pretty much an f1 blog

The waves kept licking your toes, your sundress pooling around your thighs. The Monaco harbour was finally calm, the sea tame and the sun reflecting golden speckles on the horizon. The streets had been busy, busier than usual, but you found yourself in one of the rare corners of the principality where you’d be left alone, in a quiet bubble, where no one would bother you.

The week of the Monaco Grand Prix was always special. It was always a mix of a frenzy, crazy times that you never quite were able to deal with, but also a mix of warm sunsets, comfortable bed sheets and piano sessions to wake up to in the mornings. It was also the week of pains au chocolat in bed, of fresh and cold fruit juice in tall glasses, of wandering fingertips on your thighs and soft kisses in your lover’s neck.

The Monaco Grand Prix was always your anniversary weekend, too. Three years ago, you left your friends on a boat to sneak into a Ferrari event. Three years ago, you met Charles, who took you for a tour of the principality in his beloved Ferrari, then for a swim on his Riva boat. Three years ago, you sat on this same pier, listening to the cars drive in the background while Charles grieved the possibilities of a home win after a treacherous pole position secured by a crash into a barrier. Three years ago, you met the man you’d share your life with, dressed all in red and sunshine, a warm man who turned your world upside down with soft words whispered in your ears, with arms wrapped around your stomach and with tender kisses on your cheeks.

Three years ago, you dried tears of sadness for a man you barely knew.

Today, you dried tears of pride and happiness for the love of your life.

Charles was laying on the pier, his race suit still wet and clinging on his thighs. His hair was finally dry, curling in the most adorable little curls at the end, that you kept playing with absentmindedly, tangling your fingers in sea salt waves of brown strands, drowning yourself in the green eyes and dimples you loved so much.

Charles was finally relaxed of that remaining constant tension in his shoulder, he had finally achieved the ultimate dream of his and his father’s. He had won that Monaco Grand Prix that meant so much to him, after years of sadness, disappointment and doubts. You had gone through four races here, now, not one leaving you relieved about the outcomes. But this weekend, Charles had mastered everything he needed to have done, everything had finally clicked into place and with the complete support of his team, something you had pleasantly welcomed in your lives a few years ago, he had finally turned the dream into reality.

A few hours ago, he had jumped into the harbour with his team principal, yells of happiness and pride mixing with the sea salt water and the tears. You had waited your turn, letting him enjoy that win on his side, first with his team, then with his family. You’d lived a few wins with the Leclerc family already, but none that left everyone crying so much. You knew what it meant for them all, so you took a step back and left them to celebrate this one between themselves. Charles hadn’t said much after the podium and all the press duties. He had been relieved from the race debrief, there would be time to do that later, so you had patiently waited for your man to be free and ready to celebrate this one out with you.

So many of his friends were waiting for him at a club. So many of his peers were waiting to party and congratulate him. So many people in Monaco waiting for the prince of the day, the one who’d made everyone cry.

And still, Charles was laying on the pier, his head rested on your thighs, his breathing calm and relaxed, his eyes closed and his nose taking the faintest pink hues, a result of the sunkiss effect that drew you in the first time you’d seen him.

“Everybody is waiting for you, Charlie,” you whispered. “Let them wait. I’m good here,” he whispered back. “I don’t need to go to the club. I just need to lie here. I just need you.”

You smile at the horizon, knowing perfectly well that he would get jitters in a few hours, that he’d drag you to a club and that you’d end up driving his car because he’d be too hammered to drive himself. But for now, for an hour or two, you’d selfishly enjoy this one with your man.

His gold trophy was next to you, the medal hung on the little hairpin representation of the track. His cap, ruined by the water, completed the triptych of a magical afternoon, spent in the streets you fell in love with, just as you fell in love with the man lying at your side.

“Congratulations, my love,” you softly exhaled. “You deserved that one so much.” “Thank you,” he smiled a little. “I love you.” “I love you too,” you grinned.

The streets were finally calmer, after they’d exulted in celebrations. The harbour was finally quiet. The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon line. Your sundress was finally dry after you’d taken Charles’ hand and jumped in the water, taking your time to float in the sea and to kiss the winner under the heat of a May sun. Your hair was curling just like your boyfriend’s. You’d go back to your place, get rid of your clothes, slide in the shower together and God knows what you’d do in there. You’d party tonight, put him to bed when he’d irrevocably end up drunk and you’d make sweet love in your bed tomorrow morning, when the quiet and calm would be back to your lives.

Your Sunkissed boy had made it. You couldn’t be more in love with him.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Support a writer, reblog their works!

Tell me what you liked the most about this! If you want to help me support my writing, you can also buy me a ko-fi 🥺🤍