Counting Days, Counting Miles: Australia Race Weekend
Join me for the Australia Grand Prix 2023, wherein Fernando flirts, Lance has some much needed conversations, it's an Aston P3 and P4 and Lance sets some things in motion.
Lance Stroll x Fernando Alonso
Theme: Fluffy Smutish?, slight teasing
Lance is a brat, like always, and Fernando is extremely patient. yet he can't resist teasing him a little x
word count: 2710+
taglist: @cloud-55 @game-set-canet @thuz @yoeka03
open for requests :)
The sun over Barcelona cast a golden sheen across the paddock, the heat of the Spanish GP weekend wrapping everything in that familiar tense energy. Fernando walked side by side with Lance, both still in their green Aston Martin race suits, just stepping out of the debriefing room.
Fernando ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing over at Lance.
"You didn't pay attention in there."
Lance smirked, that teasing little tilt to his mouth Fernando knew all too well.
"I paid attention enough."
"Enough to know you can't brake so late into turn ten, eh?" Fernando nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
Lance shot him a sideway look, brown hair messy from pulling his balaclava off earlier.
"Whatever, old man. I'll brake when I want."
"Old man?" Fernando raised an eyebrow, amused. "Who was it asking me for setup advice last night?"
Lance let out a quiet laugh, hands at his hips as they walked.
"Yeah, yeah. You like helping me."
Fernando smiled slightly. God, he did. He liked all of Lance's moods—the bratty quips, the quiet moments, even the sulky frustration after a bad quali session. Being teammates had only added fuel to something that had been brewing between them for a while.
On track, they were partners; off track, they were something deeper.
As they walked past the media center, Lance leaned in closer, voice low. "You looked good out there today."
Fernando gave him a sideway glance.
"Flattery won't get you out of post-session analysis."
"I'm just saying," Lance grinned, "you looked... hot."
The older driver shook his head with a chuckle, biting back a smirk.
"Careful, Lancito."
But Lance just laughed softly, knowing exactly how far he could, and should, push. That was the thing about Lance—he might be introverted with most of the paddock, but with Fernando, he came alive. Teasing, provoking, poking at the edges of Fernando's patience in a way that made his chest ache and his pulse quicken.
They passed a group of mechanics heading toward the garages, and Fernando dropped his voice.
"You keep pushing, Lance..."
"What?" Lance said, all faux innocence, lips twitching.
Fernando let the moment hang, not answering, letting his meaning settle between them. Lance's eyes sparkled with challenge.
By the time they reached Lance's motorhome, the air between them was thick with something unsaid. Lance unlocked the door, waving Fernando in.
"Want a drink?"
Fernando stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
"I think you've had enough."
Lance threw himself onto the couch, stretching out, looking up at Fernando with that lazy grin. His racing suit was unzipped to the waist, allowing Fernando a glance at the white fireproof undershirt, pressing snug against his torso.
"Enough what?"
Fernando's gaze darkened slightly as he stepped closer, shedding the top half of his racing suit, the white undershirt clinging to his skin.
"Enough teasing."
"Oh, come on, Nando..." Lance drawled, hands behind his head. "You like it."
Fernando's mouth curled into a slow, knowing smile.
"I do."
Lance tilted his head, playful.
"So, what are you gonna do about it?"
In a heartbeat, Fernando was on him, pinning him back against the cushions, hands braced on either side of Lance's head. Lance's breath hitched, eyes wide, laughter bubbling in his throat.
"Oh-oh, okay," Lance stammered, the bratty edge slipping just slightly. "Didn't know you'd—"
Fernando dipped his head, voice a low murmur against Lance's ear. "You never know when to stop, do you?"
Lance shivered, feeling the weight of Fernando's body pressing down, the tension sparking in his chest. He opened his mouth for another smart remark, but Fernando caught his chin in one hand, tilting his face up.
"Shh," Fernando whispered. "Now it's my turn."
The shift was instant—Fernando taking control, Lance's pulse racing as he felt the shift in energy. He loved this. Loved how Fernando let him play, let him push, right up until the point where he stopped playing back.
Lance shifted slightly on the couch, the lazy grin returning as Fernando hovered over him.
"You're mine tonight, Lancito," Fernando murmured, brushing his thumb over Lance's lip.
Lance bit lightly at Fernando's thumb, eyes sparkling.
