Chapter Text
Thursday
“Hola, Alice, good morning,” Checo greeted as he got in the car.
“Good mor— what is that!?”
Checo blinked at her. “A red bull?” He said, shaking his can (it was actually full of coffee, take that Dietdrich).
“Not that, Checo,” she cried, “ that !” She pointed at his shoulder, where the head of the large iguana wrapped around his neck was resting.
Checo smiled, “ah, this is Juan Pedro,” he explained, tickling the iguana’s chin. “He’s from Chiapas.”
“I don’t care where he’s from, what is he doing here?”
“He’s my lucky charm,” Checo said with a smile, “you said I should get one.”
Alice gaped at him. “I meant a, a bracelet! Or a drawing from your kids or something— not a lizard!”
Checo rolled his eyes, “Juanpe’s much better than a drawing. He got a limpia in San Juan Chamula, you know? He’s a walking blessing. And he’s super chill.” The specifics of it all were a bit dubious to say the least, but his sister had insisted the priest had said it would fix his bad luck and Checo was too desperate to deny any help.
Plus, iguanas were cool as fuck.
“‘Super chill,’ great.”
“He has a paddock pass, don’t worry.”
“And what’s Christian going to say when you walk in with a lizard on your shoulders?”
“‘Nice to meet you, Juan Pedro’? He knows I’m bringing a lucky charm— I emailed him. And he said it was a great idea.”
“Does he know it’s a lizard?”
Checo shrugged, the iguana shifting with his movements. “He signed a waiver saying I could bring whatever I felt would bring me confidence, so…”
Alice sat back on her seat, vaguely impressed. “Well,” she said at last, “the media team are going to love it.”
“Him.”
“Sorry, they’re going to love him .”
“Oh wow, is that an iguana?”
It was Esteban who approached Checo, eyes locked on Juan Pedro. The Mexican had gotten a lot of stares from the moment he entered the paddock, which he’d happily ignored.
“Yes, his name is Juan Pedro and he’s from Chiapas.”
Esteban seemed delighted. “Nice. Hi, Juan Pedro. Can I pet him?”
“Sure,” Checo said, happy that he didn’t even have to incline his head to make the iguana accessible from its position atop of it given the Frenchman’s height.
Esteban scratched Juan Pedro’s head and patted his sides, grinning. He backed off after a moment, “thanks!”
Fernando popped up from behind the Alpine driver. “Does this mean I can bring my hamster to the races? I thought only dogs were allowed,” he muttered, also reaching to pet the iguana. (This time, Checo did bow his head)
“You have a hamster?” Esteban asked him.
“Yes,” Fernando said shortly. “He is much like me: small, fast, and fueled by hatred.”
“I doubt hamsters are fueled by hatred, Fer,” Checo laughed.
“You don’t know Fabrizio. You don’t know the things he’s done.”
The last thing Christian expected to see as his second driver walked in was a giant green lizard sitting on his head. He stared at it in silence, Checo smiling at him from below.
Had someone put something on his morning coffee? What was going on?
Checo was still smiling at him.
“Um, hi, Checo,” he said at last, “what’s, eh, going on here?”
“This is Juan Pedro,” Checo said, “he’s from Chiapas.”
“Okay? And why is he here?”
“He’s my lucky charm, Christian,” Checo frowned at him, “the one we talked about.”
Christian raised an eyebrow, “I don’t recall you saying anything about an, an iguana— is that what this thing is?”
“Ctenosaura pectinata,” Checo said, “from Chiapas.”
“Yes yes, he’s from Champas I get it—“
“Chiapas.”
“Sure, but why is he here? How did you get him in?”
“He has a paddock pass!”
Christian blinked. “This really wasn’t what I expected,” he told his driver.
Checo widened his downturned eyes, looking up at him. “But Christian, he got a limpia at San Juan Chamula in my place! Juan Pedro is my spirit animal. He’s healing my spirit and he brings good luck,” he explained.
Christian hummed, knowing he had to treat carefully. The last thing the team needed was him saying some offensive thing that the press would hound him for. “I see,” he remarked. It all sounded like nonsense to him, but if it gave Checo a boost, could he really complain? “Well, just make sure he doesn’t chew anything.”
