Italics is French
Francesca Lewis leant her bodyweight against the half open door to her apartment. A smile tugging uncontrollably at the corners of her lips as she stopped Pierre Gasly from entering.
"You are the bane of my existence sometimes, Celine." Pierre sighs.
"Am I really?" She smirks. "Because I think that I'm an angel sent from heaven."
"You are most defintely not." Pierre shakes his head.
"As much as I'm loving the Franierre action I'm witnessing right now, please keep it behind locked doors." Heidi's voices echoes.
"I thought you were going to Lando's." Francesca says, turning to look at the blonde.
"I am. I need Oscar to remind me what its like to be an Aussie." She laughs.
Francesca shakes her head, pulling the door all the way open allowing for one person to leave and the other to enter. Pierre walked straight into the familiar apartment, kicking his shoes off so that Francesca didn't shout at him and disappearing further inside, leaving the two girls in the doorway to send each other a shared look.
"Protection." Francesca smirks, watching Heidi's cheeks turn red.
"I could say the same for you!" Heidi gasps, smacking her on the arm.
"Touché, touché." Francesca laughs, arms up in mock defence. "I like his hoodie by the way."
"Shut the fuck up." Heidi mutters, covering her face with her hands. "You sound like Jesse!"
"Okay, okay. Go get your man! Off with you!"
After quickly hugging each other, Heidi jogged off down the hallway and Francesca closed the door, making sure to lock it behind her.
She entered the living room to find Pierre making himself at home on the sofa, Francesca shook her head and tried not to scream when he sent her a wide lipped grin and patted the space next to him for her to sit down. She did not miss the way that his eyes quickly flicked down her body - which was only covered in a pair of socks, running shorts and yet another hoodie she'd stolen from Charles at some point over the last few years.
"Should I be jealous of the fact your wearing my brothers hoodie right now?" He asks.
"Do you want me to want you to be jealous?" Francesca smirks.
"I'll take that as a yes." The Frenchman sighs. "You could be wearing mine right now."
"You stole them all back from me. Charles is the only option."
"But really the man who douses everything he owns in cologne? Its all I can smell."
"Give me a hoodie and I'll wear it then."
Pierre gave her a look, which had Francesca smirking before she placed her legs over his lap and leant back into the sofa.
"That's what I thought." She laughs.
"I know what your trying to do."
"Oh really?"
"Trying to get me to give you a hoodie that I'll never get back." Pierre laughs. "Only Charles is stupid enough to fall from it."
"Well he is stupid for a reason." She shrugs.
Pierre lets out a deep chuckle which has Francesca's stomach doing somersaults. She struggles to keep a blush from growing on her cheeks and Pierre is quick to notice.
The two sat in silence, just staring at the other. Francesca's eyes dragged over every part of Pierre's face, almost trying to memorise each feature as if she hadn't subconsciously done that months upon months ago. Pierre was doing the same, unknowing that his thumb was gently rubbing the skin of Francesca's lower thigh until he saw her glance down and stopped.
"Don't stop." She whispers, catching his gaze again.
"Does it do things to you, Celine?" He teases her words from Bahrain.
She rolls her eyes, sitting up slightly to slap him on the arm which has him chuckling again. Francesca couldn't help but laugh as well, running her fingers through her hair.
There was nothing to be said between the two except for a comfortable silence as Francesca began to reply to messages from her family and Pierre became engrossed in doing his daily Instagram likes. Francesca still had her legs thrown over Pierre's lap and the Frenchman had his fingers drumming against her skin, she was getting flustered from just the smallest amount of touch from him, finally realising what it had been like for Pierre over the last two years.
"I'm guessing that you've heard about Charles?" Pierre mutters, looking over to her.
"Depends what, because I know some things you might not know." Francesca says back.
"He seems to tell you more than me these days." Pierre narrows his eyes.
"Because I'm the better best friend - the one who doesn't nearly let the gossip slip ten times a day or tease him about it constantly." Francesca smirks.
"Oh we're doing this are we?" He laughs.
"So what have I supposedly heard about Charles?" She asks, sitting up slightly.
"He messaged me the other day asking how long I've known he's a bit fruity."
"A bit fruity?"
