. Composure intact, on the edge. “You were behind me, I couldn't see.”

He dipped lower, voice sliding into a lower octave. “I’m sure you could feel how I handled it, even from behind.”

The gravel in his tone beginning to oscillate the air between them. His eyelids hung low, his irises milky. The kind of look she’d only seen a few times in the darkness of a club, in an alcoholic fugue, when liquor blurred the edges of their restraint, when curiosity bloomed in the spaces between their jokes.

The look that snuck into her bedroom once. Twice.

The look that left her restless, aching. Craving that addictive release she got from the phantom touch of a man she didn’t think was hers to touch.

“I thought about you,” he murmured, low and quiet. A secret meant only for her, tucked into the hush between them. “Really thought about you.”

Lillith swallowed. She felt the saliva drag down her throat, the heat rush down her legs. He inched closer—whether intentionally or not, she couldn’t tell. But she could feel the heat radiating off of him, the vapour of his cologne mixed with petrol and ash wrapping around her like steam. His scent intoxicating. Fumes fogging her brain and poisoning her mind.

She felt his finger brush her leg a match trying to strike alight. Felt it like a fresh flame, even through the thick, fire-resistant fabric of her suit.

“Thought about you in my seat… thought about you when I gripped the wheel…” His hand curled around her thigh—bold, unafraid. Desperate. He bent lower, his nose grazing her ear, the salt of his sweat fizzing on her tongue.

“You were right, Lillipad…” he breathed, each syllable sinking into her skin. “I didn’t realise what it was like to think about you until you made me.”

His grip tightened. Her breath caught. Her leg, of its own volition, pressed into his. Her pelvis tilted forward. One hand still clutched the jaw of her helmet, the other braced against the damp red of his undershirt, the heat of his chest thudding beneath her palm.

His breath blew hot over the shell of her ear, a shiver tearing down her spine.

“And now I really can’t stop.”

“T-Teddy…”

She was losing it now. Completely losing it.

Adrenaline surged back into her bloodstream, licking at her fingers, clawing at her nerves. The air around them was molten, saturated with the scent of him, the smoke of the track still clinging to his skin.

The high from her final lap—g-force enveloping her body, his hands tracing every inch of her mind, his weight pinning her down, his tongue on her—

It was all merging. Blurring. Wires crossing. Tangling. Ripped. Re-circuited. Every signal misfiring. Her brain couldn’t separate the race from him, the engine revving too loudly for her to understand her own thoughts.

“Did you think about me?” he asked, his question carried out on an exhale. Begging.

She nodded. Her breath coming quicker and quicker. Her head a crimson haze, a brewing storm.

His smile cracked across his face, quiet and wicked.

His finger hooked under the jaw of her helmet, lifting it gently from her grip. He slid it down between his leg and the wall, letting it settle to the floor against his foot with a soft thud.

“What did you think about?” He prodded, his hand wrapping around her fingers, hanging uselessly at her side.

“How distracting you were…” She murmured, her lips numb.

“Mm-hmm…” He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them slowly, one by one.

“How irritatingly fast you were…”

He hummed, drawing a finger into his mouth, vulgar and wet. She watched his lips wrap around her, her other hand curling into the shirt over his chest.

“Then…”Her voice barely carried, her finger still in his mouth. She pressed it deeper. His tongue moved against her, tasting her skin. Soft and silky on her fingertip. He looked back at her through hooded eyes. “How fast I wanted you to go. How hard I wanted you to push. How rough I wanted you to drive.”

His teeth scraped over her finger as she slid it free.

“How badly I wanted you to handle me.” She confessed, her finger hooking over his lip. “How badly I want to handle you.”

His eyes were completely fixated on hers, unmoving, unblinking. A bright scarlet sparking in his pupils. His jaw loose, corners of his mouth wet with drool.

“Let me taste you again.” His voice cracked over a whisper, his eyes darting to her lips, then back up. “Just a little taste.”

He inched forward. Nose pressing into her cheek, air suctioned through her eyelashes as he breathed her in. Pulled her thigh up his leg, his hand skating up the back, gripping firm -

“Please.”

Then, she heard footsteps.

Her ears instantly attuning to the sound like prey on alert. A familiar voice echoing around the corner, snapping her out of her fugue. She shoved Theo back, hard. Her helmet tumbling loudly behind him.

“Oh, Lilli - you’re still here.” Lupin turned the corner, Russell a step behind. “We were just thinking of going to get a quick drink. Would you like to come?”

“You’re invited too, Theo - as long as you change out of that ridiculous get up first.” George added, gesturing to Theo’s undershirt - which now seemed tighter on his figure than before. The crotch of his race suit also tighter than before - though tactfully hidden beneath the sleeves strategically tied at his waist.

Theo gave a breathy laugh, bending down to pick up Lillith’s helmet. “Drinking on a race weekend? Scandalous.”

Remus gave a warm smile. “Well, my policy is: if there’s going to be drinking - I’d rather be there to supervise. I’m sure I can babysit you as well on behalf of Reyes.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” He passed her helmet back, smooth, casual. His façade practiced, bulletproof. “I’ve actually got dinner plans tonight.”

“Oh?” George quirked his head, just as casual. None the wiser to the fumes of lust evaporating before him.

“Yeah, have a date.” Theo said, his toothy smirk back on his face, eyes avoiding Lillith. Her head twitched.

“Oh - didn’t realise you were seeing someone.” George offered.

“Neither did I.” He replied, running a hand through his hair, pearls on his finger. His eyes flicked at her, sharp and lingering, before he added. “Anyway, I should go take a shower before dinner or I might scare her away.”

He turned back to Lillith, his eyes rapidly and lightly raking over her, though she felt the welts bloom in the wake of his gaze. “I’ll see you later, Lillipad.”

He winked and turned, stalking down the corridor.

Before she could respond with something other than a stunned clench of her jaw, Remus’s hand settled warmly on her shoulder.

“Drink?”

“Ah - Yes! Where are we headed?”

Her voice chipper, breezy. Her mask snapped back on - less practiced than Theo’s maybe - but still functional.

Three hours

“Carmen’s coming tonight.” George said, nursing a pint of Guinness.

They sat at an airy waterfront bar, yachts drifting in and out of frame, the wind dancing over soft waves of water. Late afternoon light stretched across the sea, casting diamonds over water, the sun still cruising across a lightly clouded lavender sky. 

He ruffled his sandy blonde hair with a yawn, dark teal eyes wistfully watching the waves crash against the port walls. “She’s gotten a bit exhausted by all the travelling.” He continued. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Remus nodded, the sunlight catching old, faded scars across his cheek - remnants from the days he used to race. “As much as I miss, Ted -” Lillith’s eye twitched at the name before realising he was referring to his two year old son. “- He’s been a decent excuse to get Dora to stay at home.”

“I miss having Dora around.” Lillith remarked, swirling the last of her Asahi. The cold fizz prickled on her tongue, but her mind was bubbling elsewhere - starting to hum again, keeping her pre-occupied.

He smiled to himself, sipping on his iced chocolate. “I love her, but that woman has too much energy for her own good.”

“Exactly why I miss her.” She chimed - her voice cool and breathy like the wind swirling around them.

The wind tunnelling into her ears, whistling into her mind, sweeping through the files she'd so carefully archived - flicking pages, pulling tabs loose, stirring them all into a fucking storm.

Date. He has a date? Who did he have a date with? Did he mean her? Is he seeing someone? Someone else? Of course he’d be seeing someone… Probably a model. Or a Paddock groupie. No - why would he be seeing someone? The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. That was real - wasn’t it?

“Speaking of Teds-” George interrupted her thoughts, “- How has Theo managed to start seeing someone mid-season? Has the girl been following him around to each race?”

Remus leaned back, “Good point - surely he’s not seeing a fan?”

“Or maybe someone he’s just met here?”

Fucks sake. Lillith stared down at her half-empty bottle. Her jaw clenched. Heat starting to crawl and prickle up her spine. He must have meant her. Did he? Who else? Why was she so disproportionately irritated?

“Lil?” George nudged her gently.

“Hm?” She blinked, looking at him - eyes a bit too wide.

“You’re close with Theo. Have you met her?”

“No.” Her voice clipped. “Why would I - No.”

“Well - I just thought-”

“I said no, George.”

“O… kay.” He took a slow sip of his beer. He blinked. “Did I strike a ner-”

“Ah! Weasley twins - come join us!” Remus called, waving over two familiar red heads. Ron, all scruff and smiles. Ginny, pin straight hair and blue flamed eyes. Both in a faded McLaren orange.

“We’ve got actual twin brothers,” Ginny scoffed, looking at Ron like he was a stranger that followed her into the bar, “Please don't mistake us for that.”

“That's the second time I've been tempted to throw you into the marina, Gin.” Ron said, pulling over some seats.

"I love a good swim." She teased, taking a seat next to Lillith. "Let's go."

Lillith sipped again at her beer, a distracted smile passed to Ginny as she took her seat with a firm squeeze of her knee. The conversation now, thankfully veering away from Theo’s personal life and towards more common interests like how the weather would be during the race tomorrow.

Apparently rain was forecasted.

Lillith would have been pleased about that, except her mind had not followed suit and veered away from Theo’s personal life. She was very much still on the same path.

And then, as if he had heard her call his name to the heavens - her phone lit up.

Her heart stopped. Then jumped.

Ginny glanced over, sharp eyes catching the micro-expression.

“You good?” She asked causally.

Lillith gave a tight smile. “Mhm.”

Ping.

Lillith exhaled through her nose. Something bubbling in her chest, her foot beginning to tap restlessly on the floorboards. Impatience? Anger? Disbelief? Lust? Want? Desire?

She couldn’t tell anymore. The emotions tangled, indistinguishable, thick in her chest like smoke. Whatever scent she was breathing in now - it was potent, overwhelming, pungent.

It reeked of him.

“Who you texting?” Ginny peered over her shoulder. Lillith tipped her phone backwards, screen into her lap.

“No one.” She said, uselessly.

Ginny’s eyebrows raised, her lips pursing with interest. Lillith gave her a curt shake of her head, signalling her to not draw attention to this. That just piqued her interest more.

“Mr No one someone I know?” She whispered, leaning in closer.

“Mr No one doesn’t exist, Gin.” Lillith took a breath, steadying herself - wondering why she needed steadying. Maybe the alcohol was hitting her harder than she’d expected. “Just someone who’s pissed my right off.”

“Oh dear, what did he do?” She prodded.

“I - I don’t know…”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? She didn’t know why she was so wound up. Why her skin felt too tight. Why the heat in her chest kept cycling into steam. She was glad he’d meant her. But annoyed he’d assumed she’d say yes. She wanted to see him. And yet she didn’t trust herself if she did. Her brain was a messy weather map—hot and cold fronts colliding, lightning in the margins, a hurricane forming. She needed a race. Or something like it. Something to clear the board. Silence the static.

A straightaway.

A tunnel.

An empty corridor.

An empty mind.

A red shadow.

No thoughts.

Just him.

“Must either be a special Mr No one,” Ginny said, watching her closely. “Or he’s done something really wrong because the only person I’ve ever known to wind you up like this is Theo.”

Lillith groaned quietly. How the fuck did he manage to get everything to lead back to him. Or was he just always such a huge part of her life.

“It is Theo…” She confessed lightly. “He’s just - pissed me off is all.”

A range of emotions fluttered across Ginny’s freckled face. Surprise, then disappointment, then suspicion, then understanding. She puckered her lips, considering her.

“Hm - well by all means, he needs a talking to - and you’re the only one that gives it to him.” She paused. “You and that new race engineer, Rosier. Have you seen their radio comms?”

She laughed, her attention turning back to the wider table. Whether out of consideration for Lilli’s privacy or from a loss of interest - it was appreciated either way. Lillith glanced back at her phone.

