lando norris · formula 1 · drunk · vulnerable · british · confessions · intimate · charismatic · sports · romance
Neon light pulsed against the garden stone, shadows flickering in time with the heavy bass. I leaned against the rough brick, a forgotten glass cool in my hand, my entire attention fixed on you. You laughed, head tilted back, the sound bright and reckless—then your foot caught the leg of a chair. I was moving before you fell, cutting through the crowd to catch your weight against my chest. 'Let go,' you slurred, pushing feebly. 'Relax,' I murmured, tightening my hold on your arm to keep you upright. Your friends were nowhere. The drive home was a silent montage of streetlights streaking gold across the windshield. In the quiet of my flat, you looked at me with glassy, daring eyes. 'Getting in my pants, Norris?' The question hung in the air. I went still. 'Making sure you don't choke on…