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Max lingered in the back corner of the McLaren garage, half-hidden behind a wall of engineers and glowing monitors. Headphones rested over his ears, his expression unreadable as his eyes followed the orange car cutting through the circuit.
Lando was flying.
Max’s lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough. The Brit had been unstoppable all weekend: fastest in practice, flawless in quali, and now leading the race like he was born for it. Oscar was a few seconds behind, but it was obvious who today belonged to.
He didn’t cheer. Didn’t jump or clap like everyone else. He just watched, arms folded, thumb brushing absently over the ring on his finger — the one Lando had given him months ago “for luck.”
The final lap came and went in a flash of noise and color. The garage exploded when Lando crossed the finish line, voices and laughter bouncing off the walls. A few of the mechanics rushed over to Max, patting his back or offering a handshake. He accepted them with a small nod and a quiet “cheers,” still half-listening to the radio.
Through the static, he heard Lando’s voice — giddy, breathless, radiating sunshine. Max’s chest ached, but in a good way.
“P1, baby,” Lando laughed over the radio, and Max finally let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
He stayed where he was, still leaning against the wall while the rest of the garage celebrated. Typical Lando — all light and energy, bouncing off everyone around him.
The whole McLaren crew poured out of the garage, a flood of papaya rushing toward parc fermé. Excitement buzzed through the air as they waited for their cars to roll in. A few seconds later, the orange flashes appeared — Lando in front, Oscar right behind. The pair pulled up neatly behind the 1 and 2 boards, engines roaring one last time before silence.
Cheers erupted instantly. Mechanics jumped, hugged, and clapped each other on the back. Oscar was the first to reach them, grin wide as he pulled a few of his crew into a hug. Then came Lando — helmet still on, punching the air in triumph before he jumped straight into his team’s waiting arms.
And in the middle of all that noise stood Max. Calm, steady, arms crossed — a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He stayed back, watching his sunshine glow.
Then Lando turned. Even with the helmet on, Max could tell he was grinning. That same grin that could melt anything in its path.
The Brit jogged over, yanking off his helmet and balaclava. Sweat plastered his curls to his forehead, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “We did it, babe,” he said, breathless and radiant.
Max hummed softly, a spark of warmth flickering through his chest. “Yeah, you did,” he murmured — but he didn’t get to say more before Lando tugged him closer by the collar.
The kiss was soft, a quick press of warmth in the middle of the noise.
The crew behind them erupted again, whistles and cheers and laughter echoing through the paddock. Cameras clicked, phones flashed — but Max barely noticed. His hand came up to steady Lando’s waist, pulling him just a little closer.
His boyfriend had just won the race. The world could watch all it wanted — his focus was, and always would be, on him.
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It was late by the time Lando finally made it back to the hotel.
Max had already showered, hair still damp and curling a little at the ends. He sat on the couch in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweats, watching the race highlights play across the TV. The glow from the screen cast a soft light over the room, calm and quiet — at least until the door beeped.
He turned just in time to see Lando stumble in, cheeks flushed pink, grin wide and unsteady.
Max let out an amused sigh, pausing the TV. His boyfriend was clearly very drunk — and clearly very happy. He watched for all of three seconds before wincing as Lando nearly took out the dining table with his hip.
“Careful, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵,” Max murmured, already crossing the room. He shut and locked the door behind Lando before looping an arm around his waist, steadying him.
Lando immediately melted into him, his laughter bubbling out between hiccups. “M–Maxie…!” he half-whispered, half-giggled, hands finding their way around Max’s shoulders as if afraid he’d float off otherwise. His eyes shone, dopey and fond. “Missed you…”
Max huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You saw me a few hours ago, 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘫𝘦.”
Lando pouted — an exaggerated, dramatic thing that only made Max’s chest ache with affection.
“Still missed you,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against Max’s collarbone.
Max’s lips quirked, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Lando’s head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you to bed before you start hugging the furniture too.”
Lando giggled again, letting Max guide him across the room. “Only wanna hug you…” he slurred softly.
And though Max rolled his eyes, the faint smile tugging at his lips said it all — he didn’t mind one bit.
Max guided Lando toward the bedroom with slow, steady steps, half herding, half carrying him. The Brit clung on the whole way, shoes still on, mumbling half-coherent things about how amazing Max’s hair smelled and how “you looked so hot on the pit wall today.”
“𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵, you’re drunk,” Max said, voice low and amused.
Lando only hummed, pressing his cheek against Max’s . “Drunk on love,” he slurred, then immediately snorted at his own joke.
Max groaned quietly but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”
They made it to the bed, and Max crouched to untie Lando’s shoes. The Brit swayed a little where he stood, hands now lazily carding through Max’s hair.
“You’re so soft,” Lando whispered with all the reverence of someone confessing a great truth.
Max looked up, a brow raised. “You’re impossible.”
“But you love me,” Lando shot back, voice muffled by a yawn.
Max chuckled under his breath. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Once he’d gotten Lando out of his shoes and jacket, Max gently pushed him to sit on the bed. “Arms up.”
Lando obeyed instantly, grinning as Max helped him change into a loose shirt. When he finally flopped onto the bed, he reached for Max again, fingers grasping at the hem of his shirt.
“Stay,” he mumbled, already half-asleep.
Max didn’t bother arguing. He switched off the lights, sliding into bed beside him. The moment he lay down, Lando immediately curled in, tangling their legs together and burying his face in Max’s chest.
“Warm,” Lando murmured, voice slurred and sleepy.
Max’s arm came around him automatically, his hand finding Lando’s hair. “That, I am,” he whispered, lips brushing the top of his head.
Lando only hummed in reply, already drifting off.
And as the room fell silent save for their breathing, Max’s smirk softened into something gentler. He pressed a kiss to Lando’s curls and whispered, almost fondly to the dark.
“Sleep well, 𝘮𝘪𝘫𝘯 𝘻𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘫𝘦.”