#he could have easily been on the podium if ferrari decided to keep up their pattern of team orders from the australian gp … | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

formula365 · 4 years ago

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The impossible numbers - Eifel Grand Prix review

So, the thing that F1 fans thought would never happen has happened. Back in 2006, when Schumacher retired for the first time, his 91 wins seemed unreachable. He had almost doubled the previous record, leaving Prost and Senna, the greats of the previous generation, dozens of wins behind. For many of us, it felt this record would stand the test of time, and even as the number of races per year continued to increase, we thought this record would not be broken. Certainly not in our lifetimes.

How wrong we all were. I remember watching Schumacher’s domination in the early naughties in complete awe, certain that I would never see someone completely control races and championships the way the German did. But every generation produces at least one special driver, one talent that shines above the others, and when that combines with a well-oiled machine such as Ferrari was back in the day, that tends to lead to what was until then deemed impossible.

Lewis Hamilton is that talent. From the very first race (coincidentally, the first race after Schumacher’s retirement) it was clear he was a special driver, quickly adapting to the complex machinery of F1 to take a podium on his debut. Nevertheless, few, if any, would have predicted he would reach these heights. After all, this was a time in which the grid had only one world champion and there were multiple talented young drivers hungry for success. There was no shortage of future world champions; the bigger question was who would take the mantle from Schumacher.

So, why him? Could we just as easily be celebrating 91 wins for Alonso, Kimi, or Vettel? Well, yes and no. As with everything, a little bit of luck and a little bit of courage were needed as additional ingredients to his talent and determination. There are plenty of what if’s in the driver market, and the biggest one in recent years is Hamilton leaving McLaren for Mercedes. Many criticised him for the move, judging it to be a mistake to leave the certainty of a winning team, and one of the greatest in the history of the sport at that. Turns out, he has won 70 races since then; McLaren is still to return to the top step of the podium.

Just as Schumacher in 1996, he took a gamble not on current results but on a project; they were shown a vision of where those respective teams were headed and how to reach that destination. They believed that the people in charge had the expertise and the leadership skills to make it happen. And, above anything else, they believed in their capacity to be the final piece of the puzzle, that one cog that finally completes the machine and makes everything work smoothly.

Some people think Hamilton was lucky, and perhaps he was. The revolving door of the F1 driver market can be a curse; just ask Fernando Alonso. Personally, I think he saw the beginning of something special in that Mercedes team, and thought that was the place to be for the future. He was brave to believe in something few people did, and clear-minded enough to judge a team not on its past but on its possibility.

Would others, in that seat, have reached the same numbers? We will never know, of course, and there are so many factors to take into consideration that any conjecture is beyond speculation. But there is no denying that Hamilton deserves this record. He works relentlessly, always looking for those marginal gains that add up to the vital tenths of a second that put him just out of reach. Yes, he has been driving what has been the fastest car, sometimes by a significant margin, for the past seven years. But the two teammates he had in this period did not win anywhere near as much as him. Neither did Vettel, in a Ferrari that was superior for significant periods in 2017 and 2018. He is in a different plane to the rest of the field, and that’s where this record comes from.

The only question that remains is how far he can go, and how many wins he can rack up before he decides to hang up his helmet. There is no doubt he will be the first driver to make it to a century, and he will take strides towards that goal before the season is done. Whichever final mark he achieves, it will be a special number, one of those numbers that will seem impossible to ever be reached again.

Talking points

* Valtteri Bottas’ title challenge, such as it was, ended today. It’s a shame that it had to happen on the day in which he finally showed there was some fight in him after all, as it toughened it up on the outside of turn 1 to take the inside of next corner and re-take the lead from Hamilton. Yes, he did make a mistake that would have cost him the race, and engine gremlins put paid to any idea of a recovery, but that feisty Bottas we saw on the first corner of the race could have challenged his teammate for the title. More of that, please.

* We didn’t get a shoey on the podium, but how great it was to see Ricciardo back on the podium. Everyone’s favourite Aussie (sorry Mark) may have been helped by the late safety car, but had an impressive race from the get-go: he beat Albon at the start and passed Leclerc in a superlative move around the outside of turn 2 to claim P4. From that point on, he controlled his pace and was there to take advantage when Bottas’ engine gave up. He had an early pit stop and Checo might have gotten him on fresher tyres at the end, but as it was he gave this incarnation of the Renault team their first podium. And, with it, a tattoo to team boss Cyril Abiteboul.

* From a coffee shop in Cologne at 11am on Saturday, to a points finish by 4pm on Sunday, starting from last on the grid. This was Nico Hulkenberg’s incredible weekend journey. Faced with Lance Stroll’s sickness, Racing Point again reached for the phone to call everyone’s favourite super sub, and the Hulk, still on the hunt for a seat for 2021, did his quest no small favour by clinching P8. It just goes to show how short the grid currently is in relation to the talent available. That there are not enough seats for the likes of Hulkenberg (and maybe next year Perez as well) is a reflection of the sad economic realities that keep the grid so small.

