#lancesteban

He needed a breath. Not just from the press, but from the performance of it all.

The Aston Martin facility wasn't far.

He hadn't planned on heading there, but something tugged at him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was the quiet hope that Lance might be tucked away somewhere out of sight, where the paddock's intensity couldn't reach him.

He found a side entrance open—one he knew staff used to come and go between breaks. Lance showed him earlier, his reliable escape route in case he needed to take a breather.

Slipping inside, he moved through the cool, wood-paneled corridors until he reached a small lounge area nestled in the back. Natural light filtered in from a window above, casting a soft glow across the space.

There he was.

Lance sat slouched on a deep green velvet sofa, his back to the door, head tilted slightly downward, fingers absently scrolling through his phone. His Aston Martin polo hugged his frame just right, sleeves tight around his upper arms. He wore dark denim jeans that fit a little too well, worn just enough to crease naturally at the knees. His hair was slightly messy—soft waves that Esteban had run his hands through more times than he could count.

Esteban's heart warmed at the sight. Not because Lance looked good—though he absolutely did—but because he looked like him.

Quietly, Esteban approached. He stood behind the sofa, leaned down slightly, and gently placed his hands on Lance's shoulders. His thumbs began to trace small, circular patterns just at the base of his neck—slow, almost teasing.

Lance startled slightly, then let out a quiet laugh, voice low and warm.

"You always sneak up on me."

Esteban leaned in until his lips were just beside Lance's ear.

"You make it too easy."

Lance tilted his head back lazily, eyes searching upward until they met Esteban's. There was a quiet vulnerability in them, softened by the comfort of knowing who stood behind him.

Esteban smiled and gently slid his fingers into Lance's hair, coaxing his head back just a little more.

Without a word, he lowered himself and pressed a soft kiss to Lance's lips. It was unhurried and warm, the kind of kiss that said, I missed you, even if they had seen each other this morning.

When they pulled apart, Lance let his head rest back against Esteban's chest, still seated, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Esteban then walked around and sank into the sofa beside him. For a while, they just sat there, thighs touching, the noise of the paddock muffled by thick walls.

Esteban watched him, really looked at him.

He noticed how the green team polo hugged his collarbone, the faint sheen of summer heat on his skin, the gentle way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

"You look..." Esteban murmured, almost to himself. "Kind of ridiculously good right now."

Lance scoffed, eyes narrowing as he turned to look at him.

"Shut up."

"I mean it." Esteban grinned. "This shirt looks so good on you. And those jeans..." He trailed off, eyes flicking down. "You know exactly what you're doing."

Lance's cheeks flushed a soft pink, betraying his usual coolness. But instead of brushing it off, he reached up, fingers grazing Esteban's jaw, then trailing along the side of his face, through his stubble, in a featherlight caress.

Esteban leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded. He always melted at Lance's tenderness, the kind that only came out in these quiet, stolen moments.

Lance's thumb traced the curve of his cheekbone, then stilled.

"You're staring."

"I like looking at you," Esteban said simply.

Silence settled again. Soft. Full.

Esteban's eyes flicked to Lance's hands, long fingers, slightly stiff still in some positions, though more fluid now than earlier in the season.

His brows furrowed gently.

"Your wrists... how are they doing?"

Lance blinked, caught off guard.

"The surgery?"

"Yeah," Esteban said, eyes searching his. "I know it's been a while, but... sometimes when you touch me, I still feel you holding tension. Like you're guarding it."

Lance looked down at his wrist, then slowly turned it in his hand.

"It's okay. Better, definitely. Physio says I'm near full strength now. I just... I don't think about it most of the time. But some days I wake up, and it's still a little tight."

Esteban reached over and took Lance's hand in his, gently running his thumb over the faint scar.

"I remember watching you drive with those pins still in," he murmured. "Couldn't believe how stubborn you were."

Lance chuckled softly.

"You love me for that."

Esteban smiled softly.

"I do."

Silence fell over them again until Esteban noticed a shift in his boyfriend's energy. A small playful smirk curved on his lips—one he knew well.

"I can't wait to see you in your race suit later."

"Oh, yeah?"

Esteban raised an eyebrow, amused.

He knew what he was doing, trying to change the topic. Away from his wrists, away from pain.

"Yeah."

Lance's eyes dropped deliberately down to Esteban's chest, where the soft black Haas polo clung to him in the heat. He reached out, just lightly tugging at the fabric with two fingers.