"His words not mine, I dread to think where he got them from." Pierre laughs, his hands up in mock defence either side of his head. "And I have a feeling you know more to this situation."
"How long have you known he's a little bit on the fruity side?" Francesca questions.
"Since he was thirteen and randomly asked what it would be like to kiss a boy." Pierre chuckles.
"Of course he did." Francesca face palms. "Classic Charles."
"Just an inchident moment." Pierre smirks.
"If he was here he would actually kill you."
"Can you tell me the gossip behind what prompted him to ask me that."
"I already told Seb and Charles tried to smother me with a pillow after Seb spammed his phone asking for more details and ratted me out - so no, I can't face more of the Leclerc wrath."
"He tried to smother you with a pillow!?" Pierre laughs. "That's a Heidi move."
Francesca lets out a laugh, shaking her head at the memory.
"So I'm just gonna be in the dark as to why I keep getting these messages from my brother?" Pierre asks. "Because I don't think I can handle much more of Charles asking me how long I've known he's been a little bit fruity, Celine."
"Charles will tell you." Francesca shrugs. "The only reason he told me is because someone is incapable of keeping their mouth shut and told me."
"Charles?"
"I have no comment to make."
"Oh it so was!"
"It wasn't actually."
"Oh come on, Celine, just tell me!"
"No- Pierre!"
Francesca was left drowning in her own laughter as the Frenchman jumped to hover over her body, pinning her down with his arms, and tickling her sides. She tried to curl up into a ball to keep him away but Pierre managed to overpower her, the tickling making Francesca grow weak from laughter as her face began to turn red. The entire time, Pierre shouted about her telling him but she refused to give in until she begged for mercy and Pierre stopped.
Although, he did not move away from hovering over her. Reaching out and pushing a strand of hair away from her face whilst she wiped the laughter induced tears from her cheeks.
🏎️💨
Francesca woke up the next morning to an empty bed and the memories of falling asleep wrapped in Pierre's arms littering her mind. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her eyelids kept clenching shut from the harsh sunlight that was peaking through the open curtains.
Sitting up, she pulled the hoodie over the top of her head and dropped it down onto the mattress, rubbing her face with her hands and then moving her fingers to push through her knotted hair. The bedroom door was open, giving her perfect access to hear the two male voices conversing in French in the kitchen.
Francesca peered around the doorway briefly only to smile at the sight of Pierre putting breakfast together with Charles sat opposite him, resting his chin on his hand.
The half French half British woman kicked the covers off of her legs, moving towards her wardrobe where she grabbed a tank stop and pulled it over her head before brushing quickly through her hair and throwing it back into a ponytail. She grabbed her phone and slipped her sliders on before exiting the bedroom and closing the door behind her, covering her mouth as she let out a yawn.
"Morning boys." She mutters, voice still laced with sleep.
"Morning Cesca." Charles smiles over at her.
"Morning Celine." Pierre chuckles. "Coffee?"
She nods her head, sitting down next to Charles and placing her phone on the counter.
"What were you talking about?" She asks, looking between them.
"I was trying to get him to tell me the gossip." Pierre sighs. "Mission failed."
"He also wanted to know why I kept calling myself fruity." Charles laughs.
"Actually, why do you keep on doing that?" Pierre asks.
"Blame her." Charles gestures towards Francesca.
The brunette could only grin as Pierre rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of 'of course it was you, Celine' before pushing a cup of coffee towards her. Francesca grinned innocently before taking a sip of the drink whilst Pierre turned back to his best friend and continued trying to pry the gossip from between his lips.
She watched in amusement as Charles kept his mouth zipped shut, eventually, Pierre groaned in annoyance and muttered something underneath his breath. Charles high fived Francesca underneath the table then grabbed a strawberry and threw it into his mouth, sending her a grin which had her rolling her eyes back at him.
"You know who I haven't heard a peep from." Francesca turns to the Monegasque. "Your shithead of a little brother."
"He's to busy with his girlfriend." Charles smirks. "He's with her all the time."
"You say that but you yourself spend way to much time with your girlfriend." Pierre laughs.
"Arthur has a girlfriend!?" Francesca gasps. "And here I thought he was just lonely because he kept on crashing your date nights with Alexandra."