* Other drivers at risk of missing out on 2021 fought their way to the points, and one of them for his first points of the season at that. Romain Grosjean has not always been on the news for the right reasons this season, but, having suffered an injury on his left hand early on (hit by a piece of gravel, of all things), he bit his lips and withstood the pain to take P9 at the flag, just ahead of Giovinazzi. The pair benefitted from several retirements ahead of them but also beat their teammates, as well as the Ferrari of Sebastian Vettel. A couple of good showings to keep the decision makers mulling on their options.

* Ever since it was made official that Racing Point were to drop Perez for 2021, his form reads: P5, P4, P4. Not bad for a driver without a seat.

#f1 #eifel gp 2020 #eifel grand prix #motorsport #lewis hamilton #michael schumacher

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charanteleclerc · 6 years ago

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breathe (i’m here beside you)

They didn’t talk about it, after Australia. They came home, they trained, and they talked. But they didn’t talk about it.

They did the same, after Bahrain. After he’s raged, and cried, and gone hoarse from all the vitriolic words he’s spat and screamed out, Pierre just holds him. Pierre talks about the most random, inane things that he could possibly think of, one thought leading onto another with seemingly no connection. And they still don’t talk about it.

And now they’re sat on a plane home, trying to blink away the memories of a poor race for both of them - and they’re still not talking about it.

He’s not going to say anything - now definitely wouldn’t be the time, with other drivers sat in the small (too small) plane - but Charles isn’t sure if he should bring it up at all, or wait for Pierre to approach him. The endless, trivial chatter had helped him in Bahrain. Maybe it was Pierre’s way of coping. Enough white noise to dull out the screaming thoughts.

The problem was, Charles didn’t think Pierre was talking about it with anyone. And bottling up that much emotion, it didn’t bode well. Something would end up cracking that protective wall Pierre had built up, and then it’d only be a matter of waiting until he did something reckless.

Charles just couldn’t let him be reckless. He couldn’t.

He watched Pierre the entire plane ride home, not really caring if he was being unapproachable to the others. A couple of them looked concerned, even Pierre did, but he didn’t care. He brushed them off with the excuse of tiredness, which they took unsaid that he meant ‘pissed off about the race’. They’d all been there, at one point or the other.

“You sure you’re okay?” Pierre asked, a small frown on his face. Charles nodded, sinking down into his chair.

“Just tired.” He said again. Pierre didn’t look fully convinced, but he thankfully didn’t argue. There were some things better left for private.

Charles finally fell asleep, listening to quiet conversations, trying to stop the feeling that he was doing something wrong, he just didn’t know what.

~*~

Charles woke up to a dull thud, thud, thud coming from the next room. He’d been home a couple of days, and in all honesty, he’d spent them hold up inside. He’d done his morning training, but the runs hadn’t helped to clear his head much. Too much rage, too many questions. And he still really needed to talk to Pierre. Aside from quick texts, Charles hadn’t heard from him. It wasn’t completely unusual, they didn’t actually live in each other’s pockets. Pierre was his closest friend, of course he was. They’d grown up together. Pierre had been there after his dad, he’d been there after Jules. They’d celebrated together, and cried together. But they were adults now, it probably wasn’t healthy to spend all their time together. They’d done that enough when they were younger, a little space could be good from time to time.

Thud, thud, thud.

Charles groaned. Whatever that noise was, it wasn’t stopping, and it was starting to piss him off. It was probably his neighbours doing… fuck know what’s they were doing, but he just wished they do it quieter.

He wandered into his living room, day seemingly off to a bad start, when he finds himself confronted by the sight of Pierre on his couch. Pierre, sitting on his couch, throwing and catching a tennis ball against the far wall.

“I have neighbours, you know?” He narrowed his eyes. “How did you get in?”

“Through the door, with a key. Like a normal person.” Pierre replied. “And maybe your neighbours will just assume you’re having really hot, athletic sex.” He leered slightly. Charles rolled his eyes, huffing.

“Maybe if you were prettier.” He replied. “Coffee?”

“I will take your free coffee, and pretend I didn’t hear the part about me not being pretty.” Pierre pulled himself off the sofa, following Charles to his kitchen. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

“Why are you here?” Charles asked, grabbing the mugs. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to see Pierre, far from it, but Pierre didn’t usually turn up at his apartment at 6.30 in the morning.

“Wanted to see if you’d come on a bike ride with me.” Pierre shrugged. “We haven’t seen much of each other these last few weeks, not just as us anyway. It’d be nice to just hang out.”

“That sounds good.” Charles nodded. “Up into the hills?”

“Sure.” Pierre grins, watching Charles pour the coffee. “I like mine…”

“Black, one sugar. I know.” Charles replied, handing Pierre his coffee. “I’ll go and get changed, do you have your bike with you?”

