#karting

get ready. i'll be there in 10. we're going karting.

That's what he texted you in the morning. No context, just pure facts. But that was your dynamic, so you weren't surprised.

Not long after, you were already at his old karting place, ready to put on your race suit.

"I don't know, Lan... I've never karted before. I don't want to crash into a wall," you sighed.

You liked doing each other's hobbies. Like last month, when he finally read the book you gave him and burst through your door yelling, "You didn't tell me it ends with a cliffhanger!", holding the book up with genuine heartbreak on his face. Ever since, he's been stuck on the third book, obsessing over elves and fairies.

Or when you went golfing with him—accidentally, because he couldn't find anyone else to go with. Shockingly, you weren't awful and ended up enjoying it after a few shots.

Or when he came to yoga and pilates with you. That was hilarious. Lando Norris, Formula-1 driver, certified industry fuckboy, sitting on a mat doing pigeon pose between middle-aged women. And obviously he looked good doing everything—maybe too good, and maybe that's a tiny reason why you stopped bringing him, because something twisted in your chest watching those women stare at him.

Well... that, and the fact that he wouldn't stop flexing about how he mastered the flower pose before you.

So here you were now—about to go karting with him. You were excited ever since he mentioned it, but still nervous, mostly because you were not the best driver and also terrified of getting injured.

"Come on, don't be dramatic," he smiled sweetly. He grabbed your shoulders and lowered his head to match your eye level.

"You know if something happens to you, I'll be right here to catch you through it all," he sang dramatically.

You laughed. It became this inside joke after you forced him to watch the High School Musical movies. He hated every second except the rooftop dance scene. He weirdly loved the song, and since then he always quotes that line—and you quote it back. It was cringey at first, but now it's just part of you two.

"You're cringe," you rolled your eyes, lightly slapping his cheek.

"Only with you," he winked before walking off to talk with the mechanics.

That was true. Around others he was smug, charming, untouchable. Girls fell for him in minutes. At parties, you constantly caught him on "side quests" with someone new. He usually left with some girl hanging off his arm—but only after making sure you had a ride home. He always texted later, checking that you were safe.

And yeah, sometimes you felt that weird twist in your chest. People would call that jealousy—but you always shrugged it off. You'd known each other since kindergarten and you never wanted to ruin anything.

You took a deep breath and looked down at the kart. It didn't look that complicated. You could do this.

"Alright, everything seems fine," he returned. You looked up at him nervously. He noticed immediately.

"Hey—relax. Everything's gonna be alright, okay? Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

He brushed his fingers against your cheek, and then his full palm just... stayed there. His eyes scanned your face and something shifted for a moment—something different, new. You didn't get to process it though, because he cleared his throat and pulled his hand back.

"So yeah. Don't worry," he smiled.

You followed him to get helmets.

"Uh... Lan?"

He turned back to you.

"Can you— um— start alone? Like maybe just drive a bit before me and then help me after?"

He walked closer, arms crossed, studying your face in that cocky way that made your voice malfunction. And then he bit his lower lip to hide his smile—infuriating man.

"I just don't know how long you'll need to help me, and I want you to still enjoy it and—" you rambled, sounding ridiculous even to yourself.

"Stop that, Lando," you muttered, looking away.

"Stop what?" he laughed.

"That look. The one you use when you're deciding which girl you're dragging home."

His expression changed instantly—like something clicked. His smile softened into something more knowing.

He grabbed your chin gently, forcing your eyes back to his.

"Then stop being so cute, little one," he winked, kissing your forehead before putting on his helmet.

You stood frozen. You two did NOT do forehead-kissing. Basic hugs were max level physical touch.

Meanwhile he was silently panicking inside his helmet.

Why the fuck did I do that? She definitely thinks I'm weird.

He got into the kart, that familiar euphoria washing over him. When he looked over and saw you still staring, he waved. You smiled and shouted for him.

"Be careful, pretty boy! Don't damage your million-maker face!"

He laughed and started driving.

Watching him was insane. It had been ages since you saw him in a kart and something in your chest tightened with nostalgia. You clapped every time he passed you. He was smiling like a maniac inside his helmet, because this—you cheering on the sidelines—used to be constant.

Paparazzi used to call it "puppy love." Everyone assumed you'd marry someday. You both pretended to gag at the idea, but lately... he didn't.

It wasn't sudden either. The first shift was years ago.

