una personita de por ahí

George really should have arrived at the club sooner. Lance had won his first grand prix on top of his first podium for Aston Martin. George should have been one of the first ones to celebrate with Lance, to congratulate him. Instead he had managed a single text message before being pulled into an hours long briefing with Toto who had shouted so much at them that poor Kimi burst into tears. So then another hour was spent comforting the poor boy until he finally asked to be taken to Max who of course was with Charles and–

George pushed the guilty thoughts down as he finally made his way past security and into the club. The music was loud, and the lights seemed to beat in time to the music. Before him was a sea of black and green, Aston Martin had gone well out for their driver. George pushed his way to the dance floor, nodding at Esteban who appeared to be wedged between two strangers.

He scanned the room, hoping to find the man of the hour. Eventually his eyes landed on Lance, draped over Fernando, both with bright green cocktails in hand. Lance’s head appeared to be tilted back in laughter, a wide, bright smile on his face. He looked so beautiful in that moment, so carefree.

George’s stomach twisted and his fists clenched. What was Fernando doing with Lance? He was far too old for Lance, other than racing what did the two of them have in common. He felt nauseous watching the two of them, Lance was practically sitting in the old man’s lap. Their mouths were so close, all it would take was for Fernando to close the gap and–

George wrenched his eyes away and stormed over to the bar. He ordered himself a Gin and Tonic alongside a shot of vodka. He downed them both as quickly as possible. He glanced over at the happy couple, still cuddled up together. George pushed down the bile threatening to claw its way up his throat.

Why did he feel this way? It was none of his business really, though he was sure that Stroll senior would have his own harsh words to say on the matter– George shook his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. He orders another drink before he pushes his way through the crowd and over towards where Lance and Fernando were snuggled up together.

“Don't you two look cozy?” He failed to keep the snarl from his voice.

“Russell,” Lance’s attention snaps straight to George, giving him the tiniest bit of validation. “Why’re you here?’

“You invited me?” George said tentatively, his heart sinking at Lance’s words.

“Yeah,” Lance nodded as he struggled to his feet. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Oh,” George felt himself grow warm.

“No,” Lance shouted loudly, grabbing George firmly by the wrist. “Stay, please.”

George nodded, allowing Lance to pull him onto the couch. He placed his drink on the table, watching as Fernando whispered something in Lance’s ear which made the Canadian turn bright red before he shoved the other driver away. Fernando stood up, picking up the now empty cocktail glasses, before he made his way over to George.

Fernando leaned over and whispered into George’s ear. “Good luck, he’s a handful.”

George’s vision went cloudy, he was about to open his mouth to respond when he felt a hand on his chin. And there was Lance, the soft smile on his face. As Lance stroked his finger along George’s left cheekbone, there was a zing of electricity that ran down George’s spine. He swore he could feel every millimetre of Lance’s touch.

“Ignore Nando,” Lance murmured, leaning his head against George’s shoulder. “Like’s to stir shit.” His hand was still gently stroking George’s face. “Why’re you here, George?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” George said, allowing himself to just enjoy Lance’s attention for a moment before Fernando surely returned. “Your first GP win, astonishing.”

“You already… you already… did that,” Lance stumbled over the words, moving his face closer to George’s. “No other reason?”

Lance was so close George could feel Lance’s hot breath against his mouth. He licked his lips and quickly took a sip of his drink. He felt dizzy under Lance’s attention.

“When’re gonna ask me out, George?” Lance’s question made George’s head spin.

“What–” He said, swallowing again in an attempt to steady his now rapid breathing. “What do you mean?”

“I saw ya watchin’,” Lance murmured, running his finger across George’s face and over his bottom lip. “Always see ya watchin’. S’when ya gonna?”

“I-I–”

George had no time to respond, Lance’s lips were suddenly on his. Though he was startled at first, George found himself kissing back, hands desperate over Lance’s shoulders and back. Everything finally clicked into place, everything finally made sense.

“Brunch tomorrow?” George practically blurts out. “Please.”