“In the hall.” Pierre replied, staring at his mug with an odd expression. Charles didn’t question it. He was going to have Pierre alone for a few hours at least, maybe they could finally have the conversation that they’d been avoiding.

~*~

Pierre was waiting for him at the top of the trail, laughing whilst trying to catch his breath. “Finally beat you!”

Charles skidded to a stop, blood pounding in his ears. “I’ll get you next time.” He tried to threaten, but it was hard to sound threatening when his breath was coming out in gasps. He put his bike down, collapsing onto the grass. Pierre sat beside him, watching the sun climb higher into the sky.

“I -” Pierre started, not taking his eyes off the sight of Monaco beneath them. “I’m scared Charles.”

“Why?” Charles asked, fully knowing the answer. He’d heard the rumours, and if he’d heard them then Pierre certainly had.

“I can’t get more out of the car.” Pierre said. “It’s not there. I don’t know how Max is doing it, but I definitely can’t replicate it. Fuck, I was doing better lap times in the Toro Rosso.”

“Have you talked to them?” Charles asked gently. “Have you talked to Christian?”

Pierre mad a noise, a kind of broken laugh. “I’ve tried. They don’t care. I wasn’t supposed to be in that seat yet. I was never a part of their big grand plan. Dan was supposed to stay, and I was supposed to stay at Toro Rosso.” He put his head in his hands, and Charles knew he was trying to stop the tears from coming. “Everyone can see it coming, and they’re talking about it like I’m an idiot who doesn’t know. Like it isn’t the only thing I’m thinking of all the time.”

Charles put a hand on the back of Pierre’s neck, giving it a light squeeze. “You deserve that seat. You’ll put in the results to keep that seat. You’ll prove it to them.”

“I think they may have already decided.” Pierre’s voice was small. “There’s always someone quicker, better.”

“Pierre.” Charles pulled Pierre towards him, until he was leaning on head on his shoulder. “You deserve that seat. If Red Bull can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

“I can’t do what Daniil’s done” Pierre whispered. Charles could feel Pierre’s body shaking. How long had he been holding this in? Pierre had been there for him, without question or complaint. He should’ve been there for him sooner.

“You won’t.” Charles tried to sound as confident as possible. “You’re going to find more in that car. You’re going to talk to the team. And you can always talk to me.”

Pierre was sobbing now, clutching at Charles’s shirt in desperation. Charles held onto him, rocking him gently. He didn’t stop until Pierre’s sobs sounded like they were being being wrenched from him, his breath becoming shallow.

“Pierre, I need you to breathe. Breathe. In, and out.” He took a deep breath in, holding for a few seconds before exhaling. “Just like that, do it with me.” He breathed with Pierre, until he was breathing more easily. “You can’t keep holding everything in like that.”

“I know.” Pierre’s voice sounded hoarse. “I know, but there was never the time…”

“I’ll make the time.” Charles reassured him. “God, Pierre. You’re my best friend, I’ll make the time for you.”

“You can’t blow off Ferrari.”

“That is not important now. You are.” Charles said firmly. “You’re always more important.”

“What would your dad say?” Pierre started. “What would -”

“Jules would do the same thing I’m doing now. He’d be the first to tell Ferrari to fuck off. Pierre.” Charles leant back enough so he could see into the other man’s face. “You are far more important than any team.”

Pierre nodded, scrubbing at his face with a hand. “Sorry if I got your shirt damp.”

“Nothing I haven’t already done to you.” Charles smiled. “Do you want to stay up here for a while?”

Pierre nodded, looking back towards Monaco. “It’s peaceful.”

“It is.” Charles agreed. He reached for Pierre’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun rising higher in the sky. They didn’t move until they could hear noises on the trail behind them. They’d made an early start, now the rest of the world was beginning to wake.

“Thank you.” Pierre said quietly, picking up his bike.

“No need to thank me.” Charles replied. “Race to the bottom?”

“You’re going to lose again!” Pierre grinned, his usual happy personality already falling back into place.

“I’ll be waiting at the bottom!”

~*~

Charles jogged down the Paddock, trying to make for the Red Bull garage as quickly as possible. He’d finished on the podium today, but even better, Pierre had finished P4, outpacing Max all weekend. He had no idea where Pierre had found the extra pace, but his belief in him had been proven correct. And whilst it was still not a victory, he’d been faster than his team-mate, and he’d beaten a Mercedes too. There was no asking for a better weekend.

There was a lot of commotion around the Red Bull garage, and he encountered more than one hostile look. He waited safely on the pit wall. He couldn’t be told off for spying, all the way over here.

“Well, don’t you look suspicious.” He heard someone tease. Pierre was walking out from the garage, a large grin on his face. Charles laughed, patting the spare bit of wall next to him.

“If I were doing anything suspicious, I’d be a lot less obvious. And congratulations.”

“You’re the one who ended up on the podium.”

“True.” Charles shrugged. “But you definitely drove a better race than me today.”

“I was good today.” Pierre grinned. “Fuck, I beat Max! It felt so fucking good!”