"Nope, he has a girlfriend - he just does that to be an annoying prick." Charles sighs.
"Good on him." Francesca sighs.
"Actually no, thinking about it. I think you spend more time with Celine than your own girlfriend, Charles." Pierre mutters.
"There's a reason for that." Francesca coughs.
Charles shoots her a glare and shoves her with his arm but Francesca can only grin as she takes a bite of a strawberry and wiggles her eyebrows. Laughing so hard that she almost chokes on said piece of strawberry when Charles shoves her again and she almost falls from the stool.
"Children the lot of you." Pierre sighs.
"You're sounding like Seb now." Francesca laughs.
"Grid dad Pierre?" Charles fake vomits. "Absolutely not."
"Lets not make that a thing." Francesca says with a shake of her head.
"I don't know how the hell I put up with the two of you." Pierre mutters.
The Frenchman walks off towards the bathroom whilst grabbing his phone from his pocket leaving Francesca and Charles in the kitchen with their empty coffee cups and a whole tub full of strawberries. Francesca being Francesca decided to wipe strawberry juice on the end of Charles' nose which had him laughing and reaching to do the same. She squealed slightly at the feeling before gasping and pretending that the juice was blush and wiping it onto Charles' cheeks.
Charles retaliates, wiping strawberry juice onto Francesca's cheeks before grabbing another strawberry and taking a bite out of it, never taking his eyes off of the brunette woman who had grabbed the kitchen roll and was using her phone camera to wipe the remanets from her skin.
"Your a menace to society." She mutters.
"Your the one who started it!" Charles laughs.
"I know, come here. I don't think that a certain Verstappen man would be to happy to see you covered in strawberry juice." She laughs.
Charles finishes the strawberry he was eating as Francesca places her fingers underneath his chin and turns his head to face her. She wipes the sticky juice from his nose and cheeks before he decides to reach up and tug on a strand of her ponytail which pulled the whole thing out.
"Ow!" She mutters, grabbing her head. "What was that for!?"
"Mentioning his name when the idiot might hear!" Charles whisper-shouts.
"I forgot he was here to be fair. It's too quiet in that bathroom."
"Maybe he's dead."
"Maybe. Will that stop us from going on your boat though?"
Charles pauses to think for a second. "Nope."
"Didn't think so."
"Go pack your shit, I'll make sure the idiot isn't dead." Charles laughs.
Francesca grabs her phone from the counter and heads towards her bedroom whilst Charles cleans up the kitchen counter. She was changing into her a bikini and replacing her clothes over the top of it when she heard Charles knocking on the bathroom door and double checking that Pierre wasn't dead but the Frenchman emerged with a grumble and a knock on the bedroom door telling Francesca to hurry up.
"I'm not the one who locked myself in the bathroom." She states, walking out of the room.
Charles smirks teasingly at Pierre, grabbing Francesca's bag from the floor so she could get her shoes on before they left and she locked the door.
She walked ahead of Pierre with Charles, the Monegasque with her bag over one shoulder and his free arm thrown around her shoulders. Pierre tries to ignore the jealous feeling in his gut, knowing that despite the way they acted sometimes, Francesca Lewis and Charles Leclerc would only ever be friends, siblings at most.
But the feeling didn't go away and Pierre knew that it was because of how beautiful Francesca looked to him.
She had on a dark blue triangle bikini top and no doubt a pair of matching bottoms, which she had fashioned and old school Red Bull button-up with to act as a cover-up. Her lower half was decorated in a pair of washed out black denim shorts that really did not leave much up to the imagination when it came to her legs. She was also wearing a pair of white Nike socks with the infamous dark blue Converse she would where around the paddock despite the Puma sponser that every driver had.
And it wasn't just what she was wearing, the dark blue colours contrasted perfectly with her skin that had picked up a huge tan from Australia and the sun in Monaco.
Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun atop her head with the odd piece hanging down in front of her face and she had styled a pair of dark blue sunglasses on the top of her head. Silver jewellery coated her skin from the rings on her fingers to the necklaces layered on her neck.
Pierre snapped from his thoughts when they finally got to the car as Charles teased Francesca for how longing she looked towards her GTR which she had barely used since getting back from Australia.