"Tight around here," he said, tapping Esteban's chest teasingly.

Esteban let out a quiet laugh, but his breath caught a little as Lance's fingertips trailed slowly over the logo on his shirt, then down to where the fabric stretched over his sternum. It was a casual touch, but deliberate, the kind Lance knew would make him sit up straighter, heart a little quicker.

"Lance..." Esteban said when Lance's hand slid beneath the bottom of the polo, fingertips finding warm skin just above his waistband.

He paused, eyes flicking back, his breath catching slightly.

"Hmm..." Lance hummed; his fingers were slow, tracing along the edge of Esteban's stomach, feeling the subtle ridges of his abs beneath the soft fabric and smooth skin.

"I love how you look in your polo," Lance murmured, voice low and teasing. "But you look so hot in your suit."

Esteban growled deeply as he felt fingertips ghosting over his skin, like memorizing it's pattern, how it feels, for later.

When his fingers reached the curve of his chest, Lance paused. He looked up at Esteban, who met his gaze with a soft, open expression, not challenging, not flustered. Just there. Letting him have this.

"That feels good." Esteban murmured more to himself than to anyone else as he leaned his weight against the back of the sofa, letting Lance touch him, eyes half-lidded and trusting.

"I can tell," Lance giggled quitely, his eyes roaming all over Esteban's chest.

Lance's palm splayed across Esteban's lower stomach now, stroking lightly, then dragging his nails up ever so slightly, enough to make Esteban shiver.

Lance pinched gently, catching Esteban's nipple between two fingers.

Esteban hissed in a quiet breath, but he didn't pull away. He stayed still, his chest rising slowly as he exhaled. His hands came up, lazily brushing Lance's wrist, but not to stop him, only feel him.

"I love how you let me do that," Lance murmured, lips barely apart.

Esteban tilted his head slightly, lips parted in a half-smile.

"I love when you do it."

Lance laughed under his breath, flushed but still clearly pleased, brushing his thumb softly over the spot he just teased.

"I am glad you found me." He exhaled. "I needed that."

Esteban leaned in closer, his voice a quiet hum.

"Me too."

They were close now, close enough that Esteban could smell Lance's cologne, feel the warmth of his breath, the heat radiating off him.

"Este..." Lance breathed deeply, his eyes flicking from Esteban's lips, back to meet his gaze.

Both knew they were one step away from undressing each other, from giving in to the touch, to the sounds leaving their lips, to the feel of each other's heat.

But this wasn't the time, or place.

Lance finally let his hand fall away, just a slow drag down Esteban's chest, brushing his stomach once more as it slipped out from beneath the polo.

"We should probably go," Lance said softly, voice still colored with mischief. "Before I do something I really shouldn't in here."

Esteban grinned, eyes still dark with something deeper.

"Pretty sure everything we just did qualifies."

Lance smiled, leaning in to kiss Esteban again.

I love when people use the carotid (neck) to check the pulse, it’s really hot, but there’s something else in the radial (wrist) pulse being checked. It’s not as bold, not as visible as it is when it’s being done on the neck. The subtlety of it is what makes it really beautiful and special to me. A radial pulse check can be done in a way that other people don’t even notice it. It’s only about the person who’s checking it and the person whose pulse is being checked. It can be so intimate, it can say a lot even without words. I’m here for you. I’m taking care of you. I'm here to help. You’re not alone. It’s going to be okay. We’re going through this together. Comfort. Safety.

It came so naturally with George placing Max’s hand on his chest and holding his wrist to keep it there and help ground him and guide his breathing. His fingers naturally curled around Max’s wrist and found his pulse point, and who am I to say no to putting it in the story? 😃 So yeah, we both have gone to heaven. 😇

It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for not being able to come back sooner. It’s important to deal with your personal stuff first and prioritize yourself, a random universe on the internet can wait. And no, you’re not putting pressure on me, it’s the opposite, actually, because getting asks from you is what motivates me to work on this universe. It makes me happy to be able to talk about it and thanks to you I can talk about parts of the universe I wouldn’t talk about otherwise, so as long as I’m getting asks about it/there’s an interest and I have something to say, I’ll be happy to talk about it. ❤ (So if anybody else, especially the people who've been liking these universe-related posts have anything to say/ask, my inbox is open, anon is on, so feel free to use it. ❤)