She didn’t reply.

Staring at his last five words.

He played her like a fucking fiddle. Every word out of his mouth plucked at a different string, strummed a different chord. Tension vibrating down her spine, nerves wound so tight they buzzed.

She was swinging like a pendulum - wanting him to press into her in a secluded corridor, then wanting to slap that grin of his face, then desperately wanting to take him - all of him - into her mouth. Feel him unravel.

The common denominator being that she wanted.

He fucked with her head. Lived in it like he’d been living there longer than she had. She wondered whether she fucked with his.

She wanted to.

She downed the rest of her Asahi, the fizz biting down her throat.

Looked at the time.

Three hours.

She excused herself.

Two hours

Annie sat by the window of her hotel room, eyes fixed on her laptop, tongue searching blindly for her straw. Her iced tea was half-melted. So was her brain. There were maybe fifteen tabs open -weather forecast, wind speeds, temperature trends, track data, Theo’s sector times. She pulled the pen from the knot of curls on her head and jotted some strategy notes into her notebook.

Click. Next tab. Tire temperatures. Click. Another tab. Competitor analysis.

Her mouse hovered over one name on the screen. Lillith. P2.

She clicked back on another tab. Weather.

It was going to rain tomorrow - which was going to be a problem with Lilli on Theo’s tail.

Theo made mistakes when he took risks. He always took risks. Lilli did not. Monaco didn’t allow many opportunities for overtakes. But the rain was beneficial to her - it made the track slippier, dropped the visibility - which meant you had to play it safe or crash. Theo took risks. And Lilli didn’t. Monaco didn’t allow for risks. But he would need to take them.

Annie groaned, her head dropping over the back of her chair.

Someone save her from this torment.

Her phone rang.

She picked up after a single beat. Not even checking who it was, just muscle memory.

“Yes, who is it.”

“Do you not have my number saved?”

“Lilli!!” Annie bolted upright, her laptop forgotten on her coffee table, and began to pace. “Jesus, you are doing my head in - how am I supposed to help Theo keep P1 when he’s such a reckless maniac and I secretly want you to win - but I can’t, because Reyes will fire me - unless maybe if you find a place for me in Mercedes - ugh, but how can I leave Theo all alone to fend for himself - he’s so bloody helpless -”

Lilli groaned over the phone. “Does everyone just see me and think about Theo? Has this always been the case?”

Annie paused her rambling, filing it away for later. “I mean - you two are the current P1 and P2 in the Championship standings, so -”

“But outside of that - off the track -”

Annie dropped onto the bed, hair falling from her bun and fanning beneath her. “Well, you are close, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” Her voice quieter. She sounded oddly disappointed.

“And he talks my head off about you all the time. He talks about you more than I do - but that’s because I’m limited by my Ferrari clause.”

She didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong?” Annie’s tone shifted. Her senses were tingling, something was brewing.

No response.

“Lilli?” Now she was certain. Something bubbling. Beer poured too fast - it’s foam cap spilling over the edges. Her eyes slowly opened. Wide. “Is - Is it happening…?”

There was a rustle - bedsheets brushing the microphone. “Is what happening…”

“Are you -” Annie pressed her fingers to her mouth, excitement beginning to tingle in her lips. “Are you sleeping together???”

“N- No!” Lillith stutterred, the pink blush crackling through the phoneline. “Not - Not yet…”

“OHMYGOD. WHAT’S HAPPENING. IT’S HAPPENING.” Annie was stood on her bed now. She didn’t even remember how she got there.

“What do you mean - It’s happening?? Fucks sake, Annie.”

“Achilles told me about your kiss and I KNEW this wou-”

“Achilles what??? I told him that in confidence.” Her voice was muffled again - this time likely from a pillow she was trying to smother herself with.

“Doesn’t matter -” She cleared her throat, tucking her mane of hair behind a ear - banishing intrusive thoughts of Achilles’ golden waves hooked behind his. Deep brown eyes over a soft smirk. She cleared her throat again. “He - uh - I - Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You live in enemy territory, Annie. And… I was confused - I thought he was screwing with me.” She paused, footsteps on carpet echoing through the phone. “Maybe he still is… I don’t know anymore. And I was planning on fucking with his head in response, so - I couldn’t let his engineer know that -”

 “You could have definitely let me know that, but you are excused." Annie nodded, all part of the game plan. An understandable strategy. Forgivable. Wouldn't have worked, though. "Theo’s head is fucked in all his races anyway. There’s not much you could do to make it worse.”

“Yeah… That may have been useful to know…” She muttered.

“So I say…” Annie sat back on her bed, legs tucked beneath her bum. “Stop thinking about fucking with him - and just focus on actually fucking him.”

“Annie!”

“So when is this happening?”

“I - It’s not necessarily -” She hesitated. “I’m meeting him tonight.”

“You deserve it - I’m so happy for you.”

“Annie - what-”

“WEAR RED.” She was chewing on her hair now.

“Red…?”

“Do you need a dress? I think I have one - hang on -” She turned to her suitcase, wishing she’d predicted this earlier, thinking of a dress that would work perfectly still hung in her wardrobe at home.

“I - I’m alright… I have one.” Her footsteps halted, a rustle of plastic and paper.

“You do? Packed ready for battle - I see.” She wrapped her hair over her face, hiding her excitement from no one - or maybe cameras bugged in her room - she would do another check of her room later. "How long have you been carrying a red dress around with you - have you been waiting for all this to play out as long as I have?"

“I just bought it. On the way home…”

“Oh.” Annie froze, the anticipation wrapped tight over her throat. “OH.”

“Oh what.” The sound of crepe paper crunching. “Oh WHAT.”

Annie had only known Lillith for three years. They’d met by accident when Annie bumped into her while leaving Theo’s room at the Ferrari garage. Naturally, Annie assumed they were dating. And for the next year, she refused to believe otherwise.

But then, she fell for Lillith herself—platonically, but hard. She listened to her babble through half-formed thoughts, heard stories of occasional shameless nights with a raven-haired ex, and watched her and Theo giggle in the back corner of a club, but not pushing any farther than suggestive arm touches and lingering hugs. Slowly, reluctantly, Annie started to believe the lie the two lived in.

She’d been trained to grapple with Theo’s overclocked brain - keep his chaos in check, adjust accordingly. And she had self-learned how to swim in Lillith’s - subtly draw her out of her usual thought spiral. She tracked the data. Noted patterns. Knew their rhythms, their instincts, their stall points. And one thing was for certain.

They were both absolute idiots.

And she didn’t get paid enough for this.

One hour

Lillith stepped into Le Bar Américain.

Still within the confines of the hotel, so that the weight in her heels hadn’t yet begun to sting, but far away enough from her room that he would need to work for it.

Glass doors opened into velvet and rosewood trimmed mirrors. A warm amber light bathing burnished leather armchairs, the low hum of jazz echoing softly beneath the clink of crystal.

Her heels tapped quietly along the mosaic flooring. Vintage brass-tinged mirrors caught her reflection in passing - her own lilac eyes hazy in a topaz tint, the kind of glass designed for atmosphere, rather than detailed touch-ups.

Her hair hung loose, a soft wave cascading down her back, indigo strands tucked tight and clean behind each ear. Gold embossed with fresh water pearls dangling from her ears and a matching necklace gracing her neck. And then her body hugged tight in a rich scarlet silk bodice, velvet draping from her waist, cut high on her thigh, the hem split wide and effortlessly over her leg. She glanced down at her heels - pointed toes, ribbon ties, black, Dior.

She paused at a mirrored column, pulled out her lipstick, and smoothed a fresh coat of vanilla over her lips. Caught a glimpse of her chipped white nail polish and the glint of his silver signet ring.

God, she was so overdressed.

She fiddled idly with the clasp of her purse - black lacquer and gold trim. Toes stretching in her heels, roaming around the foyer of the bar. She was still early, but more than ever - she needed that blessed preparation time.

She didn’t know what she intended the outcome to be tonight. She knew what she was expecting, wasn’t sure if it was intention. She knew what she wanted, wasn’t sure if it was intention. She wasn’t listening to the frustrating ramble of logic chattering in her ear. She had learned at this point it was maybe better to tune it out. Choose to give in to what she had been trying to fight all this time.

Give in completely.

Let it take her.

And then take back control.

Large monstera leaves were slung along the edges of gilded archways, the air thick with the warm hum of jazz - light, smokey, perfumed. Dark velvet stools rimmed in gold standing on marble and wood tiling. The bar dressed in full art deco, emeralds and golds, a towering altar of liquor bottles like a stained glass window behind the bartender. 

And one sole shadow sat at the counter.

His body familiar. His frame relaxed. His curls catching the limelight just so, swept backwards - an intentional mess.

Dripping in black. Jet black. Black leather jacket slung over his shoulders, a charcoal, collared pop-over shirt loosely hugging his torso, midnight grey trousers - as always - cropped at the ankles.

She stopped in the archway, clutching at her purse. Her heel clicking on the marble, giving away her position.

He turned.

Stared.

His lips parted.

Closed.

Licked.

Eyelids heavy, lazy. Irises glazed and opalescent.

His foot hooked around the leg of the barstool next to him, spun it to face him. Never breaking his gaze with her. Not wanting to break anything around her.

“Lillipad.” He said. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. He was far away enough that she shouldn’t have heard it over the lull of jazz overhead.

Yet, it was so loud. So clear.

“Just on time.”

Chapter Text

[Music: Ruler of My Heart - VIVINOS (ALNST)]

She had sat across from him many times before.

Across a marble dinner table draped in ivory Egyptian cotton.

Across a low glass table littered with spilled liquor and ash, neon lights flashing overhead.

Across a black sofa, microphones placed strategically between them, the media hanging on every word.

Across a beach, cards laid out in the sand between their legs.

But this time was different.

This time, the only thing separating his skin from hers was the thin cotton of his trousers — her knee pressing into him, not by choice, but by gravity.

Scarlet clung to her skin like blood spun into silk, sinking into every curve and dip of her body. The dress split high along her thigh, velvet pooling at her hip, legs crossed and entirely exposed to him.

She didn’t waste energy observing the room tonight. She let every ounce of her attention fall on him. Let him carry its weight. Test his strength. Appraising him with each slow sip of her French martini — lips dark red, wet from the rim of her glass.

He let his eyes follow the same path they always did.

From the loose cobalt strands tickling her lashes to the ink-spill of her hair down her back. Prussian blue curls swept over bare shoulders. A string of pearls circled a porcelain neck — begging to be marked by the points of his teeth.

Framed in the soft glow refracting through stained liquor bottles —

She looked like a painting etched in blood and smoke.

A sin sculpted by the heavens to punish men like him.

Lillith.

Even her name was a myth. A whisper in scripture.

A woman built to ruin men who thought they could hold her.

And his Lillith was no exception.

Fortunately, he had no illusion he could hold her.

He didn’t want to.

He wanted to be ruined by her.

And in the process — he’d devour her too.

His pulse throbbed at his temple. Behind his jaw. Between his legs.

And all she did was look at him.

Like she already knew.

That was the difference in her gaze tonight — it was clear, crystalline, edged in something ancient. A rim of aquamarine clairvoyance. Like she foresaw how the night would end. And she was bracing herself for the downfall.

“I was right,” he said. Her lashes fluttered — a flinch, like glass cracking between them. “You do look lovely in red.”

“I told you,” she murmured, glancing down to her heel — the sharp onyx toe digging into the crease of his trousers, “I look better in black.”

“And I told you,” he watched her play with his leg, her knee easing further between his, “to show me.”

She smirked. A soft laugh like ice dropped in a champagne flute. Her teeth skimmed the rim of her glass.

“I will.” Barely a whisper — sub-zero gas hissing over marble. A promise.

