Not A Verstappen || CL16 & LN4

Untitled Part 21

Round Eighteen - Qatar GP

"Goddamn this place is hot. I'm sweating my tits off."

"Are you?" Lando chuckled. "'cause they still look good to me."

You rolled your eyes at his flirty wink and continued to try to fan yourself as you scanned your pass at the entrance. "Fuck, this has to be some crime, it's inhumane to make us race in this heat. How the hell are you wearing a hoodie?"

"It's comfortable."

You couldn't even fathom a response as you stared at Charles, but he just shrugged with a smile and said, "He'll take it off for the ice bath."

Your enthusiasm perked at the idea of both a shirtless Lando and submerging into the cold water. Except you knew you would be in your own motorhome where your ice bath was prepped, not able to enjoy the view in McLaren or Ferrari.

"Are you going to be okay in there, mon amour?" Charles asked as they stopped outside your destination. Neither of your boyfriends were happy with leaving you alone, but you hadn't heard a thing from Lance all week and assumed his father was to thank for that. His son had been absolutely slated online after the video went viral, now he kept a low profile.

"I can handle the big baby," you said with a nod, cursing the laws that stopped you from kissing them both. "Go, before I get us arrested."

Lando's lip curved up into a smirk. "Didn't we give you enough attention this morning to last a few hours?"

"Non, mon cher," Charles laughed. "Our sweet will never have enough."

You hated how your blood began to rush faster from a few whispered words, and they continued to tease you as they went on their way.

--

"Remember to hydrate, Spitfire."

You pressed the button on your steering console and nearly gagged as warm water filled your mouth. It was an effort to swallow but you forced the liquid down knowing you were losing much more from your body through sweat. Your suit was drenched and your eyes stung when even the balaclava couldn't keep your forehead dry and the sweat ran into your eyes.

"I'm having words with Russell after the race, we can't drive like this," you complained again.

"I'm sure he will have a few drivers with the same issue. Sargeant is retiring from the race."

You lapped the Williams car as it limped slowly into the pits but you couldn't spare a thought for the rookie as your vision started to blur again. Shaking your head violently, you recovered your focus in time for turn one and throttled through it. Another lap down, too many more to go.

Your head was hazy, and your sight wasn't much better. You were fairly sure it was muscle memory that kept the car on the track as you didn't really remember the last few laps after your water ran dry. In all honesty you may not have realised the race was over if it wasn't for Charles slowing down ahead of you. For a moment you thought you were gaining on him but you weren't that lucky.

"What were the results?" you panted as you followed Charles on the warm down lap, running over the marbling and ignoring the system settings you didn't have the energy to enter.

"Verstappen, Piastri, Norris, Russell, Leclerc, you. Nice job."

"And Stroll?" The lap seemed to be going on forever as you took each turn at a snail's pace. You were hot and itching to get out of the seat that was most definitely burning your asscheeks.

"P11."

You pulled into the pits and the engine stalled as you failed to disengage it properly. The failsafes clicked in and you fumbled for the harness as the need for fresh air almost suffocated you. Your mouth was too dry and the taste of metal coated your tongue. You didn't even have the strength to climb over the halo and just slid down to the asphalt.