Checo grinned, slapping his boss on the shoulder. “Thanks, he won’t,” he promised. “Juanpe is very chill.”
Christian watched him go, slightly concerned that maybe the man had finally cracked on the pressure. “Whatever works” he sighed, walking on, “whatever works.”
“It’s watching me.”
“It’s not watching you, Frank.”
“It is. It doesn’t like me, I can feel it. Oh god, do you think this means Checo doesn’t like me?”
“Checo likes you, Frank. Now can we finish looking over these specs, please?”
Checo’s mechanics were working in their garage as their driver was off doing media work. Checo had left his pet, Juan Pedro, sitting on his RB20, where the iguana seemed to be happy to chill.
It observed their work with sharp eyes, occasionally grunting and yawning. It truly was quite big, walking from Checo’s seat, to the nose, back to the top of the engine intake. Thankfully, it was not damaging the hull at all.
“Oh my god, it’s real.”
“Hola, Oscar.”
“It’s glorious.”
“Hola, Logan.”
“Give me, I want to pet!”
“Hola, Yuki.”
The three younglings surrounded Checo, eyes on Juan Pedro’s large figure sitting on his head.
“I didn’t believe Lando when he told me he saw you walk past holding a lizard, I thought he was trying to start shit,” Oscar explained as Checo passed Juan Pedro off to Yuki, who held it securely.
“He’s an iguana,” Checo said, “ctenosaura pectinata. From Chiapas.”
“We have a bunch of these back home,” Logan gushed, tickling the iguana’s sides, “but they’re never this chill.”
“Juan Pedro is special,” Checo told them, “he brings me good luck.”
“Maybe I should get one,” Logan muttered, making Oscar elbow him.
“Daniel says he will get a honey badger now,” Yuki said, holding the lizard by the sides to look into its deadpan eyes. “For luck, too.”
“Aren’t those things dangerous?” Oscar wondered.
Checo took Juan Pedro back from Yuki, letting the iguana get back on his head. “He can try,” he said, “but I doubt his badger will get a limpia in San Juan Chamula.”
“Max, Juanpe is not a cat. He is not going to chase the lazer.”
Max turned it off, pouting. They were having dinner together, but Max was more preoccupied with trying to play with the iguana than talking with Checo. “Do you actually think that he’ll bring you luck?” Max asked, genuinely curious. “You’re not really the superstitious type.”
Checo chuckled dryly. “I’ve been driven to it,” he joked. “Look, my sister insisted on it and it’s a nice gesture– Chiapas is not close to home, you know? And I don’t know…Juanpe’s not just a lizard. He’s special, I really think we’re connected. The moment I met him…it all probably sounds stupid to you, no?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “I don’t want to disrespect your customs or anything.”
Checo smiled, amused. “They’re not really my customs, really. I’m from a completely different region, with a different background. I didn’t grow up with this kind of practices, but they’re not so different from what we did in church, I think. They’re catholic, the people who do it. In their own way.” Checo’s smile turned soft, “it’s a great honour that they did this for me, you know? Even if there’s no, eh, ‘magic’ I guess, in it; he brings me comfort, and maybe that’s all I need to get back on track.”
Max smiled softly, lips pressed together. “He is pretty special,” he admitted, “and he might frighten the garage into working well.”
“That’s the hope.”
Friday
“Um, why is the lizard in the pit wall?” Hugh Bird asked nervously, taking his seat slowly.
“Juan Pedro is an iguana,” GP muttered, eyes on the screens as they got ready for the second practice, “from Chiapas.”
“Okay, and why is it here? Shouldn’t it stay in the hospitality? Or the garage, at least?”
“Checo said he would bring us luck,” GP shrugged, “and given how the upgrades are working, I’d say we need it.”
“It’s looking at me.”
It was.
“Think of him as Checo’s eyes and ears,” GP said, waving at the lizard. “To help you guys bond. He and Woody worked very well, I thought, and Checo made him hold the lizard for half an hour before first practice.”
Bird put on his headphones. “It’s just so odd,” he murmured, “why the lizard? Doesn’t he trust me?”
