[ Wow, happy to share that I've already finished the whole story. The rest will be uploaded fully soon once I am done with editing. Thanks a lot for your support, likes and comments. Have a great day :) ]

George sends the message while I'm already half-horizontal on the hotel bed, lights off except for the lamp by the window that looks out over absolutely nothing worth admiring.

George Russell: Alive?

I answer with a thumbs-up because that's faster than having to explain why I'm replying to his text in nanosecond on a Thursday night. The next message follows almost instantly.

George Russell:
You HAVE to see what the internet is doing with you
I swear to God this one is so funny.
George Russell sends you a link.

I sigh, toss my phone onto the pillow beside me, don't want to open it right away. I already know how this goes – a joke, new memes, an overly serious analysis threads where people convinced they can decode my soul despite never having interacted with me. George's link probably contains all three.

I wait a full minute before picking up my phone again and tapping on the link he sent. The title alone makes me snort – "When Oscar falls in love". A fanfiction, obviously, with unnecessary poetic title and a summary that takes itself far too seriously.

I skim the story with the detached confidence of someone who fully intending to close the tab in 10 seconds. I even hover my thumb over the back button like an adult making a responsible choice, already composed a sarcastic reply to George.

I make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough when noticing the open scene is so wrong in many ways. The paddock layout is off, the timing makes no sense and whoever wrote this definitely has never been to Zandvoort. He, or she, got us standing on the side of the track where we would get told to get off for lingering. Gosh, Andrea will probably unalive me with his bare hands if he sees me walking near that area. I roll my eyes silently, already drafting a mental list of corrections like I'm marking homework.

The second part is fine though, annoyingly well-written. Or maybe I'm just misjudging it. Suffering from dyslexic makes me almost never voluntarily read anything full of words, unless it's legal binding like my contract. By the third part, I'm already sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, telling myself I'm only scanning for inaccuracies and will give the author some feedbacks to fix those mistakes. It's research, for the greater outcome.

The story is heavy on dialogue. Without meaning to, I start reading Oscar's lines through his voice, maybe it's because how accurate it sounds. Just a bunch of casual comments he would throw in real life when standing up against the wall watching me getting ready. There is one detail wrong though, Oscar would never cross his arms unless someone had annoyed him first. I am about to open my mouth to start arguing with the screen but snap it shut immediately, realizing I cannot start fact-checking about a fanfiction written about myself.

Half way down the page, there's a line of dialogue that makes me stop scrolling. "You don't have to explain Lando. I choose you over any reason. Don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

I wonder if that's something Oscar would actually tell me, or something I could only dream about. Don't get me wrong, he is definitely acting like that, I'm just not sure if he would be that romantic verbally.

I find myself opening the comment section, hoping the rest of the internet would be so nonchalant and cool about us. I must have underestimated people imagination, because the comment section is flooded with inappropriate scenes, make room for my mind to start working.

"Just shut up and kiss already?"
"Tell me they're in love without telling me they're in love"
"Find someone who looks at you the way Oscar looks at Lando"

"This is a goddamn fanfiction", I tell the room, "completely made up, imagined, detached from reality."

No one argues back so I click the next chapter out of habit and curiosity.

Midnight passes without ceremony, so does half past. At one point, I lie flat again, phone suspended above my face, screen light too bright, grin too obvious. Somewhere between a scene involving late-night room service and us sharing a meal, I realized I'm too invested into this story.

At 1:08 AM, I finally lock my phone and drop it onto the mattress beside me like it's done something illegal. Sleeps come to me immediately after while my mind still racing to guess what happens next in the story. That night, I dream of us in thousand different scenarios.

***

By the next morning, I wake up with my thumb opens to the next chapter before my mind has fully caught up. It's supposed to be done, last night read was boredom mixed with curiosity and nothing else but I'm dying to know the end of this story. I don't even sigh when the website loads. And that's how I know it's a problem.

The paddock smells like fuel and coffee, something used to be useful at grounding me, expect for the fact that it doesn't do anything to anchor me today. My attention keeps slipping, tugged sideways by half-remembered sentences and scenes that have no business existing in my head.

Everything still works perfectly even though I cannot focus fully. I do not open my phone in the garage because I'm not an idiot, even part of me is behaving like one. when Oscar finally steps into my vision, it's like someone hit me hard on the head.

He's completely glowing under this light. Talking to engineers, listening more than he speaks, hair still slightly damp from the morning shower. Then his eyes look up into mine, like he can read my whole mind with one look. Oscar is taking his time, closing the distance between us and stands right next to me. His perfect face is zoomed in, nose slightly crunches and lips form into a small smile.

He leans over and - without a word - starts kissing me right in front of everyone. I kiss him back as eagerly, fingers grab his race suit tightly, not wanting to let go. His tongue traces the outline of my lips, the sweetness knocks me out of conscious. His hands are on my butt, firm and gentle, slightly squeezing it. The heat of his hands travels through the thick material of my clothes and stays there while his legs hook over and pulls me in closer. My fingers comb through his soft hair and leaves it like a mess.

"Lando! Hello? World Champion? Lando?"

Holy fuck did I just daydreaming about Oscar in the middle of our work place? This isn't good in any possible way. Tom is screaming my name, shaking my arm violently to summon my soul back. I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of whatever just happened and hide the truth from everyone.

"You with us?"

"Sorry, zoned out a bit. What were you saying again?"

