[this is just a bit of fun from an ai fanfiction extension producing risque romanticism from news articles]
Chapter 1: The Qualifying Heat
Lando Norris couldn’t tear his eyes away from the monitors, his heart pounding in rhythm with the screaming engine of Max Verstappen’s Red Bull as it carved through Suzuka’s first corner with impossible precision. The McLaren driver’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he watched his rival—his nemesis—his…
No. He wouldn’t let himself complete that thought.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the collective gasp in the McLaren garage as Max’s Red Bull danced through the Esses, defying physics and Lando’s sanity in equal measure. The Dutchman’s car moved like liquid mercury, flowing between the corners as if gravity was merely a suggestion.
Earlier that day, during the practice session, they’d nearly come to blows in the paddock. Max had accused McLaren of copying Red Bull’s floor design, getting right up in Lando’s face with that infuriating smirk of his.
“Worried we might actually beat you fair and square this time?” Lando had shot back, refusing to step away despite the electricity crackling in the scant inches between them. Max’s eyes had darkened then, something dangerous and thrilling flickering in their depths.
“You’ll never beat me, Norris,” Max had practically purred, “Not when it matters.”
Now, watching the most perfect qualifying lap he’d ever seen unfold, Lando felt those words brand themselves across his heart. He pressed his hand against his chest, trying to still the thunder beneath his ribs.
“Lando.” Andrea Stella’s voice cut through his reverie. “You’re up next. Focus.”
Focus. Right. As if he could focus when Max Verstappen was out there setting the track on fire with pure talent and raw determination. As if he could think straight when those piercing eyes would be watching his every move from the garage, judging, measuring, challenging…
Lando pulled his helmet on, grateful for the tinted visor hiding his flushed cheeks. The cockpit of his McLaren welcomed him like a lover’s embrace, familiar and exciting all at once. As he pulled out of the garage, he caught a glimpse of Max leaning against the pit wall, arms crossed, watching.
Always watching.
The warm-up lap was a blur of muscle memory and practiced precision. Lando’s engineer’s voice faded to white noise as he positioned himself for his final qualifying run. This was it. His chance to prove Max wrong, to wipe that knowing smirk off his face, to—
The lap was perfect until it wasn’t. Through every corner, Lando could feel Max’s presence like a ghost car ahead of him, taunting him, daring him to push harder. The final chicane approached, and Lando’s hands betrayed him by milliseconds, the tiniest error costing him pole position by twelve thousandths of a second.
Twelve thousandths. The time it takes to draw a breath. The length of a heartbeat. The duration of a stolen glance across the paddock.
In parc fermé, Max was already out of his car when Lando arrived, helmet off, that damned smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Sweat had darkened his hair, making it curl slightly at the temples, and Lando hated himself for noticing.
“Not bad, Norris,” Max said, voice low enough that the hovering cameras couldn’t pick it up. “Almost had me there.”
“Save it,” Lando snapped, yanking his helmet off with more force than necessary. “Tomorrow’s the race that matters.”
Max stepped closer, close enough that Lando could smell the mixture of champagne and victory that seemed to cling to the Dutchman like expensive cologne. “Everything matters, Lando. Every second. Every thousandth.”
They made their way to the weighing room, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a carbon fiber front wing. The room was mercifully empty when they entered, the usual crowd of officials temporarily absent.
“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” Lando found himself saying, watching Max step onto the scales with his usual fluid grace. “That you can just show up and wave your magic wand and pole position is yours?”
Max’s laugh was dark honey and danger. “Magic wand? Is that what you think this is?” He stepped off the scales, advancing on Lando with predatory intent. “This is skill, Lando. Raw, pure skill. And deep down, you know it. It drives you crazy, doesn’t it? Knowing that no matter how hard you push, I’m always just…”
He was too close now, backing Lando against the wall. “…one thousandth…”
Lando’s breath hitched as Max’s hand came up to rest against the wall beside his head. “…ahead.”
Their faces were inches apart, the air between them charged with something that had nothing to do with racing and everything to do with the way Max’s eyes dropped to Lando’s parted lips. The world narrowed to the sound of their breathing, the heat radiating between their bodies, the magnetic pull drawing them inexorably closer—
“Muy caliente, no?”
Fernando Alonso’s amused voice shattered the moment like a safety car deployment. Max jerked back as if burned, and Lando practically leaped sideways, putting as much distance between them as the small room would allow.
The Spanish veteran’s knowing smile as he sauntered in made Lando’s cheeks flame. Fernando’s eyes darted between them, twinkling with mischief that promised this wouldn’t be the last they heard about this particular qualifying incident.
“See you tomorrow, Norris,” Max said, his voice rough around the edges as he strode from the room. “Try to keep up.”
Lando watched him go, heart racing faster than any lap time he’d ever set, knowing that tomorrow’s race would be about far more than just pole position and pride.
Fernando’s chuckle drew his attention back to the present. “The track is not the only place where there is… how you say… overtaking opportunity, no?”
Lando had never fled a weighing room faster in his life.