“I bet his face was a picture.” Charles chuckled.

“He was furious.” Pierre laughed. “He’s been looking at both the cars for ages, trying to figure out if there’s a difference.”

Charles snorted. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“I’ll take a photo next time.” Pierre promised. He sounded so much happier than he had a couple of weekends ago. More at ease, more confident. More like the old Pierre. “A few others are going out tonight. You want to come?”

“Sure.” He hadn’t won today, but a podium was still a good reason to celebrate. And he missed catching up with the other drivers, he’d been kept so spectacularly busy by Ferrari in his first few races, with very little downtime allowed. “Just maybe not as wild as last time though?”

“It wasn’t my fault that Esteban got stuck up that tree!” Pierre protested.

“Sure, it had nothing to do with all those vodka shots you gave him.” Charles grinned. “Look, I’d better go before I’m missed too much. See you in a bit?”

“Pick me up from the hotel, I promise I won’t be late.” Pierre said, jumping down from the wall and walking back to his garage, to the intense relief of his mechanics. Charles shook his head, amused. What did they think he could do anyway? Amazingly, the drivers didn’t sit down and sit car specifications for fun.

He headed towards the motorhome, itching for a shower and a bit of peace and quiet, but it was unlikely to come. He was whisked straight into a debrief, which always took forever because Seb always had a list of things to discuss. It was great in the long run, and it was amazing how much he could figure out about a car just by staring at it. But it had been a long race, and with the promise of a night out on the horizon he suddenly felt caged, wanting to be able to shake all his tension off. He’d just have to deal with it, nod or shake his head in the right places. The one upside is that Seb would happily do the majority of the talking, without being asked.

~*~

It felt like an age later, but he was finally waiting in the lobby of Pierre’s hotel. He hadn’t been able to find shirt that wasn’t bright red in his suitcase, which had resulted in the quickest run to a shop ever. Thankfully a lot of businesses were still open, staying open late because of the extra tourism the race brought in.

“Looking hot.” A low voice sounded behind him, making him jump. Pierre was right behind him, predatory grin on his face. Charles rolled his eyes, swatting at him gently.

“Did you not look in a mirror?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow. Pierre was dressed in tight black clothing, hair artfully done. He’d really taken ‘dress to impress’ to the next level, it was almost scandalous.

Pierre shrugged, slinging an arm over Charles’s shoulder. “Come on, the night is still young! Let’s have some fun!” He cried, ignoring the stares they were getting. “The others are already at the club, come on.”

Charles allowed himself to be led out to a waiting taxi, almost being pushed into it. He heaved a sigh of relief as they sat down, stretching his arms upward until his shoulders cracked. “I know I said not as mad as last time, but I really do need some shots.”

“Now you’re talking!” Crowed Pierre. “I was beginning to think that you were becoming an old man right in front of me.”

“I’m younger than you!”

“In body yes, but in soul no. That’s what really counts.”

“I act young!” Charles tries protesting, even as Pierre is shaking his head. “I do!”

“Okay, show me that tonight.” Pierre said, easy smirk on his face. “I dare you.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?” Charles could hear the challenge in there, unsaid.

“You pick up my entire tab.” Charles said, getting louder as Pierre groaned. “What’s wrong with that!”

“Fine, fine. Deal. You’re not off to a good start though.” Pierre warned, glancing out of the window. “Ooh, we’re here!”

The others were waiting inside, having commandeering an entire booth, empty drink glasses already scattered. “We were beginning to think that you weren’t going to show!” Carlos said as they sat down.

“My fault, sorry!” Pierre held up his hands. “Couldn’t find anything to wear.”

“Trying to impress someone, Gasly?” Esteban appeared, carrying a tray of various shot glasses. Charles felt Pierre still a little next to him.

“You should always prepare to impress someone.” Was the easy reply, as if he hadn’t just reacted to that question. “You never know who you could meet, or who you could go home with.”

Wolf whistles and cheers went up from the others, but Charles’s mind was stuck on the last part of that sentence. Was that why Pierre was all dressed up, so he could find an easy fuck for the night?

Esteban was passing round the shots, and Charles didn’t even look at what drink he had, deciding to just down it. He slammed the glass down on the table with a little bit more force than necessary, gasping at the burn in his throat.

“Wow Charles, you’re not messing around.” Alex said, stunned. He could feel the others staring, and he just looked at Pierre, smirking.

“I’ve got a bet to win.”

~*~

He was so drunk. So, so drunk. He’d lost track of how much he’d drunk a while ago, but it was a lot. Especially vodka. So much vodka.

He needed more vodka.

He stumbled to his feet, making his way to the bar. “One vodka please.” He asked the bartender, grinning when the drink was put in front of him. “Merci mademoiselle. Merci beaucoup.” He threw his head back as he drunk, the burn barely noticeable now.

“Charles, Charles!” Pierre appeared out of nowhere, hugging him from behind. “Charles, you’re so warm.”

