Out of the Blue - Chapter 3, A push in the right direction.
George Russell/Kimi Antonelli/Max Verstappen,
Mentions of past George/Lewis & past Max/Daniel.
Endgame George/Max.
Rated E. 16,723words. 3/3. NSFW art at the end of the chapter!
“Mentoring is a brain to pick, an ear to listen, and a push in the right direction.” -John Crosby
Unlike on Wednesday, George is grateful when the door swings open, when Max finally walks in. His gaze snaps to the Dutchman, who lets the door close behind him, already giving Kimi a smile.
This time, when he walks close to the bed and starts chatting to the younger driver, George doesn’t interrupt. He listens distantly as Kimi thanks Max for helping out with interviews, as Max laughs when the kid tells him his eye itched from the champagne for a solid hour after the podium.
The cordial smile he’d plastered on does dim, though George hides it by bringing a hand up to his chin. His foot has started swinging by the time Max finally looks at him.
“Good race,” he says in lieu of greeting. His tone isn’t as amused as it had been while addressing Kimi. “Unlucky with the car.”
George holds back insults. He grits his teeth, waves a hand in the air and shrugs. What can you do, it means, which Max seems to get seeing he nods, but doesn’t probe for more. He shrugs off his jacket, throwing it aside by a pile of Kimi’s clothes, and walks to sit at George’s side in the empty armchair awaiting him.
“So,” he says as he settles in his seat. His elbow brushes George’s own- George is quick to move his arm out of the way. “What are we doing tonight?”
Max looks at him, as if this moment was his idea. It makes him purse his lips, shrugging helplessly. But somehow, thankfully, it’s Kimi who speaks up.
“Same as last time?” he suggests.
“I’m not doing it,” George replies instantly, shaking his head. He’s not getting humiliated a third time this week.
“Oh,” Kimi breathes. He looks slightly disappointed, though makes a poor attempt to conceal the emotion. He tends to wear those on his face, George has noticed.
“Let’s do the basics, then. Next race is Silverstone. What was it last year, an hour and a half?”
“Twenty eight minutes,” George confirms with a nod. “Fifty two laps. Rather standard.”
It’s hard to make it sound like Silverstone holds no importance to him. Briefly, he thinks of Kimi stepping up on the podium there, next week, and has to take a deep breath to rid himself of the anger that looms, threatening the way storm clouds could on an already somber day.
“Right. Better get to it then,” Max says after a pause, seemingly understanding George won’t be speaking much through this.
Mentions of past George/Lewis. Endgame George/Max.
Rated E. 8940 words. 2/3.
“Mentoring is a brain to pick, an ear to listen, and a push in the right direction.” -John Crosby
[…]
Still, he manages to corner his rookie just as they’re done filming content for Mercedes’ socials, cue cards scattered on a table, admins chatting quietly between themselves where they’ve gathered a few meters away.
“Kimi,” he calls, setting a hand on his shoulder, still broadening by the day. His thumb presses at Kimi’s neck, grazing the curls that have grown too long, which George has been teasing him about lately.
He watches as Kimi’s warm eyes turn to him, how his smile lingers for a second before it dims at whatever he finds on George’s face, schooled into something neutral, if a little nervous. Kimi is smart enough to pick up on shifts in discussions instantly. He’s quick at it, despite how innocent he looks. George has witnessed it before, how he goes from the funny trickster he’s come to know, to the focused prodigy the press spills ink about. He’s seen it during discussions with engineers, through serious talks with Toto, in interviews, or even in interactions with other drivers on the grid.
Kimi is smart.
It’s as annoyingly impressive as it is endearing.
“About last week,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, though his teammate stops him with a shake of his head before he can keep talking.
“It’s nothing! I should have kept going,” Kimi says, heat rising to his cheeks, dusting them a vibrant pink. “And I’m sorry about Max. I thought- I just thought it could help with my performance.”
It catches George off guard.
This isn’t the discussion he’d braced for. He’d somewhat expected Kimi to talk about his feelings, about this, the untold attachment between them, how it would possibly come to an end or to be rearranged at least- but of course, Kimi is set on performance. George grits his teeth.
Distantly, he recalls he might have used the very same words to Lewis once. Had this been how his own mentor had felt hearing the words? Shoving the thought away, he forces himself to answer.
“With your performance? What would he have done?” more than I do, he muses, but doesn’t voice it, cradling his pride.
“Well- I thought, if there were two of you, it would be even more, ah, challenging, you see? And I could learn more,” Kimi looks so earnest, eager. George finds it hard to do anything but sigh and pat his shoulder gently once, twice.
“I see,” he says. “Well, I’d have liked a heads-up. You know these are scheduled and planned. It’s important that they are. Though I know I haven’t been the best at communication.”
Kimi says nothing. For a few seconds, silence stretches between them, making George’s stomach drop.
There’s no use for words. The quiet agreement is enough.
But as cold as it makes him feel, it doesn’t last long. Kimi isn’t one to hold onto anger or resentment. In under a minute, he smiles again, the one grin that shows his sharp canines, the one grin George knows the media team can’t get enough of these days. He finds himself smiling back, albeit a little forced.
“Right– Well. Why Max?”
“He’s the best.” Kimi’s reply comes so quickly that it doesn’t leave any time for George to take it as an insult.
And it’s not. It can’t be. It’s not as if his teammate can’t have opinions- He doesn’t have to be the star Kimi orbits around.
He’s not Lewis.
There’s nothing but distant friendship between him and Kimi. He’s made sure to keep it that way, has made sure to keep a clear separation between their work and personal lives. So Kimi can have opinions about who the best racer is, and George should swallow it and digest it easily.
It’s good, in a way, that Kimi doesn’t idolize him. Still, it makes him purse his lips.
“He affects you, though,” he points out, in mild retaliation, thinking back on just how Kimi’s palm had picked up its rhythm when he’d seen Max. It’s a low blow, one Kimi takes with a slight hitch in his breath, averting his gaze, his blush creeping high on his cheekbones, and low along his throat, disappearing under his dark suit. George knows just what it must look like underneath, has seen it enough by now.
At least the kid doesn’t deny it, shrugging it off with ease.
“It makes it better for this, no? Harder, for training. I can handle it. I can improve.”
George’s jaw twitches. Briefly, his thumb presses in where it rests at the crook of Kimi’s shoulder, almost at his neck, where the fabric of his suit stops covering soft skin.
“I suppose it could help, yes,” he concedes.
What would he look like if he said no? George’s mind provides an image of Kimi going to the other rookies again, or worse, to Max, to complain about him. He sighs, letting go of his shoulder, taking his hand back, letting it drop at his side.