GP didn’t answer that.
“Bless this lizard,” Checo’s garage cried, cheering around Checo and the iguana on his head as FP2 came to a close. It looked like it was working and, without diminishing their own efforts, bringing good fortune at last. Checo’s pace was good, he finished P4, and he felt comfortable with the car.
Fernando had approached him after they were all out of their cars.
“You must take Fabrizio to Mexico,” he had demanded, “and get him blessed. My car is shit, I need good luck.”
Checo had told him he would check if the people in San Juan Chamula did hamster cleansings.
Checo smiled brightly, hyped up by the happy energy of his guys and of the good session. Juanpe sneezed on his head and everyone laughed.
The energy in Max’s garage was more gloomy, despite everything being…fine. P2 wasn’t bad and his race pace was very similar to Checo’s, which was both good because Checo was fast and bad because Checo had a car lacking the best upgrades.
Max tried to explain his feelings about the car to GP and Helmut, but they found it hard to concentrate fully as garage 11 started crowd surfing the iguana.
Marko scowled, “that thing has to go. Horner was an idiot for allowing it.”
Max turned to him as GP made a strategic retreat (towards garage 11 so he could play with the iguana too). “He says it brings him luck. Didn’t you say you wanted him back to form? He had good sessions,” Max defended. “The guys worked well, I don’t think Juan Pedro is a problem.”
“We don’t need that shaman nonsense here,” Marko insisted, arms crossed. “He can do whatever in his country, but this is no place for it. South American nonsense, all of it.”
Max sighed. “Actually, Mexico is in North America, Helmut.” They had had this conversation before.
Marko waved him off. “It’s unprofessional,” he hissed. “We must get rid of it.”
Max straightened up, taking a breath. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Now, can we talk about the car?”
“Later, for now we must act,” Marko said, marching past. “Checo!,” He thundered, making his way to where Checo was hugging Juan Pedro, taking a picture for the team’s Threads account.
Checo turned to him, startled. Juan Pedro’s tail started rasping, swinging around in agitation.
“Dr. Marko,” Checo said, relaxing. He grinned, “the car feels good!”
Marko smiled at him, it looked creepy. “Yes, yes, that’s good, Checo,” he said. “Who is this?”
Checo’s arms tightened around the iguana, happy that Marko did not appear to be angry. “Juan Pedro,” he introduced, raising the lizard to look into Marko’s face. “He’s an iguana. From Chiapas. He helped, I think,” he said, “eh, Christian said I could bring a lucky charm if I felt it would help me.”
The man hummed. “I see,” he muttered, “special little creature. You plan to bring him with you to all races?”
Checo nodded. “He’s with me all the time,” he said happily, bringing the iguana back closer to him.
“No, I don’t think so,” Marko said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Checo, but we can’t allow this. It’s a distraction to the team.”
A mechanic stepped forward, “oh, he’s really not, sir, he–”
“Quiet now,” Marko interrupted. “I cannot believe Horner ever permitted it. It’s not sanitary, either. No, you must keep that little pest away.”
Checo looked down at Juan Pedro. The iguana looked up at him. “But he’s harmless,” he pleaded, looking back up at Marko. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Christian had given his permission in writing and in person, Checo knew he hadn’t broken any rules. The iguana hadn’t distracted anyone and it had brought him luck. They hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Think of the team,” Marko drawled, “you’re embarrassing us. Walking around like a lunatic with an animal on your head. This conversation is over, you can take that thing back to where it came from and if you insist on this, this Aztec witchery, you can stay there with it.”
Checo glared. “The priest was Maya, actually,” he told him quietly, eyes cold.
Marko huffed. “Careful of that tone with me, boy,” the old man warned. “Whatever it is, I want it nowhere to be seen tomorrow.” And he marched off.
The garage was silent, all celebrations and cheer drained away. Checo was ashen-faced, feeling angry. He needed to go calm down; he couldn’t implode in front of everyone. “Eh,” he started, “sorry, I need a moment.” He walked away quickly, his guys letting him pass, Jo hurrying behind him. He headed towards the hospitality, not before placing Juanpe down on a stack of used tires in their blankets. He didn’t want to look at it for the moment, not after being insulted so much because of it.