"Am I? Thought I was your teammate."
Fernando's brow arched, slow and dangerous.
"Teammate. Boyfriend. Brat." He smirked. "All the same."
Lance gave a breathless little laugh, pushing up on his elbows, brushing his nose against Fernando's.
"Maybe I enjoy being all three."
Fernando hummed low in his throat, tilting his head just slightly, fingers curling into Lance's hair.
"Maybe you don't know when to quit."
Lance stretched under him, body loose, voice lifting with mock innocence.
"Why would I quit when you like it so much?"
Fernando let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and warm.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Lancito."
Lance poked at his chest lightly.
"You wouldn't do anything. You're all talk."
That did it.
Fernando's hands moved fast, pinning Lance's wrists above his head, pressing him back into the couch cushions. Lance let out a startled breath, eyes wide, grin still tugging at his mouth.
"You were saying?" Fernando murmured.
Lance wriggled slightly, testing the grip, still smiling.
"Oh, come on, Nando. You wouldn't—"
Fernando leaned in closer, voice like silk. "Wouldn't what?"
Lance swallowed, the bratty glint still there but flickering. "Wouldn't, you know... actually shut me up."
Fernando smirked.
"Try me."
For a moment, they stayed like that—the tension crackling, Lance's breath catching, Fernando's weight solid and certain over him.
Lance squirmed a little, testing again, still playful.
"You're heavy."
Fernando grinned, shifting just enough to press down more deliberately, making Lance laugh breathlessly.
"Still want to tease me?"
"I'm not teasing," Lance said quickly, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just saying, you're old. You can't hold this position for long."
Fernando barked a laugh.
"Lancito..."
"What?" Lance smirked. "Not my fault you're like, what, forty-two?"
Fernando pressed his forehead lightly against Lance's.
"Forty-three."
"Exactly...." Lance murmured.
That earned a low, rumbling sound from Fernando as he tightened the grip on Lance's wrists, dipping his head to press his mouth right below Lance's ear.
"You're in so much trouble."
Lance shivered, his breath hitching slightly.
"Yeah?"
Fernando didn't answer—just grazed his teeth lightly along Lance's jaw, making the younger driver arch slightly, a soft sound escaping his throat before he could bite it back.
"Thought you weren't gonna shut me up," Lance whispered.
Fernando pulled back slightly, smiling down at him.
"I like hearing you squirm first."
Lance flushed, biting his lower lip, eyes glinting.
"You're mean."
Fernando's smile softened. "Only with you."
Lance let out a shaky laugh, still pinned, still squirming slightly just because he could—because he liked testing how far Fernando would let him go.
Outside, someone walked past the motorhome, the sound of voices drifting faintly by. Lance froze for a second, eyes darting toward the window. "Nando..."
Fernando hummed, unbothered. "They can't see us."
"But they—"
Fernando leaned in again, his mouth brushing along Lance's jawline, cutting him off mid-sentence. Lance sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling into fists under Fernando's hold.
"You're impossible," Lance hissed softly.
"You love it," Fernando smirked back at him.
Lance grinned, voice shaking just a little.
"Yeah."
They stayed like that for a while, tangled up. Fernando eventually loosened his grip, brushing his fingers through Lance's messy hair, thumb tracing his cheek. Lance closed his eyes for a moment, breath evening out, a soft smile curling at his mouth.
"You like it when I push you."
Fernando leaned down again, their foreheads brushing.
"I like many things about you."
Lance's breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching where Fernando still lightly pinned his wrists. His cocky grin softened just a little, lips parting as if to say something—but then he hesitated, eyes flickering between Fernando's.
Fernando saw it—that tiny shift, the bratty confidence thinning at the edges, something rawer peeking out. He brushed his thumb along Lance's jaw, gentle now.
"What is it, Lancito?"
Lance swallowed, letting out a shaky breath.
"Nothing."
Fernando smiled softly. "Mm, no. Tell me."
Lance squirmed a bit under him, cheeks warming.
"Just... when you look at me like that...."
Fernando tilted his head. "Like what?"
Lance let out a nervous little laugh, glancing away.
"Like you want me."
Fernando's heart squeezed a little. He loosened his grip, lacing their fingers together instead, dipping his head to brush a kiss over Lance's temple.
"I do want you."
Lance shivered, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
"Yeah?"
