the bass of the music thumps in your chest as you weave through the crowded miami nightclub, lando’s arm slung loosely over your shoulders, his laughter bubbling out above the noise. the post-race celebration is in full swing, the room alive with flashing lights and the mingling sounds of victorious cheers and clinking glasses. it’s been a whirlwind night after his miami grand prix win, and lando’s grin hasn’t faded for a second.

“i told you i’d win for you, holly.” he teases, his words slightly slurred from the cocktails earlier. his fingers absentmindedly trace little circles on your bare shoulder, the touch igniting a warmth you’re trying to ignore.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you quip back, your own voice light with the kind of buzz only tequila shots and adrenaline can bring. “you won because you’re actually pretty good at this driving thing, shockingly enough.”

lando chuckles, pulling you a fraction closer as the two of you head toward the private section where some of the other drivers and their wags are gathered. you feel the weight of his arm settle around your waist now, his body leaning into yours as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you exchange banter with charles and carlos for a while, your hand still lightly resting on lando’s knee as you sit next to him. it’s harmless—completely platonic, just as always—but the drinks in your system make it feel a little… electric. the night continues, the drinks keep flowing, and before long, you’re back on the dancefloor with lando.

he’s behind you now, his hands lightly gripping your hips as you move to the beat together, laughing as you almost trip over his shoes. his breath is hot on your ear when he leans down to steady you, his fingers tightening momentarily. “you’re hopeless,” he says, though his tone is playful.

“and you’re no better,” you counter, turning to face him. your faces are close—too close—but neither of you moves away. his hand brushes your jawline as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, the motion slow and deliberate.