Max, who had watched the scene from his own side of the garage, chased after him. He stopped briefly in front of the iguana, biting his lips. He grabbed it and continued on his way.
From the garage to the hospitality, he bumped into Alex. “Alex!” he called, getting the taller man’s attention. “Can you watch him for me?” He held out the lizard.
“Oh, wow,” the Thai said, automatically grabbing it. “Is this Checo’s iguana? He’s huge!”
“Yeah, look, I have to go, but just watch him for now, okay?”
“Sure,” Alex said happily, inviting the animal to climb on his shoulders. “Just text me. I’m happy to watch him.”
“Thanks, mate,” Max said, running towards the hospitality to look for Checo.
Alex continued on his way, chatting idly to the iguana about his practices. It was very chill for a lizard, napping on his shoulders. He left it in his driver’s room as he talked with the team about the car, in case it was some sort of spy (he wouldn’t put it past Red Bull) but made sure not to take too long.
He checked his phone, but he hadn’t received anything from Max or Checo after about two hours. He decided to wait in his driver’s room, sitting next to the lizard.
“How’s it going?” He asked, tickling it’s sides. “You’re liking Red Bull?”
The iguana sneezed.
“Yeah,” Alex breathed, “it wasn’t for me, either.”
There was a knock on his door. “Alex?” Came George’s voice, “you in there?”
Alex stood up to open it. “Hey, Georgie, nice of you to come vi–woah!”
George barged in, “Lando says you have, do you have it?” His eyes fell on the iguana chilling on Alex’s cat-themed pillow. “Holy moly, you do.”
Alex rubbed his arm where the door had slammed on it. “What? The iguana?” He pouted. His boyfriend hadn’t even spared him a look, much less a hello kiss.
“Juan Pedro,” George breathed, “from Chiapas.”
“Oh, is that his name?” Alex mused.
“He’s huge!”
“That’s what I said.”
“And he has a paddock pass, isn’t that wild? Imagine Bottas brings his reindeer next.”
Alex grabbed the lizard, looking into its passive little face. “Do you think it actually works?”
George hummed, admiring the tail. “Well, the bulls made good times. Checo’s pace was decent, I think. It’s probably psychological more than anything,” he declared.
Alex hummed. “You don’t believe in good luck charms?”
George huffed, “Sure, but a spiritually cleaned good luck iguana? I don’t know.”
“Well, I hope it works for Checo,” Alex said, setting the iguana down on the floor. He looked at George, “he needs a pick-me-up.”
“Yeah,” George agreed, “but not too good. We don’t want Red Bull domination again.”
Alex laughed and they proceeded to talk about their days, agreeing to meet up with their girlfriends after the race for dinner. They settled in Alex’s sofabed, chatting away. Eventually, Alex had to look at some texts and the conversation ceased.
“Um, darling?”
Alex didn’t look up. “Yup?”
“Where’s Juan Pedro?”
“Who?”
“Checo’s iguana.”
Alex looked up, panicked. All he saw was a lizardless floor and an open door. “Oh no,” he whispered, “Oh no!” He stood up, running to check the hallway.
No sign of the lizard.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he sighed, rubbing his face. “Max is going to kill me. And Checo, he-! Well, he’ll probably just smile at me with sad eyes and say it’s okay.” He turned to George, grabbing him by the arms. “I don’t want that, Georgie! It’s awful every time!”
“Wowza, calm down,” George said, grabbing Alex. “It’s a giant iguana, someone will have seen him.”
Alex’s phone rang. He checked the screen and saw Max’s name pop up. “Fuuuuuuck,” he screeched. “Why now!? He’s been radio silent for hours and now he calls?”
George flicked his forehead. “Ey, you’re panicking. Calm down, sweetheart,” he said. “Now, answer the phone– yes, Alex. Don’t ghost the man. Maybe they found the damn thing and they’re just calling to let you know. And yell a bit.”
Alex sighed, then straightened up. He picked up the call.
“Max! Hey, mate.”
“Hello, mate. Just calling to say we’re heading over to Williams to pick up Juan Pedro now. Checo wants to take him to the motorhome. ”
Fuck.