Her knee nudged his playfully. Her toe anchored against his shin, rocking herself gently side to side — slow. Measured. Purposeful.

So familiar. And yet so different. Sharper. Deadlier.

They had been here before — dangerous territory. Skirting the lip of a waterfall, fine mist beckoning them forward. Tempting them to take the plunge and dive.

But they never did.

Part of him knew why.

The other didn’t.

She was everything. Friend. Family. Foe. Obsession.

Everything he wanted. Everything he needed.

Too much to lose. Everything to win.

He had settled for the slivers of light — A laugh in his ear in a dark corner. A lingering look across the paddock. A silence that said too much. A moment where he could fantasise and imagine that she saw the same hallucinations he did.

But the more he realised what she was — what she meant —The more his desire swelled. And with it, the demon of fear.

People thought he took risks because he was reckless. Because he didn’t care. Because he was immune to Fear’s wicked call.

They were wrong.

Fear was real. Loud. Crippling.

The devil whispering in his ear.

But Lillith was louder.

She would make him risk everything — to have everything.

And now, as she sat before him, dressed in sin and silk, watching him with eyes like blooming hyacinths — her entire presence telling him that their hallucinations - his hallucinations - were real.

She was louder than ever.

“So, what’s the endgame here, Teddy?” she asked, her breath sweet with vodka and liquor-soaked blueberries.

“What do you mean?”

“We both know what’s going to…” Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the bartender. “...happen tonight. Or at least—I have an idea.”

His pupils flared. “And what’s that, my love?”

“I think I’m going to get what I want.”

He licked a fang. Saliva glinted, obscene and deliberate. “Is that so.”

She hummed softly—quiet, unnervingly calm.

“Do I have a part to play in that?” he asked, begging to hear her words poured from her lips - straight, rather than swivel on ice.

A smile ghosted over her mouth. The edge of it curled and mischievous. A sarcastic roll of her eyes behind smoked eyelashes.

“Unfortunate that you suffer from short-term memory loss,” she said, setting her glass down. “I had accidentally given you the answers earlier today.”

He took her hands in his as soon she released the arm of her glass. Brought one finger to his lips. “Hmm… I must’ve been thinking about something else…” The pad of her finger wet against his mouth. Wetter still on the tip of his tongue. “Remind me.”

Her lip curled further over her teeth - fangs as sharp as his. She drew her finger free from his grasp, tracing it along his cheek to the shell of his ear. Her thumb grazing over a healed pinhole in his lobe. Her gaze unfocused, fogged briefly by a shared memory - remembering when he pierced his ear with her, because she was too scared to go first.

“Sorry, Teddy.” She whispered, brushing his hair back, palms soft on his temple. “You can’t be helped once the memory loss hits - a sign of too many head injuries. It’s over for you.”

He leaned into her touch, one hand circling her knee, the other braced on the counter.

“Hmm… Suppose I’ll have to drag you to the end with me, then.” His thumb swerving up her thigh. Skin soft, impossibly warm.

She hummed, fingers playing with the curls by his ear. “I’m not too keen on head injuries, actually.”

“No?” His grip tightened, knuckles paling. Her toe pointed in reflex. “Don’t want me ramming your head into a headboard? Shoving you against a wall? Because I promise if I give you memory loss tonight—” his voice dropped to a near growl, “—it’ll be worth every second.”

She let out a breathy, heated laugh, surprise in the blush on her cheek.

“God, you are mental.” She sighed, words laced with amusement.

“And who did that to me?” His hand crawling higher still, heat building where skin met muscle.

“Was it me?” She teased, pearly white teeth poking through scarlet lips.

“Dearie me,” he said, tapping twice on the counter—a silent cue for the bartender to leave. “Seems you’re losing your memory too.”

He took her hand from his cheek, set it over his thigh, then reached down and yanked her stool firmly toward him.

“Don’t remember?” His voice dropped purposefully, letting the pressure rasp through his throat. “The way you’ve played with me these past two days. The way you’ve sunk those sharp, little claws into me?”

He leaned into her, her hands in his lap, toying with the edge of his shirt.

“The way you’ve made me want to beg, want to kneel at your feet and absolutely fucking demolish you.” He murmured, his face inching closer, dragged in by her scent—something between violet and fire. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing into the crease of her hips, fingers sinking into the folds of thin velvet.

“The way you’ve gotten into my head, your voice echoing in my ear, things you’ve said to me repeating over and over and over again.” He tugged her closer between his legs, her heel hooking onto the ring of his barstool for balance, hands gripping his collar - pushing and pulling at the same time.

“I feel like a fucking mad man.” His fingers curled into her body, trying to rip through the velvet. “One week since I’ve tasted you and I’m fucking starved, Lilli.”

His pupils were blown wide, eyes wild in the bar light— A raging sandstorm, tinged scarlet by the reflection of her dress. Her lips parted, eyes round and hazy, breath short, the mole near her eye flushed pink.

Neither of them were in control. Neither were steering. Both delirious on burnt petrol and famine. Both drunk on an undeniable craving finally - finally - unleashed and raging.

Her finger traced up his neck, his pulse hammering in his carotid, swiped it over the wet curve of his mouth.

“Oops.” She said, a sly grin slicing across her face.

He exhaled hard, letting his breath wash over her skin. His fingers spreading further round her lower back, moulding to the curve of her waist.

“You’re wearing out my tires, Lillipad.” He growled.

She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, down the length of his arms, tugging gently at cured leather.

“Isn’t that unfortunate…” She whispered—silky, like oil over hot steel.

“No, what’s unfortunate…” His hands strayed lower, fingers flexing. “Is that I’m not wearing out that pretty, little cunt of yours.”

His grip closed around her bum - tight, hungry. She gasped.

Her hand shot for her martini glass, then tossed it in his face.

He flinched back, cold liquor streaked across him, eyes scrunched from the impact.

And before he opened them, her mouth was on his.

Raspberry, pineapple, the burn of vodka dripping into his mouth. Pears and freesia, sweetened with honey filling his nose. He stumbled off his stool, pressing forward into her, dragging her into him, her foot still perched on his barstool, legs bare and tangled between his. The glass knocked over on the tiled counter beside them, her fingers twirled in his hair.

He forced her mouth open with his, pushed his tongue into her, feeling hers wrapping around his. Sweet and tart. Vanilla on his teeth. Tastebuds igniting. Saliva pooling. His hands grasping and pulling desperately at her body through her dress. Wanting to touch her, feel her, fill all his senses with her.

His fingers found the zipper low on her back - tugged blindly. She let out a noise of warning, pulling back, eyes darting around the room, breath ragged, lipstick smudged and swollen.

He grabbed behind her neck, thumb hooking behind her jaw and drawing her back to him.

“It’s alright.” He said, voice raspy against her lips. “I booked out the bar.”

“You what-?” She gasped, his lips locking back onto hers. A moan escaping from her chest onto his tongue, running down into his groin.

His chuckle vibrated against her mouth. “Didn’t want an audience, did you?” He nipped her lip. “Or any interruptions.”

His hands slipped under her thighs, lifting her back into the seat, readjusted himself between her legs, spreading them open for himself. Completely bare, wrapped around his waist. Her body flush against his chest, arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss - kissed her like he was fucking her mouth, deep and dirty, the remnants of her martini dripping back onto her face.

Her palms slipped under his collar, kneading at his traps, scratching at his neck. He pulled her closer, grinding into the cold metal of her seat, desperate for friction to ease the ache under his belt.

“T-Teddy-“ His name trembled between her teeth. “You - didn’t answer my question.”

He tasted the words off her lips, dragging his tongue along her mouth—vanilla and orange bitters.

“No?” he murmured, tracing his mouth to her jaw.

She tugged sharply on his hair, forcing his head back. His throat bared, eyes wide and drinking her in—hungry, feral, smirking. Held in place like prey - wanting to be caught.

Gods, she was devastating. Flushed and breathless. A swirl of wisteria, carnation and violet. Eyes focused, unfocused and focused again - on him, his mouth, his hair dripping in Chambord.

“What’s the end game?” she asked again.

“The end game, Lillipad,” he rasped, “is I fuck you.” He pulled hard against her grip, their lips brushing, their breaths shared.

“Then I fuck you again. And I don’t stop until you’re clawing at the walls and cursing my name.”

She breathed a flustered little laugh, rewarded him with a kiss. He chased her as she broke away again.

“And what happens tomorrow?” she whispered, fingers fluttering down the nape of his neck, gliding over the undone buttons at his collar.

He smirked. “Tomorrow, I win P1. And I fuck you again.”

She scoffed this time, her eyes fluttering in a roll. God, he wanted to watch her eyes roll. She pressed her nose to the angle of his jaw, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Tempting him forward. Leading him with her scent.

“You got just one thing wrong there.” She murmured, voice low and steady. Her breathing already controlled and measured. Her hand slipped into his jacket pocket. Found the key card to his hotel room. She plucked it out slowly, held it between them expectantly. Waited.

His eyes flicked to the card, then climbed back to her gaze.

“542.” He said.

She tucked it into her clutch with the nonchalance of a woman once cast from Eden and prepared to feed him the fruit herself.

She pushed him back gently, hands sliding down his abdomen, fingers grazing something firm in his trousers. His breath caught at the pressure, bracing himself on the stool behind him. His eyes darting downwards where her legs were still spread - dress hitched up on her hips, a peek of something lacy and black underneath before she swept her legs together and slipped off the stool, fingers hooked in his belt loops.

Her dress melted back over her, the hem dropping back down to her calves. She looked at him once. Eyelashes simmering heavily over her a violet flame.

And then she was gone.

No words.

Just certainty.

And he understood.

He had never understood more in his life.

He stood there, alone with the ghost of her fingers still pressed against the fly of his trousers. His blood throbbed in all the wrong places. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be touched. He’d never known what if felt like to be touched by her. And it wasn’t something he was capable of imagining. Years of restraint—the glances, the tension, the unbearable proximity—now breaking open inside his chest like a dam breached.

He exhaled through gritted teeth, dragging a hand down his face. Tugging at his trousers, allowed himself one stroke—just one—over the ridge of his cock, pressure biting at his waistband.

Hallucinations filtering into his retinas, delusions blooming in his vision - her sprawled over hotel sheets, her hips in his hands as she bent over his bed, the taste of the sweat on her lower back tingling on his tongue.

Except soon, they would no longer be hallucinations.

He reached for the counter - an old fashioned untouched and forgotten on the cold tile.

Downed the last of his whiskey.

Patted the counter twice, morse code telegraphed to the bartender—charge it to the room.

Shrugged off his jacket. Rolled his shoulders. Checked his watch.

7:50 PM.

He’d give her the full hour.

She liked having her time to prepare.

Lillith never rushed the ritual.

She’d refuel slow, let the heat rise. Warm her tires and tie up her hair. Test her brakes in front of a mirror. Let the engine hum. Let the tension build.

Because when the lights went out—

He’d race.

And as she always did - she would fight him.

All the way to the finish.

Music: [Jealousy - RUBII]

Room 542

She stepped into his room, sliding the card into the slot by the door, let the door rest on its’ frame. Unlatched, unlocked. The lights flickered on softly, the air conditioning sighing to life with a low, steady hum.

The curtains were drawn back, sheer white panels framing a sprawling night sky. The bed was meticulously made, his clothes hung neatly in the wardrobe. The scent of fresh linen and the sandalwood of his cologne mingling in the air above her. A chilled bottle of champagne displayed on his front table, flanked by two poised glasses - a silent taunt that he’d won, and fully intended to win again tomorrow.

Her tongue clicked sharply against her teeth, eyes rolling in a mock plea for mercy.

Prick.

She contemplated taking her heels off, the disdain for shoes in the household scratching at the straps on her ankle. But, this wasn’t her house. She wouldn’t be staying the night.