"Always." Fernando smiled softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Even when you're impossible."
Lance let out a breathless laugh, turning his face into the kiss, chasing it eagerly. "I'm not impossible."
"You're needy," Fernando murmured against his lips, teasing.
Lance flushed, grinning despite himself.
"Am not."
Fernando laughed softly, nipping at his lower lip.
"Lance."
"Okay, maybe a little," Lance admitted, eyes glinting. "But you like that too."
"I do," Fernando said warmly, brushing his nose against Lance's. "I like how much you want me."
Lance's breath caught, and he pressed up, kissing Fernando more firmly, hands tugging him closer now that his wrists were free. The kiss deepened, heat sparking between them, Lance arching into it, needy and eager, fingers sliding up under the edge of Fernando's damp undershirt.
Fernando let him pull and push, smirking into the kiss—but then, deliberately, he slowed it down, pulling back just slightly, leaving Lance chasing after him.
"Fer..." Lance whispered, a faint edge of frustration in his voice.
Fernando smiled, cupping his face. "Slow down, Lancito."
"I don't want to slow down," Lance murmured, pressing kisses along Fernando's jaw, impatient.
Fernando's chest tightened—god, he loved how open Lance was when they were alone like this, all that sharp, bratty energy softening into something vulnerable and real.
He threaded his fingers through Lance's dark hair, tilting his head back slightly.
"Look at you," Fernando mused. "So eager."
Lance bit his lip, eyes shining. "Yeah, well... you're not exactly helping."
Fernando laughed, low and warm, and leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, more deliberate. Lance melted into it, sighing softly, fingers curling at Fernando's waist.
When Fernando finally pulled back, Lance chased after his mouth again, making a soft, needy sound in the back of his throat.
"Patience," Fernando whispered, stroking a hand down Lance's side.
"Can't," Lance mumbled, burying his face against Fernando's neck, pressing close. "Want you too much."
Fernando's heart clenched—sweet, needy Lance was his absolute weakness.
He wrapped his arms tighter around him, kissing the top of his messy hair.
"I know, Lancito. I know."
Fernando gave Lance one last slow kiss, smiling against his mouth, before he gently pushed himself up.
Lance blinked, a little dazed.
"Wait... where are you going?"
Fernando chuckled softly, reaching for a bottle of water on the table.
"We have more meetings, and FP2 is coming up, Lancito."
Lance sat up fast, his green suit rumpled, cheeks still flushed.
"What? No, no, no, we have time."
Fernando twisted open the cap, taking a long sip. His dark eyes flicked back over at Lance, amused.
"No, we don't."
Lance let out a soft, frustrated sound, flopping back onto the couch dramatically.
"Come on, Nando..."
Fernando raised an eyebrow, still smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What did I say earlier about being needy?"
Lance peeked up at him through messy hair, pouting slightly.
"It's your fault."
Fernando laughed under his breath, moving around the small motorhome space, grabbing a towel to dab his face.
"You're impossible, Lance."
Lance sat up again, swinging his legs over the side of the couch, watching Fernando with sharp, hungry eyes.
"You're just leaving me like this?"
Fernando turned slightly, giving him a deliberate once-over—the way Lance's suit clung to him, the way his lips were still slightly swollen, his cheeks flushed, eyes dark.
God, he looked wrecked already.
"Yes," Fernando murmured smoothly, "I am."
Lance let out an exasperated groan, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're the worst."
Fernando crossed over, bending slightly to brush a kiss against Lance's temple.
"We'll finish later."
Lance caught his wrist quickly, tugging him closer, voice low and bratty.
"You owe me."
Fernando's eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.
"Do I now?"
"Yes," Lance said firmly, grinning up at him, trying to pull him back down. "You so do."
Fernando let himself be tugged a little closer, dipping his head until their foreheads touched.
"Careful, Lancito."
"Or what?" Lance whispered, eyes glinting.
Fernando kissed him once, sharp and quick, before pulling away entirely, stepping back with a smooth grin.
"Or you'll have to wait even longer."
Lance let out a whine, flopping back dramatically on the couch.
"This is torture."
Fernando just laughed, shaking his head as he gathered up his gear.
"Get ready, Lance. You know they will be mad if we're late again."
Lance groaned, squirming.
"Fine."
Fernando stood by the door, gloves tucked under his arm, checking his watch, then looked back over at the couch.