“You’re cuddly.” Charles said happily. “Pierre, it’s so crazy.”

“What is?”

“I don’t know.” He leant back against Pierre, laughing. “I don’t know, but it’s crazy.”

“Okay, it’s crazy.” Pierre nodded, patting at Charles’s stomach. Charles giggled, wriggling a little.

“That tickles.”

“What, this?” Pierre whispered in Charles’s ear, patting his stomach again. Charles snorted.

“Yes, that.”

Pierre hummed, swaying them gently. “I want to dance.” He said absently. Charles felt his heart beat a little quicker, and something in his stomach tightened. He must be falling sick. Or it was the alcohol. Must be the alcohol.

“There are lots of pretty girls to dance with.”

Pierre sighed, spinning Charles around. “Dance with me Charles.” He said, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him onto the dance floor. It was loud and crowded, so many bodies pressed up against him. “Being young tonight.” Pierre reminded him, pulling him close. “You need to learn how to dance.”

“I can dance.” Charles insisted, ignoring Pierre’s amused look. “I can totally dance, watch me.”

He moved in time with the beat, and something shifted in Pierre’s eyes. There was something hungry in them, and Charles could feel the tension in him. Charles slung his arms around Pierre’s neck, pulling him close. He heard him groan, he could feel hands on his waist.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Charles Leclerc.” Pierre whispered, his hands tightening on his waist. Charles looked up at him.

“Told you I could dance.”

Pierre groaned again, dropping his head to Charles’s shoulder. Charles grinned. Dancing with Pierre was amazing, why didn’t he dancing more? He should definitely dance more.

Pierre pulled back slightly, his eyes dark. Suddenly, Pierre was leaning in, and there were warm lips on his, and Charles’s brain was short-circuiting. Pierre was kissing, and it felt amazing.

Pierre pulled back, the shock loss made Charles try and follow. Pierre let go of him like he was burning, panic on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated, pushing his way through the crowd. Charles was left standing on the dance floor, blinking and breathless, and suddenly feeling cold.

~*~

Charles didn’t see Pierre until the next day, sitting in his usual seat on the plane. Charles sat opposite him, giving him a soft smile, but Pierre just turned to look out of the window, putting his headphones on and turning his music up loud.

The flight was lonely, despite there being other people on board. He allowed himself to be pulled into conversations, and there were teasing remarks made about how much he drank last night. But he kept glancing back at Pierre, his heart sinking every time he saw that deliberately blank look on his face.

When they landed, Pierre was out of his seat and off before Charles could stop him. Barely a word to anyone and he was gone. Someone made a quick remark about his quick disappearance, that maybe he’d been rejected last night, but Charles didn’t know who said it, nor cared. His world had narrowed down to just one person, the rest of the world a daze to him.

He waited until he was home, pulling out his phone and sending a text, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Charles: Want to go for a bike ride? Or a run? 14:12

He lay down on his sofa, trying not to remember Pierre sitting in the exact same spot only a week ago, throwing that tennis ball at the wall. His mind was spinning. Pierre had always flirted with him, but that’s because he was Pierre. He flirted with everyone. But then there were the things he did himself. How he’d felt when he thought Pierre was trying to impress someone. How he knew what Pierre was thinking by just looking. He knew how he took his coffee.

Fuck.

He checked his phone, but no reply. He pulled himself up, heading to the bedroom and quickly changing his shirt. Then he changed it again, just in case. He might as well look good.

Pierre didn’t live far away, but the walk there seemed to take forever. He had enough self-awareness to make sure that he didn’t just wander out onto the road, but only just. As he reached Pierre’s building, someone was coming out, and he quickly ducked in through the door. Pierre would’ve been more likely to ignore him if he’d been standing on the street.

His heart was beating fast as he approached Pierre’s door, he could hear it pounding in his ears. He was not afraid of racing at insane speeds, of throwing himself round corners with such force it left him breathless. But this? This had him terrified to his core.

He knocked quickly on the door, hoping that Pierre didn’t think to check who it was first. The seconds crept by, and he couldn’t hear any movement inside. He knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. He tried again, banging his fist against the door. “Pierre! Pierre, open up!” He said, voice raised. “I’m going to have this conversation with you, even if you’re not going to talk.” He waited for a few seconds, still hearing no noise. “Fine. Look, I understand you’re freaking out. I’m sorry if… I don’t know, if I gave you the wrong impression. That it was unwelcome, or anything. It wasn’t. Some things have only just clicked in my mind, and I’m sorry it’s taken this long. But if you don’t want anything to change, just say because that’s -”

“Are you okay?” A woman poked her head around her door, a confused look on her face.

“I’m sorry, madame. I’m trying to have a conversation, I’ll be quieter, I’m sorry.”

“That’s very sweet, but I don’t think he’s home yet.” The lady said. “But I can give you a key?”

~*~

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he put it down to jet lag and crashing from the adrenaline high he’d be on. He’d been wandering around the apartment; then he’d been sitting, nervously bouncing his leg; then he was asleep. Damn, Pierre had one comfy sofa.