“What, now? Isn’t it early to leave?”
“Heh heh, no? Mate, sun’s going down. Time to leave. What–? Oh. Checo says sorry for making you stay so late.”
“Oh, not at all! No, me and the little guy had so much fun. Isn’t that right, Juan Pedro? He’s nodding! Ha ha ha.”
“Great. On our way. ”
“No, wait!”
“ Yeah ?”
“Erm. Why don’t I meet you at the entrance gate? Easier for everyone.”
“ Oh, it’s no problem– ”
“I insist, mate. See you then in fifteen minutes!”
“ Fifteen!? What the– ?”
“Bye!”
Alex hung up the call, slapping his phone against his mouth a few times after.
George looked at him, unimpressed. “You lied,” he said.
“Yes,” Alex said. “We’ve got fifteen minutes to find that lizard or else, Max will run us over tomorrow for losing Checo’s pet.”
George groaned. “I suppose I should help, I was the one to open the door, after all.”
“Yes, it’s all your fault, George.”
“Hey!”
Lewis and Valtteri were walking together towards the paddock exit, the Finnish man watching with a twinkle in his eye as Lewis twirled around the paddock. His victory in Silverstone was still powering his mood, bringing about a complete change from the past few months.
“Holy shit!”
Valtteri tensed as Lewis froze suddenly, then relaxed as he saw a chilling iguana on the ground in front of his boyfriend. “Oh, hey! Checo’s lizard,” he said as he reached down to pick it up.
“Jesus, man, that thing’s huge,” Lewis said, staring at it with wide eyes.
Valtteri petted its back. “I think it's cute,” he said, “might look into getting one. Come on, let it sniff you.”
Lewis shook his head rapidly. “No, no,” he said.
“Look, he wants to give you a kiss!”
Lewis recoiled with a yelp, bursting into giggles.
“Chicken,” Valtteri mocked playfully. “What’s it doing here all alone?”
“LEWIS! Oh thank god,” George came running towards them, looking a mess. “You found Juan Pedro!”
Alex appeared behind him, sweating. He closed in on the lizard. “There you are, you little bastard!” He shouted.
Lewis and Valtteri stared at him, baffled.
Alex stood back up, panting. “We ran all over the fucking paddock, mate,” he said, “he ran away.”
“Why did you have him in the first place?” Lewis asked them, “isn’t it Checo’s?”
“Yeah, but Max asked me to watch him.”
“There you are, Alex!”
Max appeared, Checo following close behind. He nodded at everyone, accepting Lewis’ fistbump. “Mate, we were waiting for you at the exit,” he said, laughing. “Checo got worried you lost Juan Pedro.”
Alex guffawed, too loudly for the situation. George followed suit, more awkwardly.
Valtteri grinned, Lewis stared.
Juan Pedro waddled over to Checo, quickly climbing up his legs unaided. The Mexican welcomed him into his arms with a smile.
Lewis watched, perturbed. “They can climb people!?”
Checo smiled happily. “Yeah, man. Aren’t they great?”
Lewis took a step back.
Everyone laughed.
Saturday
When Max opened his eyes, he was alone in the bed. He blinked his eyes and grumbled. “Checo?” He called.
No answer.
He sat up, squinting. His naked body shivered in the cool air of the hotel room and he wrapped his arms around himself. “Checo?” He called again. He’d gone to sleep late after finishing his sim racing, but surely not so late that Checo would be gone.
“Down here, amor .”
Max frowned and shuffled over to the end of the bed, leaning over the edge to find Checo chest-down on the floor, head pillowed in his arms with eyes locked in some sort of staring contest with Juan Pedro.
The Dutchman laughed. “What are you doing?” He asked, getting comfortable at the edge of the bed.
“Communicating,” Checo said quietly without looking at him. “I, I think he understands me, Max.”
Max bit back the giggle that wanted to escape him. “Oh, okay,” he said simply. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” Checo insisted. “I don’t know, iguanas have always liked me. But whatever they did to him in Chiapas, I don’t think it’s normal for reptiles to bond with humans like this.”