From the other side of our garage, Oscar raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I've just committed a crime without him knowing. I turn away, avoid his look and force my thoughts back into something useful – data, track evolution, whatever Tom is talking about. It almost works.

Later, during a lull, my hand drifts toward my phone without thinking, thumb already moving before I remember where that path leads. I stop myself halfway through, screen still dark, heart doing an unnecessary little stutter. Me reading fanfiction should never be a habit, because once formed, it'll become a nightmare to unlearn.

Every here and there, I feel Oscar's eyes follow me closely. Still full of guilt, I try to ignore his look and promise myself that I'll bring him cake tomorrow to compensate for the weird distance I've created out of nothing today.

***

Free practice is done. Debrief is delayed. Half of the garage drifted off in different directions and the rest of us are stuck in that in-between state where no one is actively needed but everyone has to look like they are solving an international issue. I'm stretched across my own bed in the driver's room, iPad in hands, trying my best to finish the left-over story. Completely unguarded and grinning like crazy.

I don't hear the door opening – that's the very first problem. Oscar let himself excuse into the room without knocking – something only comes when he's annoyed, scared or deeply convinced something important is going on without his presence.

The second problem is so much worse. My iPad is still raised, fully facing the door, the brightness has been turned all the way up, the font is embarrassingly large because, for the 10th time, dyslexia doesn't care about my dignity. The scene on screen involves Oscar pinning me down after our argument, his one big hand takes both of mine in control, capture them above my head and I'm under him at his mercy.

"Move on to the next page, you are such a slow reader."

I nearly through the iPad across the room.

"What the fuck? Osc?"

I twist around, heart slamming so hard that I might have a heart attack now. No one has come and checked on us yet, even though I screamed a bit too loud. Oscar is standing next to the door, leaning casually against its frame like he hasn't just walked in me reading explicit scenes about us fucking. This is humiliating in another level.

"I have finished that page 30 seconds ago. I need to know what I do next."

I scramble, trying to hide the tablet under my pillow, which only makes it way worse because the title is now zoomed in, glowing like a neon sign.

"That's not—" I start, then stop, because I don't actually know what that sentence was supposed to become without sounding guilty, defensive or innocent. "It's not what you think."

He hums thoughtfully. "I don't think anything yet."

"In my defense – "

"What? You have a defense now?" Oscar widens his eyes theatrically and covers his mouth, looks at me as if I just discover the only dinosaur alive in 21st century. If my eyes could shoot daggers, Oscar must have bled to death the moment I found out about his presence in my room. He reaches out to get the iPad out of my hand without asking, quickly finish the rest of the chapter before tossing it aside on the bed.

"Do not spoil it for me". I cover my eyes and ears, refuse to let him ruin my story. I can still finish it behind Oscar's back, he wouldn't have known.

"What makes you think I'm gonna spoil you with the content of the story? Darling, that's last thing I'd do". Oscar smirks, but I'm too caught up in my own embarrassment that I barely care about him making fun of me.

"You have been reading these fanfictions for a while, haven't you?". He talks like he's so sure of the answer and insists on me spilling out the truth.

I open my mouth, close it, then try again. I want to blame it all on George and tell Oscar about how he sent me the first stupid story, one leads to another. All of this is George's fault, but I can't bring myself to say it out loud. I stare at the ground, hoping an earthquake or flood would hit Holland right now so I won't have to answer Oscar's question anymore.

Oscar leans closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him on my skin. His thumb presses lightly on the base of my neck, barely a suggestion of pressure and my breath stutters. Osar watches my reaction closely with a quiet focus like I'm a lab rat and he needs to observe me to finish his thesis.

He rests his other hand on the mattress, millimeter away from my thigh, not trapping me inside his board chest but making the option of retreat suddenly feels theoretical.

"You been dreaming of me like this" – Oscar says gently, less of an accusation and more like an encouragement for me to open up myself.

Oscar really takes his time with our kisses, his mouth moves against mine with a patient that borders on cruel. I melt into it immediately, all the resistance and embarrassment I've been hoarding dissolving under the simple fact of being wanted back by my gorgeous man. His hand come up to my jaw, brushing lightly beneath my ears, steady me on the same position. I feel his touch everywhere, a low heat unfurling through my body that makes my thoughts blur at the edges.

"Do I kiss you like this in that fanfiction huh?"

I gasp, not being able to form a comprehensive sentence, words and letters mix together in a loud mess in my head. Oscar's gaze darts down to my waist, where half of the race suit is still visible, giving him no easy access.

"You look so fucking good in your race suit Lando, I can't tear my eyes off you on track. That fucking glowing number 1 on your back only makes you look hotter."

Oscar keeps murmuring sweet words to me while I'm already gone with his touch, his kiss, his hands. He slowly pulls down my race suit, just a bit over my butt, and reveals my choice of underwear today – a boring black boxer. I don't even have time to regret about it because the sight of Oscar on his knee worths everything. Suddenly all my attention is gone and now my mind is filled with the sensation of heat from Oscar's mouth on my dick, my balls. I let out a tiniest moan, still aware of where we are at the moment.

His hand reaches up high to my chest, violently grab it and pinches my hard nipples. He sucks me off slow at first but then start going down faster and faster as he notices I can keep my mouth shut so well. He is so eager to please me and me only.

"Do I fuck you like this in those fanfictions?"

I might have passed that question though fully knowing the answer. "No Oscar, you fuck me way better in real life". And I love it when you take me in so passionate like I'm your savior. My reality is even better than dreams.