Lance hadn't moved.
Still on his back, one arm flung dramatically across his forehead like he was grieving, the other dangling off the edge like a prince fainted from heartbreak.
His fireproofs clung in all the wrong places now, the green suit twisted, bunched at the waist, chest rising and falling in theatrical frustration.
Fernando raised one brow. "Lance."
No response. Just a soft, long-suffering sigh from the couch.
Fernando didn't move, but his voice sharpened slightly. "Lance."
Still nothing—except the tiniest twitch of Lance's mouth, betraying the fact that yes, he was definitely awake. Definitely listening. And definitely being a little shit on purpose.
Fernando sighed deeply.
"Are we really doing this now?"
Lance cracked one eye open lazily, lips curling.
"Doing what?" He asked innocently, stretching just enough to make his undershirt ride up a bit over his stomach.
Fernando narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking down.
"You're going to make us late again."
"Then go," Lance said, flopping the arm back over his eyes. "I'll catch up."
Fernando let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He stood beside the couch for a second, looking down at him—this ridiculous, infuriating, beautiful mess of a man, half-dressed in team gear, flushed and smug and so obviously wanting attention.
So Fernando gave it to him.
He bent over slightly and tapped Lance's side—not hard, just enough to get a reaction.
"Up"
Lance squirmed at the touch, letting out a lazy groan.
"Mmm… What if I don't?"
Fernando didn't answer. Instead, he reached for the crumpled green fabric bunched at Lance's waist, fingers finding the waistband and tugging lightly. Slowly, methodically, he straightened the suit, pulling it up and smoothing it into place.
Lance blinked, startled at first—then he broke into a grin.
"Seriously?"
Fernando ignored him, tugging the sleeves gently, brushing off invisible wrinkles, then zipping the top of the suit back up to Lance's collarbone. He gave the zipper a quick flick, tightening the seal.
Lance bit his lip, watching him.
"You're dressing me now?"
"Someone has to," Fernando muttered, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
"Should I thank you?" Lance teased, voice sweet and mocking.
Fernando leaned in, his voice a low murmur near Lance's ear.
"You should say you're sorry."
Lance smirked up at him, eyes sparkling.
"I'm not."
Fernando gave the zipper one final tug and then patted Lance's chest, just above his heart.
"Then you'll owe me twice."
Lance grinned wide, cocky again.
"Is this your thing now? Fixing my suit to shut me up?"
Fernando stepped back, slow and deliberate.
"Fixing it so you don't look like you've just been debauched on a couch in the middle of a race weekend, Lancito."
Lance sat up with a dramatic gasp.
"How dare you—I looked great."
Lance stood slowly, adjusting the waistband of his suit, smoothing the fabric across his chest—but the whole time, he was watching Fernando with that glint in his eye.
Fernando just smirked at that comment.
"Come, now."
"You liked it."
"I did," Fernando admitted easily, his smile sharp now. "But I'm still not letting you walk into the meeting looking like I just left you begging."
Lance froze slightly at that, just a tiny hitch in his breath—eyes flicking up to meet Fernando's.
The smug bravado wavered. Only for a second. But it was enough.
Fernando saw it, and his smile deepened. He stepped in close, brushing a hand down Lance's freshly-straightened suit, slow and possessive.
"He twists slightly to the side, t-shirt riding up to expose a slice of pale skin. It’s then that Lance notices a powerfully built, dark haired man eyeing him. It’s too hazy to get a good look at his tanned face, but he’s undoubtedly attractive, and Lance can clearly see the way the stranger’s eyes are tracking down his body. A hot, twisting feeling emerges in the pit of his stomach, but he forces his eyes away, movements stuttering awkwardly."
an excerpt from a strollonso fic i'm working on <3
my ao3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Lance, do you see how he treats you?” Fernando snaps. It comes out harsh. Lance flinches at her tone.
“Yeah. He treats me the same way you do.” She spits back.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I would never disrespect you like that.”
Lance scoffs. As though Fernando hasn’t played the same mind games, leaving her guessing and grasping at straws to figure out if she truly matters enough to get a title. If she’ll ever just be more than a hookup.
