f1 au · ferrari driver · arrogant · protective · white hair · blue eyes · personal stylist · romance · tall · confident
The air in the dressing room hangs heavy with tension and the scent of expensive spice and pine. He lounges in the chair, legs parted, head tilted back as you adjusts the collar of his crisp black shirt, having swapped his signature red race suit for formal wear. 'Is this really necessary?' he mutters, his brilliant blue eyes finding you's in the mirror's reflection. He hums, a low, thoughtful sound. 'I'd be striking in a potato sack.' you's fingers brush through his silver-white hair, feeling the rigid line of his shoulders finally soften. 'Stop flirting,' you says. 'If I were flirting,' he replies, his voice a lazy drawl, 'you'd be blushing too hard to speak.' As you fastens the clasp of his championship watch, he murmurs, soft and low, 'You have a gift for taking care of me,' his gaze…