She stepped forward, dropping her clutch on the counter by the door, took her earrings off and placed them neatly beside it. Her fingers searched for the zip on her dress - already tugged down an inch. She eased it the rest of the way, the cool metal trailing along the small of her back until it came to rest at the curve of her waist.

Her fingers skimmed the bed sheets, soft Egyptian cotton smoothing under hand, one delicate strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder. She caught her reflection in the framed mirror opposite the bed, swiped her smudged lipstick with her thumb, then let the rest of her dress sink to her feet. Black lace and organza weaving around her breasts, pearls still resting quietly on her neck. The hem caught on the stiletto of her heel, the garment lifted effortlessly into her hand, then exchanged it for the champagne bottle - sleight of hand worthy of a thief stealing art. The bottle dangled by its neck, swinging languidly from her fingers, before she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the window sill.

It was strange. How quiet her mind was.

Just her immediate actions and the hum of the aircon.

She hadn’t slept with many people in her life — a boyfriend at graduation, a man or two she’d deemed worthy of her time, and then Kai. Before, during, and long after their whirlwind of a relationship. Once they’d started dating, there was no one else. Her body had tuned itself to his — muscle memory shaped by him, wired to respond to his touch, his breath, the way he looked at her. Even after over a year apart, that conditioning hadn’t faded.

Kai was gentle. Loving. Every kiss on her body, every push into her core like a prayer answered. Looked at her like a dream he knew would slip through his fingers. Sucked on her skin exactly where she wanted, like the runes he left on her would keep her coming back to him. And she did. She always did.

But each time — with Kai, with the flirtatious suitors who slipped their way into her sheets, and especially that first time at graduation — she was overthinking. Calculating the aftermath. The consequences. The risks. The side effects. The addictive high.

And yet right now - it was blissful silence.

As if that kiss in the bar gave her a similar adrenaline rush that a race did. And with it, the familiar post-race crash. As if knowing Theo her entire life had somehow prepared her for this. For what he’d feel like. For the chaos he’d unleash.

She felt like she knew, but she knew she didn’t.

Theo was nothing like Kai. Even the way he kissed was a different language - urgent and messy. Wet and indecent. He gripped at her like he wanted to rip her to pieces and devour her whole. Pressed himself against her like he needed to smother himself with her touch. He sparked her adrenaline like no one ever did. Sighed and moaned into her mouth until his smoke filled her head and there was no room left to think.

Like there was no need to think. Like it was right. Like inevitability.

Like the consequences didn’t matter. Nor the risks or the side effects.

Like addiction wasn’t danger - it was cure. As if it wasn’t something she would crave, but something she would need.

“A need.”

And maybe she just needed someone who could teach her how to think less.

And Theo didn't think at all.

She thumbed the foil capping the champagne bottle, rough and cool under her skin. Then, expertly sliced her thumbnail under its’ edge, peeling the foil back with one finger, eyes fixed on the door.

Her senses felt heightened now that her mind was still. Every detail burned brighter. The microscopic vibrations of the air conditioning vibrating through her body like her engine starting. The straps of her heels biting into her ankle and warming the skin like tire temperatures rising. The glass lips of the bottle’s neck mapped by her thumb like her fingers fine-tuning to steer pressure.

Her vision narrowing through her visor, eyes shimmering periwinkle - feline and predatory. She saw the shadow of his footsteps pause just behind the sliver of light at the base.

She could use this.

The stillness. The control. The edge.

She could race better like this.

She would win like this.

Tonight.

Tomorrow.

She could already see it.

A silent creak - deafening in her ear.

And then his figure filled the doorframe — black shadow and muscle. Eyes glinting like smoked quartz, a wolf flexing its’ hind legs, canines primed for prey.

She uncrossed her legs, spreading them and setting the champagne bottle between her thighs. The door clicked shut behind him. She heard him exhale.

She was not prey.

He kicked his shoes off, leather thudding against wood and tile, tossed his jacket by the door, unclasped his Rolex, dropped it to the floor. The short sleeves of his shirt clung to his biceps, veins and muscles flexing in the low light as he undid his belt. Footsteps padding quietly towards her with a lazy non-chalance and a practiced stealth. He slipped it free, looped it around his fingers, gripping at the heavy silver buckle.

“Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Lillith murmured, tapping a finger against the cork.

He smirked, one corner of his mouth tilting with a flash of fang. “Confidence.” He said, eyes half-lidded, “It’s part of the game.”

She arched a brow. “You really think you’re going to win tomorrow?”

In one smooth motion, he peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it over her dress on the table. His curls still damp with vodka, clinging to his temples, swept messily over his head.

“Yes,” The word like a stone dropped in water.

Her toes curled on the gas pedal, she bit down on her lip.

She’d seen him shirtless before. In glimpses. Glances stolen like contraband. But never like this — never when she was allowed to look.

Skin pulled taut over muscle, his body cut from marble, hard in all the places that made her ache. The cut of his briefs peeking above the undone band of his trousers, the straining shape beneath.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, gaze pinning her against the window, observing her over his nose.

Smirking at her through his rear view mirror. Taunting her from pole position.

She rolled her shoulders back, head lilting to the side, like she’d memorised his moves before he made them.

“I don’t think so.” She whispered, steam leaking through her teeth.

He bent low, his breath fanning over her cheek. “You gonna show me how it ends?”

Heat slithered down her spine, pooled low in her seat, shot into her toes.

She hummed, arching forward, grinding herself into the cold of the bottle between her legs. Glass slick against her skin.

“Just watch.” She purred.

He didn’t hesitate. Two fingers circled the neck of the bottle, drawing it out from between her legs. Beads of water trailed after it, leaving glistening teardrops along her thighs.

He set it to the side without breaking eye contact, then sank to his knees before her — chin between her legs, voice a ragged whisper.

“Fuck…”

He stared up at her like a sinner catching sight of salvation - caught in worship, in a holy kind of madness.

His hands slid slowly up the silk of her legs, thumbs tracing the dip behind her knees, the curve of her inner thighs. He coaxed them apart, inch by inch. His eyes hungry for the sight of her, drunk on the glisten of condensation and something more delicious between her legs, the sheen of onyx lace like a black rose in full bloom.

He kissed the tender seam of her thigh, hands sliding up to her waist, belt still coiled around his right - the metal buckle cold and hard against her skin. Her breath coming heavier, mesmerised as she watched him.

Heat curling up through her tires, spreading from the engine beneath.

“You were right…” He murmured, his breath blooming violently over her skin. She shivered, legs parting further in offering, her hands clasping over the backs of his, anchoring herself to his insanity. “You’re always right…”

His mouth drifted higher, nipping at skin gently, his tongue hooking under lace. “Beautiful in black. So fucking delicious in black.”

Reverberating through her legs.

* * *

She gasped as she felt his tongue - like melting butter - swipe under the edge of her knickers, just shy of where mercy sat begging and desperate. Her hips instinctively shifted forward, seeking relief - seeking more. His hands curved under her, palms spreading against the back of her thighs. The belt buckle dug into her skin, cold and biting as he painted a molten path up her abdomen, across her ribs, under her breast.

Up into her chest.

He mouthed over her breast, tongue pressing over her nipple, his saliva seeping through the lace. His tongue swirling and sliding behind the lace, moaning as he tasted her hard and peaked against him, relishing the way she trembled under his devotion. She gasped for breath, writhing in his hold as his hands locked over her back — the belt buckle biting into her spine like the tip of a blade, urging her forward, closer, into the mouth of the beast devouring her from the front.

“God, Theo,” A strained breath, fraying at the edges, head tipping back against the window, “You’ve been - “ her voice cracked as his tongue hooked and flattened against her nipple. “Fucking possessed lately.”

He groaned low, dragged his tongue up the arc of her chest, crossing to the mole on her clavicle, biting down on skin, rolling his hips into her as if he meant to sink into her through the fabric alone. A sound escaped her, muffled through her lips, breath hissed into her lungs through her teeth.

His mouth snaked up her neck, then his tongue slid into her mouth, wet and carnal, dripping in whiskey and orange bitters and vanilla. She devoured the taste of him on her tongue, craving more, desperate to drink him whole. Swallow.

She bit down on to his lip like she’d bite hard on her straw, suck and drink until her throat was wet.

He pulled back, her mouth chasing his taste, evidence of his famine trailing between them.

Music: [Bite Your Nails - Marcin]

“You wanted blood, Lillith.” His voice was a rough rasp, staggering backwards. He seized the champagne bottle, tapping its neck sharply against the windowsill. Then, with a practiced flick of his belt buckle, he sabred the top. A clink - a crack. She flinched at the sound, a startled squeal escaping her lips.

The sweet bite of adrenaline flooding her veins. Sparking. Igniting.

The cork sliced clean off, champagne erupting onto the carpet, the bed sheets. “And now I’m choking on it.”

His fingers lifted her chin, tilting her face toward the spray. The frothy bubbles poured over her, tumbled down her throat. She drank without hesitation, swallowed his reckless offering.

“Yours—mine—” His eyes gleamed, crazed and unsteady. “What’s the fucking difference?”

Then he raised the bottle to his own lips, tilting his head back as he drank - like savouring blood from the Devil herself.

His chest flushed.

His veins pumped.

His muscles coiled.

His neck exposed.

His cock throbbing.

Lights out. Time to race.

* * * * *

She grasped at his belt hooks, tugging his trousers and briefs downwards. His cock sprang free, flushed and throbbing. He swayed backwards, grunting from the pressure, champagne dripping from his jaw, throat bobbing on a swallow.

She grasped him in her hand, pumped once. Twice.

He fell forward, hand braced on the glass above her head.

And then she licked. Base to tip. Salt, musk, oak, liquor, a bead of a sharp, citrus tang.

His head dropped against the glass. It shuddered behind her.

“Jesus Christ.” He groaned, a guttural prayer thundering through his chest, the bottle forgotten on the floor beside them.

“Not who you’re praying to tonight, my love.” She whispered against his shaft, it twitched against her lip.

Her fingers dug into toned muscle, hip bones. She licked again, her tongue tracing the line of a pulsing vein, swirling over the sensitive spot at its’ end, teeth teasing over his head. His hand reached behind her ear, fingers weaving roughly through her hair, begging and pleading for more. She kissed down his shaft, thick in her hand, sucked the skin at the base, hand working him as she went. A desperate grunt bitten through his lips.

Sounds she wanted to hear - raw, involuntary - sent something rushing through her, lava oozing between her legs. Lust coiling in her chest like jammed gears, metal crunching and seeking release. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide, innocent and flushed fuchsia.

His forehead steaming against the glass, his brow drawn tight with restraint, his irises blurred and barely visible. The lights of the city flickered like stardust over his skin, glistening in alcohol and the first beads of sweat.

She couldn’t understand it - this unfathomable, maniacal restlessness - turbulent throughout her body. A crack splitting open inside her as she looked up at him — so unbearably beautiful in his unraveling, as if she’d waited and waited and waited to see him like this. Raw. Desperate. Hers.

Like she’d finally tasted the forbidden fruit and the world had burst into colour.

“Lillipad.” He begged. The name he gave her spoken like a gift, lingering on his tongue.

A vow between them sealed.

She took him into her mouth.

He let out a guttural sound, half growl, half surrender, his body folding into hers. Her jaw loosened, saliva pooling and spilling at the corners of her lips, hand clutching at his abdomen, sweat collecting at her fingertips. He pressed deep, hitting the back of her throat, thick and heavy on her tongue. She swallowed her reflex, her throat tightening around him as she moaned, the sharp acidity of his fraying control sharp on her tastebuds, biting down her throat.

His hand twisted in her hair, a tether between control and chaos. Every muscle in his forearm coiled with a feral urge to grip her and fuck her mouth, hard. Instead, he tugged and shook while she stroked and sucked, coating him with the slick of her saliva, leaving him tasting of raspberry and vodka. The ache rippling through his muscles, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, battling every nerve to touch her gently, the barest pressure of one finger tip resting on the back of her head.