Max hummed, stretching. “Well, he’s certainly nicer than my cats,” he said. “Maybe he is special, beyond giving you good luck.”
Checo sighed, squishing his face against his arms. “Not anymore,” he muttered, “Marko won’t let him in the garage.”
“We’ll talk to Christian, baby, don’t worry,” Max promised him, nudging him with his foot.
“I don’t want to add to the problems between them,” Checo said sadly, “more than I already am.”
Max was not sure what to say. He was the one that was always pushing for Marko to stay, a fact that counteracted all his attempts to do the same for Checo.
Checo stood up with a groan. “Anyway,” he said, stretching his arms. “Let’s go get ready. Maybe being around him so much the past two days will let his luck stay with me through the rest of the weekend.”
“Yeah,” Max encouraged with a smile. He caught Checo’s arm as he walked past. “Hey,” he said softly, smiling up at his boyfriend. “I love you, baby.”
Checo smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead. “I love you too, Maxy.”
P13 in FP3.
Christian sighed. It wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t great. Checo had a different program from the day before and a lot of things to test, but still. Not ideal or encouraging for qualifying.
He followed his driver as the man made his way towards his driver’s room, slapping him on the back once he reached him.
“No iguana today, Checo?” He asked amicably.
Be nice, Geri had ordered him after he had complained to her about Checo’s dwindling performance, he’s doing his best with a poor car and weak garage.
Be nice, Christian, the team principal told himself. Be nice like Checo.
The young man looked at him sadly. “Dr. Marko told me to get rid of him,” he said.
Christian sighed. That old fossil just couldn’t help but make every aspect of Checo’s life at Red Bull miserable. But he really didn’t want to fight with the man on yet another thing, much less a magical lizard.
“Oh, I’m sorry, mate,” he said sympathetically. “I know it gave you a good boost. But you’re a great driver, Checo. You don’t need an iguana to help you! Just do your best.” He saw the moment Checo realised he would not be helping him get Juan Pedro back in the garage and pushed down a pang of guilt.
“Yeah, okay, Christian,” Checo said quietly. “I’ll do my best, I always try to.”
“I know, amigo,” the older man said, slapping his back again. “We’re all cheering for you, you know that.”
Checo gave him a pretty pathetic smile. “Yeah,” he muttered, walking away.
Hmm. Not his greatest interaction with the man, Christian had to admit.
Not his worst, either.
Now it was time to go gaslight Max into thinking the car was not that bad.
As he saw his driver crash out in Q1 again, his disappointed puppy eyes decorating the screen in front of him in the pitwall, Christian only had one thought in his head.
Fuck Helmut Marko.
He straightened up and turned around in his seat, looking in the direction of the garage.
“Someone find that fucking lizard!”
Sunday
“Gracias, gracias, Christian,” Checo said enthusiastically, Juan Pedro back on his head. “I’m so sorry for yesterday, but I will give you a good race today, I promise.”
Christian smiled kindly. “Put it behind you,” he said. Be nice like Checo, he told himself. Be nice. “The boys worked hard to fix the car, you can reward their work with some points, okay?”
“Yes,” Checo nodded. “They’re amazing, all the guys. Thank you again for letting me bring Juanpe, he really motivates all of us.”
Christian smiled indulgently. “Of course, mate,” he said.
Checo’s brow furrowed. “I hope it didn’t cause too much trouble with Dr. Marko,” he murmured.
Christian laughed. “You let me handle Helmut,” he said, “now go on and get changed.”
Checo walked off with a happy look on his face, his iguana looking back at Christian with piercing eyes.
Be nice, Christian repeated, or that lizard might kill you in your sleep.
“What is wrong with that man, honestly?” Jos Verstappen said, voice slimy. “How can Horner allow this?” The man was staring from his place in Max’s side of the garage as Checo showed off his iguana to the drivers in the parade bus. “How can the FIA?”
GP, who was next to the man against his will, shrugged. “The public is loving Juan Pedro,” he said. “As is garage 11.”
“What a joke,” the man bit out. He saw Max hugging the iguana on the small screen in front of him and scoffed. “An indulgence. Stupid, Mexican bullshit. Real champions don’t need shit like that to perform.”