He awoke with a start as the door slammed. “Que...?”

Pierre was stood at the end of the sofa, arms crossed and that same blank look on his face. Charles blinking, groaning. “What time is it?”

“Five, I think.” Pierre shrugged. “I don’t care. What are you doing here?”

“Uhh..” Charles yawned. “I came to talk.”

“How did you get in?”

“Your next door neighbour.” Charles admitted, sitting up. “I was talking to your door for a while.”

Pierre didn’t respond, continuing to stare. Charles sighed, running a hand over his face. “If I talk, will you listen? Because it works better when you’re not ignoring me.”

Pierre rolled his eyes, dropping into a spare seat. “Fine.”

Charles took a deep breath. “Look. I know you’re upset, and you’re freaking out. I don’t know why, but you are. And I’m really sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Pierre muttered.

“What, no! I liked it!” Charles exclaimed. “I was worried that you’d changed your mind.”

Pierre was staring at him incredulously. “No! I thought that you weren’t interested, I’ve been flirting with you for ages. And you never noticed.”

“How long?”

“Years, Charles!” Pierre sounded broken. “Years.”

“I’m sorry I never noticed you.” Charles said quietly. “You’ve been the biggest part of my life, Pierre, you have been for years. We’ve literally live in each other’s pockets, I know how you take your coffee! And I want to know how you look waking up next to me. I want to know how you liked to be touched, I want to hear how you sound.”

Pierre grew steadily redder, shifting in his seat. “You want all of that? Because I don’t think I can take you saying it otherwise.”

“All of that.” Charles said seriously. “All of that and more.”

Pierre sat for a moment, and then suddenly he was in Charles’s lap, warm and there and so Pierre. Charles drank in the sight of him, both watching each other, and Charles wants. He leans forward, resting his head against Pierre’s. “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this.” Charles murmured.

“You’ve been so blind.” Pierre replied, leaning in, and Pierre was kissing him. Charles moaned, sliding his hands underneath Pierre’s t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his back. Pierre felt so good under his hands, and his kissing… it was electric. He was perfect, he was gentle and commanding and it was everything he didn’t know he needed. Charles groaned, pulling Pierre closer.

“You have to stay here forever.” Charles whispered, pulling back a little. Pierre smile, rubbing a small circle on Charles’s cheek with his thumb.

“Well, we could take this to the bed.” Pierre suggested, smirking.

“That, we can do that too.” Charles nodded, leaning in to kiss Pierre again, quick and messy. Pierre suddenly grinned, standing up, holding out his hand. Charles let himself be pulled up, and Pierre was up against him again, kissing him and pulling him towards the bedroom, one hand on his waist, the other still holding onto Charles’s hand tightly. They didn’t stop walking until the back of Charles’s legs hit Pierre’s bed. He pulled back from Pierre, sitting down on the bed and scrambling backwards. Pierre just stood there, watching. Charles grinned. “Not joining me?”

Pierre didn’t need telling twice, and he was hovering over Charles, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want?”

“I want you.” Charles replied hoarsely. “I need you now.” He leaned up, dragging Pierre down. He kissed him gently, and they stayed like that, sharing lazy kisses. They could stay like this forever, Charles thought. It was heaven.

Then Pierre sat up, pulling his t-shirt off and fuck, Charles wants. He wants to trail his hands, his mouth, across Pierre’s torso. More than wants, he needs. He needs to touch.

Pierre tugs at the hem of Charles’s shirt, pulling it over his head. Pierre was kissing down his neck, down his chest, his lips feather light and fingers ghosting down Charles’s sides. It wasn’t enough, but it was too much all at once. He felt Pierre give an involuntary groan against his stomach, and he couldn’t help it, he was trying to hold on, grasping at Pierre’s hair, and he was coming hard, gasping.

“Did you just come in your pants?”

“Uh, yeah.” Charles nodded. “Fuck, I just came in my pants like a teenager.”

“Can’t believe you were that horny for me.” Pierre grinned, sitting up. Charles smirked, working at the buttons on Pierre’s jeans. “What are -”

“Both of us don’t have to come in our pants.” Charles explained, pushing Pierre’s underwear out of the way. He put his hand around Pierre’s dick, giving it a couple of strokes. “You going to come for me?” Pierre nodded, biting and lip and groaning. Charles worked him through it, mesmerised by his face, his sounds.

He never wanted to forget this image.

Pierre slumped next to him, breathing hard. Charles rolled onto his side, watching him, watching his breathing return to normal. “Do I live up to fantasy Charles?”

“Better.” Pierre replied simply. They lay in silence for a few minutes, until Charles couldn’t take the stickiness any longer.

“Can I borrow some underwear?” He asked, heading towards the bathroom.

“Sure.”

Charles grabbed a pair from the drawer, going to clean himself off. He pulled off his jeans, changing his underwear before putting his jeans back on. Wearing Pierre’s clothes felt strange, but it was better than going without.