His birthday, exclusive club, you walked out wearing a painfully hot backless dress. Lando's jaw literally dropped. Before that he'd seen you in tighter clothes, even in underwear once accidentally—but something shifted that night. He wanted to drag you home and forget everyone else.

Then other things followed:

after a race win when you jumped into his arms, hand on the back of his neck—he kissed your shoulder. He regretted it immediately, but you assumed adrenaline caused it.

Another time, he split his lip boxing with friends. You were the first to help him, brows furrowed while cleaning the wound, lower lip bitten in concentration. He prayed the bleeding would never stop.

After that? Hookups? Most of them fake. Sometimes he even sent girls home early because he caught himself almost saying your name.

And when he's alone... he doesn't really need anything else except the thought of your lips, your body, your voice—

And that's exactly when he crashed lightly into the barrier.

You gasped and ran.

"God, Lando—" you cupped his face. "Are you okay?"

He blinked, dragged himself back to Earth.

"Yeah—yeah, I just lost focus for a second."

You unclipped the helmet and lifted it off him gently. Your fingers brushed his lip and he closed his eyes at the touch, nearly giving himself away. He grabbed your wrist.

"Hey. Little one. Look at me. I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"I just got scared," you laughed softly.

"You caring about me is dangerous," he smirked. "Careful, munchkin. It'll go to my head."

You rolled your eyes and tossed the helmet into his lap. He laughed, put it back on properly, and drove his kart to its spot.

You followed, scanning the helmets. He picked one much smaller than his.

"Come here, let me put it on you," he smiled sweetly.

You let him do it. He lowered it onto your head carefully, clicked the clips, visor still open. Your eyes met right as he finished.

"Did I ever tell you," he said casually, "that you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen?"

You gasped, then laughed—too loudly—to break the tension.

"What? Lando, stop. It feels like you're flirting with me."

He didn't deny it. Just shrugged.

You frowned slightly.

...was he really flirting?

...and why did that feel so good?

"Okay, come here. Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward your kart.

You slid into the seat, reaching for the belts, and he helped you lock in. Your breath caught when his hands brushed your thighs. Then... he left them there. As he explained the basics, his thumbs made slow little circles on the inside of your leg.

Great. How were you supposed to listen to anything?

Were his hands always this big? And that veiny?

The heat of his palms seeped through the suit fabric and settled somewhere low in your stomach. Your whole face heated up.

Stop. He's your best friend.

You saw this boy when he couldn't pronounce cucumber properly. When he laughed so hard soda shot out his nose and then cried because it burned. When he once fell off his bike because he wanted to "ride with no hands" and immediately faceplanted.

Same idiot.

But also... not the same.

Because somewhere in the last two years he went from "cute boy from kindergarten" to full-blown man. His jawline sharpened, shoulders broadened, everything suddenly more masculine. Hugging him after races got harder because he barely fit in your arms anymore. His fashion sense developed. His hair got annoyingly perfect.

And his lips.

Don't even go there.

They were thick and soft-looking and your brain absolutely betrayed you by imagining how they would feel on your neck... your collarbone... lower—

"Little one, are you listening?" His voice snapped you back.

"What? Yeah! Totally. Pedals, wheel, not rocket science," you forced a smile inside the helmet.

"Yeah, sure." He laughed. "I know you didn't listen to a single word I said."

He tapped your helmet lightly.

"Focus, munchkin."

"I'm focused," you lied confidently.

"Right. Well, for the first few minutes I'll stay behind you, just in case. Wouldn't want you to crash straight into a wall."

"Very funny," you muttered.

"Just be careful," he said, moving behind you.

He leaned over you and adjusted your hands on the wheel.

Oh yeah. This was definitely going to be easy to focus through.

"Okay, press the gas," he said calmly. You felt his presence behind you, chest almost flush to your back, warmth radiating through your suit. His chin brushed your shoulder as he leaned close.

You took a breath and pressed the pedal. Nothing happened at first, so—classic you—you pressed harder before he could instruct you.

The kart jerked forward aggressively, shooting away. You screamed, searching for the brake, and as soon as you found it, Lando grabbed the frame and wrapped his arm around your waist, steadying you.

You stared at the wheel, breath shaking.

"Are you okay?" he asked from behind.

"Y-yes..." you whispered, letting out the air you'd been holding. "I just—got scared. Sorry."

"No, no. Baby, you don't need to be sorry—"

You froze.

Baby.