She didn’t want him to be gentle. Didn’t want him to go easy on her. She wanted him to show her. Wanted to be handled. Watch him lead.

She drew him deeper down her throat, velvet sliding over her tongue. Her hand slipped between her thighs, fingers quickly finding the pulsing knot of nerves throbbing for relief. A smothered, frustrated sigh escaped through her nose — his dick flexing in her mouth, responding on instinct.

He reacted to her shift immediately. One hand clamped around the back of her head, fingers tangling at her nape, cushioning her gently against the glass. Then he thrust forward — once, hard and deep. She gagged. Swallowed. He pulled out.

He bent down and caught her mouth with his — her chin slick with spit and champagne — his tongue a relief from the weight of his cock. Then he lifted her effortlessly, pressed her up against the glass,, her body melting into his as she stood - skin on skin, fusing and boiling. Her arms locked around his neck, nails scraping through damp hair.

He broke their kiss momentarily, sucking and spitting on two fingers and then pulled the lace aside and sank them inside her. Wet, obscene sounds echoed between her thighs as he worked his fingers deep. Her head dropped back against the glass, already dripping with sweat - his and hers - felt a similar trickle down her leg.

“You want to be handled by me, Lillipad?” He grunted in her ear.

Her breath came out in hot pulses as his thumb found her clit, fingers curling deep inside her, dragging the sound of ecstasy from her lips. She gasped. He reacted. Moving faster, thrusting harder, chasing that same reaction.

“You think you can take me?”

“Ughh - God - Fuck -” She stammered against his mouth. Her mind a complete shambles. The temple built from control and patience reduced to rubble beneath her feet.

“Answer me.” He demanded, a third finger plunged into her core. Pushing and pulling, memorising the spots that made her keen and cry.

“Yes.” She gasped. “I can take it. Please. I can take it.”

“Good girl.”

He drew his fingers free, lifted her and tossed her on the bed - soaked in champagne, cold against her skin.

And then he hooked her leg over his shoulder, licked his lips and consumed her whole.

His nose pressed to her clit, breath hot and humid, tongue sliding between her folds as he lapped and moaned and rasped into her. Her back arched off the bed, a needy whimper escaping her chest, heat and moisture blooming beneath his mouth. His fingers plunged into her again, curling precisely where she wanted. Tongue exploring her clit, flicking expertly, hungrily, drinking her in like something holy. Vulgar, savage movements of his lips in an unrestrained, desperate kiss with her cunt.

She was splintered and frayed beneath him. Her hands desperately clawing at his scalp, hips rolling against his face, gasping and crying for breath. One arm heavy over her thigh, pinning her open to him, his grip locked firm around her waist.

He ran his tongue up and down, over and over. Ruthless. Relentless. Sliding it into her alongside his knuckles, drawing her slick back up and coating her in it. A hell hound licking her raw, infusing her with the fire that burned within him. Her body quivering, her muscles coiling, her thighs trembling.

The only thought in her mind -

More.

More.

“More.”

The word unfurled from her throat - a secret too long held.

Theo’s hand flexed at the sound, his lips suctioning over her hard. A long, hungry pull. Then he stood, grabbed her by the waist. His fingers slipped under the lace of her knickers, a dripping, cold trail drawn on her skin. He twisted his fingers, the bands cutting into her skin, and tore it down her legs. The brush of cool air drifting over her as he stood before her, eyes drinking her in.

Tousled hair. Mouth slathered with her. His dick blushed and swollen in his grip as he fisted himself to the sight of her. He looked feral. Starved. But his glare held the discipline of a man who liked to take his time.

She tried to clench herself shut - out of need, fear, anticipation, shock - but he had her open. One knee planted on the bed, wedging her thighs apart, holding her still. She was a heap on the bed - hair spilled on the bedsheets like a field of nightshade in full bloom, ripe berries stepped on, smeared and spattered across silk. The edges of her bra were folded over, one nipple peeking through damp lace like a lone sweet pea blossoming and bruised.

She was watching him lead and drive like she had never done before. Every movement calculated, every turn and flick of his wheel, every push on the throttle.

And now, of all times, he was making no mistakes.

Flawless.

There were no risks to be taken.

Every move precise. The track unfolded for him—no chicanes, no doubts. Just a straightaway carved into instinct. Memorised. Mastered.

“Mmmh - I thought you were going to show me how to drive.” His voice was breathless, hoarse, as he ran his grip tight along his shaft. She felt moisture drip from her slit onto the sheets.

She smiled, teeth scraping over her lip, abdomen dipping with a breathy sigh.

She felt his gaze as heavy as his full weight pressed on her. Felt his fingers as she ran a hand up her body, hooked her thumb over the wire of her bra. Felt his teeth as she tugged downwards, the lace dragging over her nipples. Unclasped the front hooks, and peeled it off slowly, rubbing it into her skin as she slid it off, seeking friction - any friction.

He pumped himself faster, eyes eclipsed black with lust, a sliver of grey lining his pupils.

“Who’s driving right now, Teddy?” She drawled, her purr like worn and wilted satin.

His lip curled at her - animalistic, his tongue over his canine.

He bent forward. Crawled over her. Breath ghosting over her body, lips grazing the swollen tip of her nipple, but not blessing her with the mercy she sought. His hands slipped beneath her waist, lifting her hips to him. She gasped quietly at the feeling of him nestled at her entrance, the crown pulsing and pushing up between her folds, licking at her clit as he rocked once.

“Me.” He whispered by her ear.

He bit down on her neck, fangs puncturing soft skin. She hissed at the sting, breath catching on the edge of pain and want. Then, he lifted her by the hips, rolled her and bent her over the bed. Her heels still strapped on, hooked over the edge. A startled gasp left her throat, swallowed quickly by a dazed laugh.

He kissed down her back - tender and sweet - stopping at each mole that mapped the star chart of her spine. He lingered on the one resting on the swell of her ass, lips warm and unhurried.

“Take me.” He muttered his cheek resting against her sacrum.

And then, he pushed into her. A slow, heavy thrust accompanied by an even slower, heavier exhale. She stifled her cry in the bedsheets, bit down on champagne soaked linen.

Tight, narrow, exactly as she imagined. A bit too much drag on the initial laps. She would warm to it. Was warming to it. Felt how he pushed. Learned how he moved.

Learned how he reacted. Learned how he felt. Learned how he filled. Deep within her walls. Threatening to tear her apart.

“Relax for me, baby.” She heard him whisper through the pulse throbbing in her ears.

The velvet length of him stretched through her, searching for the right spot, where friction met slick, where pressure met desire. His fingers readjusted on her hip, flexed, thumb anchored in the dips on her back. And then pushed in fully - a single, hard thrust, dragged in by gravity - buried to the root, the blunt head of him claiming every last inch she had to give.

“That’s my girl.”

He drew all the way back and then slammed forward, knocking the air from her lungs. Wounds forming under his nails, stinging beneath his grip.

Pulled back. Fucked her hard.

Drew out. Fucked her again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Every time she pushed back against him, he pushed harder. The sound of him pounding into her a symphony of lost breaths, his name spat and sobbed through crumpled bedsheets, his skin slapping against hers, foul words choked from his throat.

“Take it. Take it. Take it.”

“Take it.”

“Take me. Take me. You take me so well, baby. So fucking well.”

“Doing so well.”

“So good for me, Lilli. Made for me. So perfect for me.”

“That was fucking perfect.”

Her limbs gave way, her legs aching and shuddering. She collapsed forward and he fell with her. Still buried - six inches deep, his full weight pressed down on her body. His skin feverish, his sweat pooling into the hollows of her back. He lifted his weight, just enough to let her breathe, just enough to coil his hips back, just enough to let him slip a hand under her breast, the other under her cunt - and then rammed into her again. His body coiling and releasing, rolling into her. His hand kneading over her breast, his fingers swivelling over her clit - practiced, relentless rhythm.

She was overstimulated and ruined. Her mind just red static and haze.

Every nerve ending torn and re-wired.

The full stretch of her body covered and coated in him - his skin, his sweat, his breath, his praise, his worship.

He wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Was relentless. Brutal.

Her breath catching in her throat.

Her abdomen tightening and tightening.

Feeling him twitch and spasm inside her.

His angle tweaked with every thrust, hunting her sweet spot down to the nanometer.

She couldn’t breathe.

Fingers burning with lack of oxygen.

Body tremoring with carbon dioxide.

And then -

He pushed hard, his body lifting off her, her lungs flooding with oxygen.

Her eyes rolled back, body spasming against the confines of his arms, adrenaline spilling through her body, igniting every nerve end on its’ way. The wildfire at full blaze. His hand slid to her throat, tipped her head back and ravaged her mouth as she came - moaning and panting into her as her walls clenched tight over him.

Him. Him.

Him.

Theo. Theo.

Theo.

Every vein in her body pulsed with him.

Cried his name.

Tasted his blood.

Her body went limp.

Electricity fizzled down her toes.

He pulled out, head bowed low over her lower back. Tired, wrecked kisses brushed her spine, breath burning across her skin like a fever dream.

She took a moment to catch her breath.

Felt the damp of the sheets beneath her.

Her fingers now tuned to their grip.

Her heart rate slowed.

Her speed easing into the pit lanes.

She had seen enough.

Held back enough.

Let him handle her.

Let him drive.

Her eyes adjusted through the window’s reflection - naked bodies, tangled in ivory sheets and ultraviolet hair, painted translucent beneath a clouded sky. Dusky clouds swirling above.

It was about to rain.

And she was changing her tires just in time.

She pushed herself up by her elbows, hair spilling over her face, nudged him with her hip. He flopped to the side of the bed, shuffled up to rest against the headboard, gaze locked on her, a satisfied smirk curling his lips.

She granted him one look, then bent around the bed to pick up the champagne bottle - still half full.

“Did you finish?” She asked, her voice steady like the last twenty minutes were a mere memory.

He gave a breathy laugh, eyes sharp on her. “No.”

“Good.” She murmured, stepping to the foot of the bed.

He settled back against the headboard, legs spread, exposed and vulnerable. Lazy, half-lidded eyes, smug and expectant. “Thought you would be.”

“I told you…” She swirled the champagne’s remnants in the bottle. His cock stood proud and glistening, slick with her.

Thunder rumbled outside.

It was about to get very, very wet.

“In my car…” She crawled up and over him, just skin and sweat. Straddled his hips, ground herself onto his abdomen, feeling his cock press into the softness of her bum behind her. “You’re not the one driving.”

He hissed sharply through his nose, a storm sparking and electric in his eyes.

He wasn’t done yet. Neither was she.

She tipped the champagne over her head, letting it cascade in rivulets down her shoulders and curves, dripping from eyelashes and hair. She lifted onto her knees, poured the fizz over his chest, abdomen, cock.

Hooked her heels over his spread thighs, muscles recoiling at the chill.

Adjusted her grip.

Twisted into position.

Turned her dial up.

Tip at her opening.

Now the track was wet.

Just how she liked it.

“My turn.” She smiled.

She sat down.

He groaned loud, a curse word ripped from within.

She took him all in—slippery, crackling, fizz sparkling through her, champagne foaming at the friction. Pleasure bubbled low in her abdomen, erupting along her spine. Her gaze locked on him, tunnel visioned, mesmerized. Her mouth hung slack, watching his eyes roll back, promised words sliced through his teeth, hands helpless and desperate—clawing at her thighs, hips, breasts.

She picked up her speed.

Head rolled back.

Rocking forward and back, up and down.

Her weight resting in her palms on his chest, slipping over alcohol, nails anchoring into the tensed muscles of his neck.