When he walked out, Pierre was still lying where Charles had left him, an indescribable look on his face. “You okay?” He asked, lying down next to him.

“Yeah.” Pierre said. “Just trying to remind myself this isn’t a dream.”

Charles reached up, turning Pierre’s face gently towards him. “I’m here. I’m real.”

“Are you going to stay here?” Pierre asked. Charles knew he didn’t mean now, or was he leaving this apartment. He wanted to know whether things would be going back to how they had been. It wasn’t something that Charles had actually thought about, since the kiss at the club. He’d only thought about having to see Pierre, he hadn’t thought about after. But the thought of walking out the front door, pretending that this never happened, trying to turn the clock back - that thought made him cold inside.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Charles promised. “Whatever you want, I’m yours.”

~*~

Charles walked down the Paddock, unable to keep the smile of his face. The last couple of weeks had been fantastic. He’d only gone home a handful of times, mostly for clean clothes. Being with Pierre was better than anything he could have imagined. They already knew each other so well, and everything new Charles learnt just made him fall even faster.

He’d snuck out of Pierre’s RV early this morning, after waking up with an arm slung across his waist and lazy kisses. He hadn’t wanted to leave, he wished he could just stay and enjoy the company, but they’d agreed not to let anyone know yet. He didn’t have far to go to get back to his RV, the perks of not using hotels for the European races, but he had bumped into Seb as he walked back. Seb had said nothing, only giving him a strange look. It wasn’t unusual to be up this early, many went out for a run at this time, but Charles was still in yesterday’s clothes, rather than his running gear. Thankfully Seb was a private man, and he generally afforded everyone the same luxury. Small miracles.

“You look cheerful.” Seb remarked conversationally, falling into step beside him. “Did the early morning walk do you good?”

Charles tried not to flush. “Helped to clear my head.”

Seb laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? That’s definitely more polite than what I would’ve said.”

Charles frowned. “I - what?” He asked. “How did you -?”

“Charles, why do you think I’m such a private person?”

“Because… I don’t know, just because?”

Seb chuckled. “Well, yes. But it’s more than that. I’m private because it protects my partner. And believe me, it’s caused a few arguments.”

“Why?”

“Because they wanted to share with the world and I didn’t.” Seb said simply. “But I’ve been where you are, I was there for years. Maybe it would’ve been easier if we’d said, but…” He shrugged.

“Wait, are you saying your partner is another driver?” Charles asked, mouth falling open.

“Was. But Charles, I’m going to caution you. If you come out and tell the world, you can’t take it back. But, hiding it can be just as hard.” Seb said, giving a wry smile. “Believe me on that.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Charles asked.

“I don’t really know.” Seb replied. “Media pressure? I was scared? Lots of reasons, I suppose. But I made my choice.” Seb said pleasantly, as if he were discussing the weather. “Enjoy the early morning walks.” He gave a wink, before disappearing off towards the motorhome. Charles watched him go, stunned.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Pierre wandered over, grinning. Charles stared at him, shaking his head.

“Just some surprising information.” Was all he said. Pierre gave him a pouty look, but Charles just shook his head, amused.

“No, you gossip. Later.”

“You promise?” Pierre asked, raising an eyebrow. Charles grinned, trying not to focus on how much he wanted to kiss Pierre right now.

“Promise.”

~*~

“Seb.”

“Yes.”

“As in, Seb Vettel.”

“Yes.”

“The Sebastian Vettel.”

“Yes.” Charles laughed at the dumbstruck look on his face. “Your surprised face is even worse than mine.”

Pierre made a wounded noise. “You said surprising! That’s not surprising, that’s a bombshell! That’s a bombshell piece of information!” Pierre protested, flopping backwards onto his bed. “You broke my brain.”

“Ah, so no loss then?” Charles teased, yelping when Pierre swatted at him. “Hey!”

“You called me dumb! You deserved that.”

“Okay, okay!” Charles laughed. “Your face was still funny though.”

Pierre made a face, kicking him lightly. “So, did he say anything else? Except the fact that his partner is a former driver?”

“He said that whatever we say to the media can’t be taken back, but that not saying anything has it’s problems too.” Charles shrugged. “Which we could’ve figured out ourselves, no? But he has been doing this media game longer than us.”

“I don’t want to share you. Not just yet.” Pierre said, watching him intently. “If you’re okay with that?”

Charles smiled, leaning down to give Pierre a quick kiss. “They don’t get to have you.” He murmured. “They don’t get to mess with us.”

Pierre hummed, giving Charles a return kiss. “Good. But sadly, they’re waiting.”

Charles groaned. “I can’t wait until we’re back in Monaco.” He complained, standing up. “Back in a proper bed, no distractions.”

“We’ll stay in bed all day.” Pierre promised, giving Charles a filthy smile. Damn, didn’t Pierre know what that did to him?