“You treat me like I’m just a quick fuck, you leave every night, you don’t give a shit about me!” She all but barks back. She can feel her skin buzzing, hackles raised, like a cornered animal. Fernando doesn’t see the signs, or she ignores them, she’ll know how to make this hurt, and for a moment Lance is convinced Fernando will go for the kill. She doesn’t though. Lance finally looks at her, shocked to see that Fernando looks so… hurt. Brows creased, big brown eyes wide, it’s like Lance just slapped her across the face.
“I… Lance…” She says her voice is twinged with sadness. It makes Lance freeze, like someone dumped ice water on her. Lungs too tight, the fight the adrenaline seeping out of her leaving only a deep emptiness.
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong… Please, I can’t keep doing this…” she chokes on her words. Some part of her wanted Fernando to snap, give them the big finale, make them hate each other. Instead Fernando looks so wounded, devastated, horrified at the implication.
“Is that how you really feel?”
“It’s late Fernando. Just… Go back to your room.”
“No. If it hurts you when I leave, then I’m not leaving.”
“Fernando,” She wants to push her out. She wants to fight. She wants Fernando to call her baby and hold her all night. She wants to be her partner. She wants to block her number and never see her again. She wants to hold hands in the paddock. She wants them to have dinner with her father. She wants. She wants. She wants. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying, frozen in place, while the woman she loves is staring at her trying to read her thoughts.
WIP, this is nowhere near being released, sorry! will possibly be released at the end of may to the end of june! I want this to be LONG.
lance stroll is the newest rookie on the 2006 formula one grid, with his father lawrence stroll buying midland f1 racing and changing the name to racing point. there is controversy surrounding this as lance has replaced the portuguese upstart tiago monteiro which has left the fans in portugal with a bitter taste in their mouths. lance's teammate is the german driver adrian sutil. how will this season pan out for the team formerly known as jordan?
with the controversy of his father owning the team he races for, and his teammate not being the greatest of people to him. how will lance cope with the pressure as a fresh 18 year old in the pinnacle of motorsport? hang on, why is reigning champion fernando alonso always with stroll? what is he planning? surely, him and flavio must be trying to do something with the young boy. it's impossible that fernando likes the kid. surely?
few notes!
midland is actually aston martin, which i only learned after choosing it to be the team i replaced lmao
i have nothing against sutil, i think he's a great driver and surely a lovely person but i need the teammate angst, sorry sutil fans!
i will try and add a mentor-mentee dynamic with michael! obv, he retired at the end of the 2006 season BUT i think i can do something with it!
i was going to make lewis lance's teammate instead of adrian but i really want to write the lewis/nano feud and the PEACH scene in this fic so i decided against it!
jenson & mark shenanigans!! them ribbing fernando for liking the new rookie on the grid!!
also question for you guys!
one long chapter or multi (all uploaded at once) ?
one shot
multi-chaptered
Voting ended onMar 26, 2024
huge thanks to @k4thl18n for writing their version earlier and inspiring me to do this!
Fernando makes it into Q1. Lance doesn’t, Charles finishing less than a second faster than him. He drives back to the garage, tugs off his helmet and chats with Henry. David is in his basket in the corner but he wakes the moment he smells Lance, skidding over on unsteady paws.
Lance leans down and rubs David’s head.
His ears perk up as Fernando revs up his car. Lance can barely hold back a giggle at the sight. “Sleeping through me and paying attention to Nando, I see who’s your favorite, boy.”
He strokes David’s back, feeling the golem getting tense at his words. “It’s okay,” he whispers, bending down even as his eyes don’t leave the screen. “He’s my favorite too.”
Lance tries not to examine too closely how he feels about Fernando, the depth of it. The way it’s far past lust, leaning into love. Nothing close to friendship, that ship sailing back in 2023.
Lost in thought, Lance tunes out the noises around him, sips on his water. Suddenly there’s a loud curse from Fernando’s side of the garage, a bark and David is tearing out onto the pitline.
or
(Lance's golem is very protective over Fernando, love confessions ensue)
fernando alonso/lance stroll & fernando alonso/sebastian vettel, 3k
fic // playlist
Frustrating as always, Sebastian escapes description – but the smile on Lance’s face is quite certain, and there’s something about it that draws him in. It’s definitely less sinister than Sebastian’s, but there are facets to it that he wants to discover.
(Or: As he negotiates with Aston Martin, Fernando finds a friend – or something else.)
here's my exchange present for @chilegp, i hope you like it babeee🥰💖🫶🏽 ilyyy
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