Foot on the throttle. Tight into his slipstream.

He was melting beneath her, into her, over her - his beautiful, beautiful features contorted into ache and euphoria and starvation and rapture.

She pushed harder. DRS activated.

Falling forward and kissing him deep. His hands tangled in her hair, tugging at the pearls around her neck, gripping and scratching at the skin on her bum. Pulling at her, kneading her, slapping her. Anything to tame the beast possessing him.

He was completely undone - blind and stupefied. His mouth hanging slack against hers as she panted and moaned into him.

“Ngh - Fuck - Lilli -” His words scattered and ripped in pieces, strewn to the wind, violently swept up into the thunderstorm.

Done for.

Ruined.

Stuttering.

Slipped.

A mistake.

She grinned.

Overtake.

P1.

Faster.

It was hers now. She saw it.

Him completely dissolving into her.

She’d dreamt of this.

Imagined this.

Fantasised and cried over this.

His hips lifted into her, the pressure doubling, the hit twice as hard.

His hands wrapped and sunk into the grooves of her hips, forcing her down onto him.

Hot on her tail, still trying to fight for control.

Trying to take back what was his.

His thumb swerved down, smudging over her clit, building the friction tighter.

Both of them hurtling down a straight -

Raw, painful ecstasy threatening to erupt.

Red - black -

Skin - sweat -

“So close.”

“Lilli - Fuck -”

“Fucking shit - Ted -”

“I’m so close -“ He choked. His hips stuttered, his hands grasping at her skin. Fingers trembling on her thigh. “Lillipad - get off - I’m going to -”

Faster.

Final straight.

Sweaty palms squeezed her hips tight.

“Fuck - Lilli - get off or I -”

Tight.

So tight on her tail.

“Do you want to?” She panted.

He groaned. Whimpered.

Accelerated.

Faster.

“Do you want to cum in me, Teddy?”

His fingers on her cunt.

Toes curling.

Her eyes rolling back.

Faster.

“Yes - Lillith - please -”

Yes.

Yes.

YES.

“And your Monaco Grand Prix winner… Lillith Hemlock!”

Champagne erupted from the bottle in her hand, foam arcing into the air as her thumb pressed firm over the opening.

The crowd roared, the grandstands vibrating with the thunder of stomping feet — a living sea of branded caps and glinting sunglasses, their cheers crashing like waves against the podium.

Lillith shielded her face, laughing and spinning as Kai sprayed champagne down the back of her neck, cold and sticky against sun-kissed skin. Her face still flushed, heat still tingling in her legs. She retaliated, chucking hers back in his face. Bubbles tangled in his dark hair, dribbling down his jawline, mixed with sweat. A lopsided grin, scrunched eyes. He turned to the crowd, arms wide, baptizing fans, engineers, mechanics, teammates — armies.

Then her gaze slid sideways.

Second place.

Theo.

He stood a step below her, bottle in hand, thumb pressed firm, forearm taut as he shook it hard. That same glazed, dewy, post-sex look from last night still simmered in his eyes — smug, salty, and unspeakably soft. He looked at her like she was both victory and punishment. And she knew he wanted both.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, took a step toward him, peeled off his cap, and tipped the bottle over his head. He stuck out his tongue, lashes sparkling, mouth parted, still watching only her.

He gave her a crooked smile, a click of his teeth.

Then he crouched, aimed the bottle at the stage, and slammed it against the floor — a white-hot jet rocketed upward like a geyser, catching her full in the chest.

The crowd howled.

He soaked her. Then Kai. Then the front row of the crowd. Then her again — vengeful and loving.

She took it like she promised she would.

They wiped their eyes, licked champagne from their lips, and drank.

Satisfaction.

[ The Monaco Race ]

Chapter Text

Lillith unpacked her things slowly. Laid her pyjamas on the bed, removed her toiletry bag, tossed her worn clothes into the laundry basket.

London was only a brief pit stop - a night, maybe two - before she moved into the hotel near the circuit. Her flat was clean, bedsheets were recently changed. She hadn’t been home in a few months, but she had entrusted her flat to her brother - to good effect.

She sifted through the mess of garments in her suitcase. Clean. Dirty. Clean. Sniff. Maybe dirty. Organised her belongings, folded, re-folded, re-packed, re-filled.

Her hand paused. A roll of silk peeked out from beneath a half-folded sweater, smoothed flat. Carefully placed, it’s sheen catching the amber glow of her vanity. Her fingers hovered over it, hesitant. As if touching it might burn her.

She flexed her fingers.

Unrolled the silk.

A pair of red-tinged sunglasses tumbled out and landed on the bed, the silk unfurling into a familiar gunmetal grey shirt - his shirt - the one he had worn over a tense dinner table. One that hung to her mid-thigh, sleeves that draped past her fingers.

“Where are you going?” he murmured against her thigh.

She stood by the edge of the bed, bathed in warm light spilling from his half-open wardrobe, the glow casting amber streaks across her damp hair as she buttoned his shirt over bare skin. His fingers curled around her knee, lips brushing lazily along the inside of her leg.

She smiled, smoothing back the sweat-damp strands of his hair, still sticky from champagne and exertion.

“I’ve got a race to win tomorrow,” she whispered, kneeling beside him, her thumb gently pawing over the hole pierced in his earlobe. “I’m going to get myself a good night’s sleep - just like Ben told me to.”

His hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, skin warm and slick as they mapped the faint imprint of her bra along her ribs.

“Sleep here,” he said, the words half-melted into the haze of his drowsy voice.

She chuckled. “Your sheets are ruined.”

He flopped dramatically onto his back, one arm still looped around her, his thumb brushing the swell of her breast. “So this was your master plan?” he sighed. “Wreck my bed, exhaust me, sabotage me for the weekend?”

Her laugh curled between them, soft and fond, as she wound her fingers through his hair. “You caught me.”

He turned his head, blinking slowly. There was something in his gaze she recognised, but tonight it tugged at her in a different way. Dreamy and lost. Knowing and disorientated. Quiet. Like low tide lapping gently at her ankles. Safe. Familiar. Sanctuary.

“Let me sleep in your room, then,” he said.

“Teddy…”

“I used to sleep over at yours all the time.”

“Mmh - Not like this.”

“This is better though, isn’t it?” He grinned, teasing, boyish. Too tender for her to resist.

She leaned forward, her body swayed by the soft hush of whatever this was - waves of euphoria and hope - the still ocean of her mind. Pressed a kiss to his lips, bruised and sweet.

“Goodnight, Froggy,” she whispered against him.

He took a second. Breathing her in slowly.

“Night, Lillipad.”

She stood to leave as he exhaled dramatically, collapsing onto his back again in defeat.

“What the hell do I do with these sheets?” he called to the ceiling. That familiar friendly dynamic seamlessly easing its way back into his voice.

“There’s this thing called room service,” she offered, slipping her heels into one hand and her clutch into the other. She left her dress folded on the chair as a gift.

He sat up, running both hands through his hair, still shamelessly nude and glistening. “Mm… That’s gonna be an awkward call. You sure you don’t want to stay and watch housekeeping condemn me to Hell?”

“Hell, hm?” She checked her clutch for her key card, caught her reflection in the mirror. Swiped off some smudged lipstick she had missed. Her lips swollen and pink. “I’ll see you down there, then.”

She gave him one last look, opening the door just enough to let the hallway light stream in. “Good luck tomorrow, Teddy.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just watched her go, eyes trailing her like he was still trying to memorise the shape of her.

The door clicked shut. And still, his gaze held.

Lillith stared blankly at the shirt in her hands, feeling the fabric slide between her fingers.

She hadn’t spoken to him since the podium. Monaco’s victory celebrations had carried them through the night, only granting them just a few passing glances and hopeful looks across a dimly lit dance floor. Each spark of neon reflecting in his eyes shooting into her with charged electricity. Her heart skipping into palpitations every split second opportunity they may have had to slip away together. But, then he had disappeared - swallowed by an intoxicated crowd. And eventually, so had she.

She didn’t know how to feel at this point - what she was even allowed to feel.

What was this thing they had done? Everything felt like a fever dream in the post-ictal state after a car crash. Clung to her like ash and dust, smelled of burning oak. They’d been caught in the storm of it, in the turbulence and the pressure - too much, too long - building to the point of coal compressing into diamonds. Until pure, raw need turned combustible, and they had no choice but to puncture a hole in the tire and let the air hiss out before it exploded.

And now, where did it leave her? A flat tire on the side of the road. Diamond dust ripping her lungs. Breathless without the oxygen only he seemed to create.

Did he feel it too? This uncomfortable gnawing at her chest like something thick and desperate - a blood clot stuck in her throat? Did he know he did this to her? Did he want to?

She lifted the shirt to her nose, breathed in deep.

Still laced in his scent - patchouli, oak, a trace of honeyed spice. She could taste him.

Knock. Knock.

She shoved the shirt back in her bag, tucked his sunglasses under a sweater. Picked up a roll of socks.

The door opened.

“Li-Li.” Lucifer murmured from the doorway.

He leaned into the frame, indigo hair swept to the side and spilling into his eyes, three small moles dotting his face like a constellation - the one on his chin a mirror of hers. He puckered his lips and blew his fringe out of his vision.

“Lu-Lu.” She replied, waving a sock in greeting.

He crossed the room in two long strides and folded her into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Pear,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“You too, gē.” Her reply equally muffled against him.

He sat back on her bed, arms folded behind his head resting against the headboard, long legs stretched out over her duvet.

“That was some good racing in Monaco,” he said, gazing at her over his nose. “You were all over Theo’s gearbox. He must’ve been feeling the pressure.”

Her chest twisted at the name - wringing at her lungs, though she couldn’t quite pin down exactly why.

“Yeah...” she laughed, a little too light, too nervous. “I just...” Her mind flickered - champagne on his chest, his mouth slack against hers. She cleared her throat. “Got lucky with the rain.”

“Humble as ever, lil sis.” Lucifer’s tone softened. She caught a flicker of something wistful in his face, in his posture. A flicker of a smile resting on his lips. She never liked talking about racing around him - had never stopped feeling the guilt.

Had it been left up to him, maybe he’d be the one on the track. Maybe he’d be her main competitor, maybe she wouldn’t have raced at all. But their father had other plans. His ventures into auto-sports investments had been the spark of an ambitious dream that his children would one day bring home the glory of a Formula One trophy. And with it - the accompanying finances that would fulfil the returns of those investments. But Lucifer’s fire had been snuffed out, funnelled into the Hemlock jewellery empire, while she’d been lit up like a flare. She knew he would have been brilliant out there - just as bright. Maybe brighter.

Not that their father would’ve noticed.

“Ah, right - Dad got this for you.” As if reading her mind - Lucifer fished something from his pocket and handed it over. A velvet box stamped with the Hemlock crest in liquid silver.

She rolled her eyes. “And by ‘Dad’, you mean you?”

He grinned. “Well, if we’re being pedantic - then neither of us.” He raised an eyebrow, nudging her to open the box.

She flipped the lid. A delicate string of black pearls lay curled around its' velvet mount, a violet sheen refracting over naturally carved grooves. She recognised it immediately. One she’d seen wrapped around their father’s wrist when she was a child.

“It’s Mum’s,” Lucifer said.

Her throat constricted.

She traced the curve of the pearls with the pad of her finger, cautious - like a bubble that would pop if her finger was too dry.

Pretty.

“Why?” she asked.

Lucifer shrugged gently. “Because he’s proud of you? Because he loves you?” A pause. “Because you remind him of her.”

She didn’t look up. Just let the words settle over her like mist.

She had never known her mother. Only imagined her - a woman kind and brilliant enough to tame a man as cold-blooded as their father. A serpent with ambition so deep it hollowed out everything else. Eyes that swirled black and blind with the desire for glory. A natural instinct to put his family second and self-preservation first.