He froze, too—both of you registering the word.

He cleared his throat dramatically, pretending it never happened.

"Okay. This happens. No big deal," he said, though his voice wasn't nearly as casual as he tried to make it.

"I don't know, Lan... maybe this isn't my sport," you sighed.

"Stop," he said firmly, massaging your shoulders. "You can't be good at something the first try. And you're not the type to give up, okay?"

That hit deep. And annoyingly, he was right.

You nodded. "Okay. Let's do this."

He stayed behind you, guiding you, fixing your hands, helping you figure out your feet. Whenever you sped up too hard, he braced the kart with one hand and steadied you with the other.

Eventually—you weren't great—but you weren't terrible either.

Then, the second he finally let go, you felt a rush of pride. You sped up, enjoying it... until the turn. Something twisted, your hands panicked, and before you could brake properly, you slammed into the barrier. Your head snapped forward, hitting the wheel lightly.

"Fuck!" you heard him yell.

You weren't hurt, just startled.

Lando sprinted over, hands immediately on your shoulders.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you laughed nervously. "I just got scared."

He let out the breath he was holding and laughed with you.

"Okay, maybe it's really not your sport," he teased gently, unclipping your helmet and lifting it off.

Your hair was a disaster, and you smoothed it down while he watched, smiling.

His hands framed your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

"You really scared me, little one."

A soft warmth exploded in your chest.

You reached up and brushed his jaw. "I'm fine. Really."

He caught your hand—then lifted it to his lips, kissing your palm.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, mouth still pressed to your skin. Something shifted there—hesitation dissolving into certainty. His gaze dropped to your lips, and yours followed without even thinking.

"I'm going to kiss you," he murmured, voice hushed and steady, "but only if you want me to."

You hesitated for half a second—not because you doubted, but because this was everything.

"I want you to," you breathed, a nervous smile tugging at your lips.

You didn't even finish the sentence before his mouth found yours. One hand remained on your cheek, the other slid behind your head, holding you like he was terrified you'd disappear. You curled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently. His lips—god—soft, hot, hungry. He moaned into your mouth, a sound so raw it shot straight through you.

Years of wanting collapsed into a single kiss.

Still kissing you, he unclipped your belt and lifted you out of the seat, settling down on the ground with you in his lap. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, his hands traveling up your back, gripping like he finally allowed himself to need you.

He moved one hand to your neck, thumb brushing your jaw as he dragged little open-mouthed kisses across your cheek and down to your throat. Your eyes fluttered shut, lower lip caught between your teeth.

"I wanted to do this for so long, sweetheart," he breathed against your skin.

You let out a soft sound in agreement, fingers threading deeper into his hair. You gently tugged his head back so he'd look up at you. His eyes were half-lidded, full of something molten.

"You wanted me too, right? Please tell me it wasn't just me," he whispered, voice rough, kissing you again like he needed the answer to breathe.

"Yes, Lan," you whispered, forehead resting against his. "Of course I wanted you."

You kissed him again—deeper this time. He traced his tongue along your lips, asking silently for permission, and you granted it without hesitation. His tongue slid against yours—slow, hungry, desperate. You shifted without meaning to—grinding down—and he grabbed your hips with a sharp inhale.

"Oh my god... fuck," he groaned, face burying into the crook of your neck, peppering the skin with soft kisses like he couldn't help it.

You felt him under you—clearly—and it made your stomach twist with something warm and electric. You hadn't realized how badly you wanted him until right now.

Your face heated as you tucked yourself into his neck. "I'm sorry—"

"No," he laughed against your cheek, kissing it softly. "Don't apologize. It's just... if we don't stop now, I'm going to do things I don't want anyone else to see."

Even he sounded a little embarrassed saying it.

He stood then—lifting you effortlessly—hands steady around your waist as he helped you onto your feet.

He leaned close, lips brushing your ear.

"How about we ditch the kart and do something else?"

"You're so bad, Norris," you laughed, nudging his chest.

"No. I just held myself back for years," he whispered, kissing you again—slower this time. "And now you're not leaving my bed for days, pretty girl."

"It's a promise?" you murmured, kissing him back.

This kiss wasn't hunger anymore—it was relief. Years of unsaid feelings finally spoken. You could've kissed him for hours. You never wanted to know what it felt like to miss his mouth again.

You pulled back just enough to whisper,

"We're idiots, right? For not doing this sooner?"