“I’ll keep you to that.” Charles warned, walking outside. He blinked at the sunlight, sliding his sunglasses on.

“Make sure you keep it down tonight, boys!” Charles heard a teasing voice. Pierre and he both froze, stricken, as Dan and Jev walked past, smirking.

“Err�� what?” Pierre asked, voice too high. Dan laughed, ignoring Jev’s playful shove.

“You’ll learn.” Was all he said, grabbing Jev’s hand and pulling him along. Jev shot them an apologetic smile, and then they were gone. Charles shook himself, looking at Pierre who was still gawking at the now empty space.

“I think we might be the worst kept secret here.”

~*~

Blood was pounding through his ears, all he could feel was panic. The race had been red flagged, and all he knew was that Pierre had been involved, that he was in the hospital. It was taking all the self restraint he had to not take off, to try and listen to what his engineers were saying. The last thing he wanted to do was to get in the car right now, but what choice did he have? He wasn’t the one injured, his car wasn’t the one smashed to pieces.

Drivers and mechanics were giving him sympathetic looks. It was well known in the Paddock that they were close friends, regardless of their new relationship. And everyone around him was saying a hushed name, but no matter how quietly they said it, it sounded like they were screaming it at him. Jules, Jules, just like Jules…

“Come with me.” Seb said lowly, patting him on the shoulder. Charles gave a curt nod, clenching and unclenching his fists as he walked. Seb said nothing, and Charles was grateful. If he had to answer one more meaningless question, he might scream.

They walked into the motorhome, and Charles followed Seb to his room. Seb gestured, making no move to go in. “Go. Get your anger out. I’ll make sure no-one comes this way.”

Charles couldn’t open his mouth, but he hoped Seb could see the gratitude in his expression. He went into the room, shutting the door and sinking to his knees. “FUCK!” The scream ripped out from him. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”

He punched a wall, then again, and again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was bad for him, it hurt, how was he going to explain the grazing, but he just didn’t care. He was scared, and he was angry, and the last thing he wanted was to be treated like he was glass. He wasn’t going to break, but everyone treating him like one wrong word would make him shatter made him want to crawl out of his skin. He screamed until his throat was raw, and then he gave into the tears.

He didn’t notice Seb come in, until he was being told to breathe in, breathe out. It was the same advice he’d given Pierre on top of that hill, all those weeks ago. He wanted to go back to that moment, to hold on and never let go. “Better?” Seb asked quietly. Charles nodded, brushing away his tears.

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay.”

“What do I do Seb?” Charles asked, resting his head against the wall.

“You go out there and you race your hardest. There’s nothing you can do at the hospital, and if the positions were reversed, you’d want Pierre to race?” Seb asked. Charles bit his lip, giving a sharp nod. “Then you’ll do the same for him. Race for the both of you.”

There was a knock at the door, making them jump. “Race restart in fifteen.”

“Thank you.” Seb called, and they heard footsteps walk away. Seb stood up, helping Charles to his feet.

“Really, Seb, thank you.” Charles gave a weak smile. Seb clapped him on the shoulder, returning it.

“Anytime.”

~*~

It was hours before he saw Pierre again. He was in the middle of an interview, trying to be as patient and polite as possible, when he saw him walking through the Paddock. There was a scratch on his nose, and he looked shaken, but he was fine. Safe.

He apologised to the reporter, running towards Pierre, skidding to a stop in front of him. His hands twitched, he desperately wanted to touch, to cement in his mind that Pierre was okay, that he was unharmed, that he was safe, but he couldn’t. There were photographers everywhere, and Pierre’s words were stuck in his mind. I don’t want to share you. Not just yet.

Pierre’s lips twitched, and he raised an eyebrow. He could obviously see how much restraint he was using right now. Then Pierre’s eyes dropped to his mouth, and Charles heard his brain thinking oh, we’re doing this, and then Pierre was kissing them.

There was shouting, and lights flashing, and even a few wolf-whistles. And Charles didn’t care, because Pierre was here, Pierre was okay with this and Pierre was kissing him.

Pierre pulled back, and Charles nearly whined, he might’ve if they weren’t standing in a crowd of people, in the middle of the Paddock. Pierre hugged him tightly, and Charles buried his head into Pierre’s shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief. Here, okay, safe.

“We’re in this together.” Pierre whispered. “They can’t control us anyway. You’re all mine.”

Charles laughed into his shoulder. “I’ll tell them you take all the covers.”

“I’ll tell them you talk in your sleep.” Pierre countered.

“I’ll tell them I make you scream.” Charles tried, but Pierre just laughed.

“I dare you.”

Charles pulled back, giving Pierre a quick, soft kiss, ignoring the questions and the clicks of the cameras still going off. “Never stop coming back to me.”

“I won’t.” Pierre promised. “I won’t.”

~*~

#pierre gasly #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #daniel ricciardo #jean-eric vergne #carlos sainz jr #esteban ocon #jules bianchi #self-esteem issues #smut #mentions of jules

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