And maybe that was why she couldn’t bring herself to be with Kai. Why second place stung so much. Why she needed to earn her wins, to fight for them. Why she craved someone who wouldn’t just hand her the world - someone who would make her race for it. Who’d respect her for it.

A toothy grin - smug and salty. Stormy eyes - longing and vicious. A rival.

“Thank you, Lu,” she said quietly, lost somewhere between the past and what might come next. Safety and fear, curiosity and consequence looming in the distance.

“I’ll pass on the thanks.” He smiled and stood, patting her on the head before heading to the door. He tapped the beige slatted panels of her wardrobe as he passed it.

“My gift’s in there, by the way - well, mine and Sev’s.”

She looked up. “So mostly Sev’s, then.”

He grinned. “You can wear it to your par-tay tonight.” A little dance of his hips as he backed out the door.

Her nose twitched. “You’re not coming tonight, are you?”

“Nah, I’ve got more important things to do than drink with emotionally constipated speed demons.” He paused, popping his head back in the doorway. “And I swear to God, if I see Kai here tomorrow morning-”

“Get out,” she groaned, throwing a sock at him.

He vanished with a wink.

Lillith stood there, biting the inside of her cheek, thoughts swirling just beneath the surface, her stomach twisting at the idea of dinner tonight. Voices in her head threatening to breach the barrier she had been trying to build in preparation of seeing him. What did it all mean - what they had done? Where were they going? What did he want? What did she?

She’d dated a racer before. She knew how fast things spun out.

Was dating even on the table? Was this just sex? Maybe it was safer to keep it as just sex… Did she want more than just sex?

She groaned, rubbing her eyes, trying to shut it all down.

Then she stepped toward the wardrobe. Warm lights illuminating as she pulled the doors open.

A black midi dress hung beneath the glow. Cotton weave meant to hug and smooth, sculpted bodice, plunging neckline. Expensive.

A small note was tied to the hanger with a blue ribbon and a sprig of baby’s breath.

“축하해 나의 아기! – S” (chukhahae naui agi! - Congratulations my baby!)

She smiled, shaking her head.

Of course. Picked out by Sev.

“I told you to switch to inters - you wouldn’t listen.” Achilles waved his fork toward Kai, seated on Lillith’s left.

“Wouldn’t have made a difference - these two were on some crack.” Kai muttered, tapping his finger against Lillith’s wrist. She resisted the flinch, her skin drawn taut with hypersensitivity. Every touch, every graze, felt like static skimming her nerves.

On her other side, Theo stretched back in his chair, arms overhead, the fabric of his shirt pulling across his chest. His chair pulled precariously close to hers. His leg brushed deliberately against hers under the table. Another suppressed flinch.

“Crack wouldn’t have been nearly as effective as the stimulant I was really on.” He quipped, his voice low, head tipping toward Lillith’s rigid shoulder.

“Yeah?” Achilles cocked a brow, a piece of steak slipping off his fork. “And what’s that?”

Theo leaned forward across the table, elbow grazing over Lillith’s placemat.

“A solid evening workout. A delicious meal. A full night’s sleep. Bit of champagne before bed,” he said, chin propped in his hand. He turned to look Lillith in the eye, his grin peeking between his fingers. “A good routine.”

“Didn’t realise your routine was so comprehensive,” She replied, toe twitching against his shin.

“It is now.”

“Aren’t you just the picture of health.”

“Never been healthier, Lillipad.”

Annie caught her eye across the table, chewing on her hair rather than her food. She nudged Theo’s leg back with her knee. He took the message instantly, leaning back casually in his seat, still a bit too smug for someone who placed P2.

“Sounds like there’s more to that routine than you’re letting on, Theo.” Harry chimed in, seated across from Kai.

She caught a glimpse of Kai in the corner of her eye - the blurred vision of his face angled towards her. Saw his hand flex next to hers.

“Ah yes,” Theo added breezily. She felt her ponytail tug as he twirled a lock of her hair behind her back, “final step: visit the garage of the driver starting in the position ahead of you. Get in their head, psyche yourself up. Or, in the case you start in pole -” His hand ran up the back of her seat, hair spilling through his fingers as he went. “- the driver just behind.”

“Didn’t seem to work for you this time though, did it?” Kai’s voice was flat and sharp - the edge of a butterfly knife.

Theo’s smirk was audible.

“Maybe if you tried it, you wouldn’t have been left so far behind, choking on our dust, Kurokawa.” Theo’s fingers gathered more of Lillith’s hair.

Kai clicked his tongue behind his teeth. “Guess I’ll pay you a visit before the next race, Li-chan.” His voice shifted, his gaze swerving past her to Theo. “I imagine I’ll be seeing you there, too.”

Theo grinned, predatory. “How kind of you, Kai - to assume I’ll be P1 again. You taking third?”

The scar on Kai’s lip stretched with his sneer. “Trying to be the better man this time, I suppose.”

“Go on, then.” Theo’s foot hooked over Lillith’s ankle beneath the table. “Try.”

Lillith’s hand closed over Kai’s wrist instinctively. She felt his muscles soften slightly. Heard Theo’s jaw click. Felt him give a light tug at her hair.

“No one’s visiting me before Silverstone,” she announced abruptly. “Theo’s right - it gets in my head, and that -” she turned to him, glared pointedly. He winked. “- isn’t good sportsmanship. Is it, Ted?”

He blinked innocently. “No?”

“No.”

His eyes flickered to her lips. He licked his.

She glanced at Annie - wide eyes, pink contact lenses showing full rim. Lillith gave her the tiniest flick of a brow.

“Ah - ha!” Annie raised her wine glass dramatically, the liquid sloshing dangerously over the rim. “What’s in this? Is it just me, or is the alcohol hitting harder tonight?”

Achilles turned to her, his shoulders squaring along with his attention. “You feeling okay?”

“Yes?” Annie squeaked. “Yes! Uh - yes!” She shoved the glass at him. “Here. Drink more!”

“You sure you’re alright?” Harry asked. Achilles gently steadied her, shielding his shirt from the wine.

“I’m fine! Why’s everyone looking at me -” Her voice trailed off.

Not everyone was looking at her, though.

Kai’s head turned toward Annie, but his eyes stayed low - resting on Lillith’s hand. Theo leaned back, spinning her hair between his fingers, eyes fixed downward like he was winding tension into a watch spring.

Lillith stared at her plate. A long exhale to steady her thoughts.

Kai hadn’t been a part of her calculations. Not entirely. Or at least, she thought she’d wiped him from the board. But his name had been etched in marker for so long - it left a stain. One she’d ignored.

He was the ghost of how wrong things could go.

A lingering reminder of the chaos waiting just beyond the barrier - what would happen if this slipped through the cracks and fell into the hands of the media. The bitter taste of how quickly dynamics could shift on the track - between her, Theo, Kai, and every other racer, engineer, and strategist who’d smell blood in the water. They’d twist it into advantage, turn the scandal into fuel. Play their mind games, add to the turbulence, spit dirty air, and accelerate the storm.

And she knew - oh, she knew - that Theo would be a hundred times more intense. The delicate relationship that they maintained skirted along the razor-thin line between enemies and friends - a tightrope stretched and wound tight over an open flame. It was something so important to her - so much more flammable. Precious as cut jewels doused in petrol, glinting just inches from a lit match.

And yet… she wanted him. Wanted this. Couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t reason with herself. She wanted to surrender to the storm and let it carry her. Let herself rise with it like she’d been born to dance with it. A water lily, fragile and divine, blooming in a hurricane.

But would she bloom?

Or would she be crushed beneath the pressure?

“Shall I come over tonight?” Theo’s voice ghosted against her ear, low and dangerous. A shiver knifed through her, goosebumps chasing the path of his breath. “To collect my sunglasses and shirt, of course.”

She turned to him. He was far too close. His wine-sweetened breath burning against her nose. Half-lidded eyes, dreamy and devastating.

“Lucifer’s at home,” she heard herself say.

“Great, Luci loves me.”

“He won’t if he knows you’re sleeping in my bed.”

Theo’s grin widened, his canine catching on his lip.

“Goodness, Lillipad,” he murmured. “I was just coming to collect my things.” He curled his knee inward, still hooked over her leg. “But if you insist…”

No resistance.

Not even an ounce.

Not what she expected of herself.

The storm of thoughts melted again - ice evaporating over flame. The maddeningly insane feeling of security rippling from his gaze, pulsing through her chest, buzzing through her fingertips.

She looked away, trying not to lose herself completely.

He leaned in to her ear, his whisper like hot sand sliding over glass. “We’d have to be quiet, though…”

“God, Theo…” She took a breath, heat already beginning to colour the tips of her ears.

“Is this not what you want?”

His voice remained smooth like marble - but just a hint of a slight crack, a fissure of uncertainty. His fingernail grazed the skin of her bare shoulder, the motion hidden behind the veil of her hair.

“It is…” She replied softly. He pressed his fingernail in deeper. She sighed, letting her posture melt into his aura. “… What I want.”

She met his eyes. And something shifted.

The grin faded. The heat cooled into something quieter, deeper. His brow mirrored hers - knitting into the faintest flicker of worry. His eyes rounded with the kind of care that threatened to unravel her more than desire ever could.

“And it scares me,” she whispered.

He hesitated.

“Why?”

They were conspiratorially close at this point. All concerns of peering eyes faded to a second thought. The room around them blurred into silence. Even the background noise of Annie’s award-winning wine performance becoming impossibly quiet.

Every time.

It happened every time.

The world faded. The tension dissolved. He blocked it out. Became the only thing that mattered.

She was already starting to feel it. The rising amplitude of his gravity - his pull on her, his presence inside her orbit. Every breath he took, every syllable he formed—her body tuned to it, trembling for it. Already increasing in potency, becoming dangerously concentrated. A crimson coloured lust and something sickeningly sweet writhing within her.

Intense. Too intense.

“Because I want you so badly, Teddy.” She confessed. Each word carried on a breath, fizzling through focused eye contact. “So. Badly.”

Each syllable, warm and heavy.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened - entirely still.

She clenched her jaw. Toes curled.

And then she said it. All of it.

“I want to feel you again. Taste you again. Let you do what you want to me. Again. And again. And again. ” She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear, her hair dragging over his forearm where it rested on the back of her chair. Her fingers brushed over his shoulder. She dropped her voice to the faintest whisper. “It’s eating me alive, Teddy. I can’t stop thinking about you. Everywhere I go - I look for you. Every time I see you - I feel my fingers buzz and twitch like they’re chasing an itch I need to scratch - but I can’t because you’re under my bloody skin and it’s driving me fucking mad.”

The words spilled before she could stop them. The cork dislodged, and the bottle flooded. Truth laced in heat. Raw and ruinous. Her words sounding familiar now. Words she heard him murmur into her ear beneath gold and emerald tiling alongside a French martini.

“And it terrifies me,” she admitted, her voice hitching on the edge of a breath. “Because if this goes wrong…” She swallowed hard. “I can’t lose you.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his expression serious, his eyes a clear patina silver. His hand gently grasped the back of her neck, steadying her. Still hidden by the curtain of her hair.

“Lillipad…”

She blinked. The tone of his voice echoing in her head - replaying in different shapes, intonations, meanings. Her mind spiralled for a moment, caught in a current of doubt, muffled by the intensity of his stare. She cut him off before his next words could form. “I really can’t.”

“You won’t.” His eyes were wide, hungry. “You won’t lose me.”

“I’ve dated a racer before, Teddy -”

“I’m not Kai.” His grip tightened on the nape of her neck.

“I know you’re not. You’re infinitely worse.” That pulled a low, breathy laugh from him. She pressed forward. “You realise how deeply tied we are? What happens if this becomes public? How we already fight like hell on the track? How important you are to me? How much this has been circling my head? How much you affect me?” Her voice cracked. “How much I want you—”

“Lillipad—”

“Do you know how insane you make me?” Her breath came fast now, her voice a little louder than she intended. Her eyes glinted, irises haloed with a bright fuschia. “Hm, Teddy?”

His mouth parted slightly. His jaw loose. Lips wet. Eyes wide and stunned.

“God, I hope I do,” he whispered.

She moved closer again, mouth by his ear, hand gripping the fabric on his shoulder. His palm slid to cradle the base of her skull. She felt his pulse in her spine.

“If you figured out how to subtly slip us to the bathroom right now…” she whispered, “I’d drop to my knees and suck you off so hard you wouldn’t even realise you’d finished.”

She pulled back, slowly. His hand stiff on her neck.

His pupils were pinpricks - a single dot of black swallowed in a field of grey. Eyes quivering. Disbelieving. Stunned silent by words they’d both only ever dreamed of. Words she never thought she had the nerve to say out loud. Foul. Dirty.

“That is how insane you make me,” she said.

He stared at her. Still as stone, save for the thumb that stroked her hairline once, slow and reverent.

Then he stood. Tongue wetting his canine. Voice absurdly casual.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

And then, he left.

Lillith turned back to her plate — untouched food going cold in front of her. Her heart thundered, every breath shallow. Panic lurked at the edge of her chest, telling her she might’ve gone too far. Her fork shook, adrenaline tremoring through her fingertips. She fiddled with the string of black pearls around her wrist. Picked up her fork, tried a bite of roasted cabbage - her mouth was numb.

“Theo? Really?” Kai’s voice came low and sharp in her ear.

She scrunched her eyes shut for a moment, exhaling hard through her nose. This was becoming a bit much for one night.

“Theo - really - what?” Her voice stilted over cabbage between her teeth.

“Theo - really - you’re really sleeping with Theo?” He said, quieter now. “Really?”

“What makes you -” she started, but the way he looked at her - piercing green eyes - all-knowing and observant. He quirked a brow. Denying was off the table.

“Once,” she muttered. “In Monaco.”

“And are you going to again?”

She swallowed her food. Didn’t answer.

He let out a breath like a laugh strangled in his throat. “Fuck’s sake…” His hand ran through his hair, the glossy strands tickling at his eyelashes. “I mean, I saw it coming, but-”

Kai shook his head, his fingers rapping impatiently on the table. His posture stiff, not angry - just… bruised.

“I saw it coming,” he repeated, like he was justifying it to himself. “But still hits like a fucking truck.”

Lillith looked down at her plate again. She felt the weight of her words from moments ago settle over her like condensation—warm, then cold. Regret didn’t come. Just a thick, stifling uncertainty. The feeling of being smothered by a fire blanket, heavy fabric dangerously wrapping around her neck.

Kai’s breath hovered beside her ear. “Insane, huh?” he asked, like he didn’t quite believe her. Didn’t want to. The corner of her fork scraped loudly on her plate. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin, like it could erase everything that had just happened. It couldn’t. Though, she didn’t think she wanted it to disappear.

Kai sighed, his voice strained. “I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, if that’s what you’re worried about…”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t have a name for the mess she’d started, the twisting thread she’d pulled that was now unravelling all over the table, beneath the plates and forks and forgotten steak.

Kai leaned back slightly, one arm slung over the back of her chair. He looked out across the table at Annie, who was still performing her wine-induced meltdown with increasingly chaotic gestures. No one was paying attention to them, it seems. She hoped no one was paying attention to her earlier either.

“Did I ever make you feel like that?” He asked.

She stilled. Knew that this was going to be his next question.

They’d had this conversation in a multitude of different ways before: his quiet fear that he was never enough, her aching doubt that he would always choose himself before choosing them. A vicious loop. Worn-out tires spinning against each other, gears wound so tight, wheels locking on the track. Rubber burned, friction peaked — the resistance bands between them stretched far past breaking. The weight of it all becoming too heavy for them to bear.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. The knot in her chest cinched tighter.

“But not as much,” he answered for her, breath falling through his fringe with a soft, hollow sigh.

“Insanity isn’t a good thing, Kai.”

“Then why him?” He turned to face her fully now, shoulders angling into her periphery. “Why is he worth it, and I’m not?”

She met his gaze head-on. Deep pools of viridian swimming before her, mossy ponds she used to get lost in until she learned how to map her way out and escape.

“You were worth it,” she snapped. “Why do you think I kept coming back?”

“Then why did you keep leaving?” His voice was beginning to crack, rain splattering off dents and cuts in the steel.

“You know why.” Her fingers gripped the edge of her chair, trying to brace herself against the tilt. “Kai, I thought we were past this -”

“Maybe I’m trying to show you - you were wrong. That I would put you first -”

“You won’t.”

His breath hitched. “How can you be so sure?”

He leaned forward, his gaze trying to peer under her walls, under her fringe, under the mask she learned to wear around him. His brow furrowed in that familiar desperation when they realised that what they had was feeding into unhealthy competition, a feud that bittered the taste of what could have been and what had been sweet. And then they would forget. And then taste it again.

“Because I know you.” Her voice wavered - the way it always wavered when they fought like this. Always right at the breaking point. That place where love and fury bled into each other. Where wanting someone and failing them became indistinguishable.

“He’s not as different from me as you both seem to think.” Kai said.

“Then prove it.” She challenged, eyes flaring.

He went quiet. His jaw worked. His throat bobbed.

“I can’t compete with him.” He finally said.

She softened. Not in pity — in resignation.

“I don’t want you to, Kai.”

Bitter.

The precise taste that made the idea of Theo nauseating. The core fear that the fruit would rot from the inside and the cyanide would leak from the pit.

But where she had known Kai like muscle memory, she understood Theo like pure instinct.

With Kai, competition had corroded them. With Theo, it fuelled them. Sharpened, sure - but never destructive. Where Kai had taken her wins personally, Theo wore them like a dare. No need to prove yourself to the other, because the proof was already there. Their rivalry ran on respect, not resentment.

And that was the difference. The fractional shift in the formula that made the numbers add up.

That made it make sense.

Her phone rang.

Lucifer’s contact lit up the screen, his three beauty marks punctuating his cheek in the image. The name “Lu-Lu” printed along the top.

Kai glanced at her phone and settled back in his chair, kneading the bridge of his nose.

She took his wrist, looked at him for a long second. He held her gaze for as long as she would allow, then blinked.

She picked up the call. “Hey -”

“Hello?” His voice muffled behind the haze of background noise. The surrounding chaos in full swing. “Li-Li - you alright?” She barely heard him say, pressing a finger to her ear to try and block out the sound.

“Wait - one sec. I can’t hear you.”

She gave Kai one last look, his fingers twitching towards hers as she let go of his wrist. Then she turned and slipped out of the dining room, her heels clicking quick across tile.

She brought the phone back to her ear as the volume dimmed. “Sorry - what’s up?”

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah - fine, why?” She adjusted the phone on her ear, trying to shake her thoughts from her mind. Leaned back against the wall in a dimly lit corridor. “What’s wrong?”

“You tell me - Theo texted me to call you urgently -”

His shadow stepped out from around the corner, brown curls just catching the amber light, his silhouette loose and lazy. Before she could respond, Theo reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he guided her further down the hallway, out of sight.

“Ah - right,” she stumbled into the phone. “He must’ve just - gotten lost -”

The low light darkened further as they reached the end of the corridor. He took the phone from her fingers, his body sliding in close, pushing her into the wall, arm braced beside her waist. The wood panel cooled her spine. His gaze burned.

“Hey, Luci~” His voice was syrup-smooth, a complete contrast with the way his eyes pierced into hers. The way his curls dipped over his brow, brushing her forehead. She held her breath, careful not to make a sound.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t find her. Got a bit worried -” he chuckled, easy and affable. But his fingers were far from casual - his free hand resting on her thigh, dragging slow heat up to her waist. “Yeah, she’s a little drunk, haha. No, no - don’t worry about it. I’ll bring her home.”

She gave him a light shove to the chest in protest. He merely raised his brows, caught her wrist mid-motion, and brought a finger to his lips. A silent shh.

“It would be - yeah. Oh, that’s kind of you, Lu! But, no really - it’s fine. I’ll just crash on the sofa in Lil’s room - someone’s gotta keep her hair out of her vomit, eh?” He laughed, almost convincingly innocent.

She tried to smack him again, his grip tightened on her wrist, pinning it above her head. Pressed his body closer, let the weight of the air between them thicken.

“Yeah, perfect. I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” His voice dropped slightly, the edge of performance fraying. His eyes were on hers - though that feral, hungry look she had gotten used to wasn’t there. It was softer. Heavier. His palm spreading over her hand, fingers melting between hers.

“It’s good hearing your voice too, Lu. Yeah, maybe I’ll see you in the morning if I end up staying over.”

He was a menace. A master manipulator. Charmer, liar, lover, firestarter. Played her just as well as the other cards in his hand. And yet - this didn’t feel like a game any longer. Not with the way he looked at her. Not with the way his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. Not with the way the cologne dabbed on his neck steamed into her nose.

“Mmhmm.” He murmured, absently. Distracted now. His eyelids were getting heavier, the carelessness slipping out of his voice as he inched closer to being alone with her.

“Alright, see you, Lu.” His voice dropped to an impatient breath.

He clicked her phone shut, slipping it into his pocket.

Then, pushed forward the last millimetre, wrapping his mouth around her bottom lip, sucking hard. Her fingers curled around his hand above her head, his other hand now sunk into the curve of her waist, pulling her towards him.

“Teddy…” She mumbled against him, the name falling from her chest like a defeated sigh. Fingers curling into the linen of his shirt. “Teddy - I -”

He drew back just enough to see her face, to give her space to breathe. He gently released her hand and cradled the back of her neck, his palm smoothing through her hair.

“Stop thinking, Lillipad.” He whispered. He kissed her softly. “Just… Stop thinking.”

She exhaled into the kiss—a sigh weighted with everything unsaid. A confession. A history. A thousand unspoken warnings that hovered like storm clouds above their heads, casting a shadow over the corridor they were hidden in.

“We don’t have to call this anything, if you don’t want to,” he said, voice low and steady. “We don’t have to tell anyone. It doesn’t have to bleed onto the track.”

“But it will,” she breathed.

“Then let it.” His words were warm against her skin. Reckless. Comforting. Dangerous. Safe. “Don’t think about it. Let the pieces fall where they may. I’ll pick them up.”

She looked up at him, the weight of consequence pulling at her ribs. “Ignoring the mess doesn’t stop it from coming. It just delays the inevitable.”

He smiled, just barely. The hint of a challenge in his eyes. “If it’s inevitable…” He dipped his head closer, breath fanning over her cheek. “…why fight it?”

His voice rumbled in her ear, like steel dropping into a still ocean. “That insanity you’re feeling - it doesn’t ease up, Lil. I’m afraid the hole just gets deeper.” His lips brushed against her neck. “The voices get louder, the itch starts to burn. And the only thing that helps… is giving in.”

He pulled back and looked at her. Clouded grey eyes, shadowed by an incoming thunderstorm.

[Music: Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd : SKIP TO 4:27 and don't rush]

“So give in with me.”

There she stood, suspended in the eye of the hurricane. On the cusp of being swept into a relentless skin-ripping velocity. Never had she been so uncertain about its’ trajectory. And never had she wanted to follow it’s path as much as she did now.

“Okay.” She whispered.

“Okay?” His brow raised - hopeful, slightly surprised.

She rolled her eyes, lips twitching at the corners. “Yes, Teddy.”

Her hands slid around his neck, bracing herself, grounding herself into the only anchor she trusted less than the storm itself. She pulled him towards her, melting into his breath, surrender sealed on his tongue.

“Okay.”