GP scowled. “Checo doesn’t need Juan Pedro, he wants him here. We all want him here, Jos, more than we want you. So if you could please go bitch elsewhere and leave me to do my job, I’m sure Max will be grateful.”
The man gaped at him like a fish. An ugly, stupid fish.
GP shooed him away, putting his headphones on to end the conversation.
Jos walked away, red in the face.
Sorry, Max, GP thought silently. But your dad is a real arse.
“Come on, Lewis, it won’t kill you!”
The Brit held his umbrella out in front of him like a sword. “I don’t want that animal near me, man. I’m serious,” he said.
Juan Pedro was currently living his best life atop George’s head, tongue out in the wind. The younger Brit laughed at his teammate.
Valtteri wrapped his arm around his boyfriend. “Actually, I was thinking of getting one,” he said, “what do you think, love?”
Lewis glared at him from behind his sunglasses. “I think I want a divorce,” he muttered.
“Oh,” Valtteri chortled, “is that a proposal?”
Lewis scoffed, turning away. “You wish,” he said, crossing his arms.
Valtteri pressed a subtle kiss against the man’s neck, making him giggle. “I do,” he whispered, lowering his hand to cup the curve of Lewis’ bottom.
The drivers around them gagged exaggeratedly.
“Not in front of the lizard!” Charles called out.
The lizard had made its way to Carlos’ arms, who was staring at it intensely.
“This iguana is magic,” he declared after a moment.
Lando scoffed, “not you too.”
“Magic or not,” Max interrupted, grabbing the iguana to return it to Checo’s head. “Juan Pedro is special.”
“Thank you, Max,” Checo said, letting Juan Pedro get comfortable. “We’ll have a good race,” he said, “ verdad, Juanpe?” He raised his hand to get a high five.
The iguana raised its paw to hit it against his palm in a perfect response.
“Holy shit.” That was Nico.
Hours later, garage 11 was once again dancing around Juan Pedro, who sat happily atop Checo’s car to take in the love. It had been a great race for Checo after his poor qualifying and they were all happy to take the win. They hugged Checo and praised the iguana, satisfied with the weekend. The race pace had been good, no one had kamikazied into him, and the strategy had for once not sucked ass.
Meanwhile, Max’s side of the garage was miserable. Max, Christian, GP, and Hannah were hidden behind a tire wall as the driver raged, letting him tire himself out.
Except he was so pissed that he did not seem inclined to tire himself out.
Jos had tried to approach them, to chastise both Max and the team, but Max had actually yelled at him to go away. Then he yelled at Hannah for a shit strategy, at GP for being entirely unhelpful on the radio, at Christian for pretending the car was fine, and at Marko for trying to blame his result on his sim racing.
Max was so pissed, embarrassed, and hurt that he could feel his chest hurting. How could this be happening? And why were they all trying to pretend it was fine?
Eventually, still angry, he turned away from them and marched towards the other side of the garage.
Checo welcomed him with a concerned look. “Maxy, are you okay?” He asked.
“Nope,” Max answered, snatching Juan Pedro off Checo’s car and marching off with him. He approached his own car, pushing aside his mechanics, and held the lizard aloft on top of it. He shook Juan Pedro gently. “Come on,” he said, “spare me some luck.”
His mechanics looked at him, concerned that perhaps their kind yet temperamental driver had finally cracked.
Max marched Juan Pedro all around his car, waving him around it. “Please,” he said pathetically. Surely he had sucked Checo’s dick enough times that whatever bond connected the iguana to the Mexican driver recognised Max at least a little bit.
Checo looked at him, amused. “I don’t think it works like that, Max,” he said softly.
Max plopped Juan Pedro in his driver’s seat. “Maybe if he stays there for a bit it’ll help,” he said, rubbing his face. “Can’t hurt.”
“Okay,” Checo allowed, walking over to grab Max’s hand. “Now let’s go, okay? We can come pick him up after dealing with the stewards and debriefing.”
Max sighed, holding on tightly to his boyfriend. “M’kay,” he sighed, flattening his mouth. “Let’s go face the beasts.”
“If they get too mean,” Checo said as they walked away, “I’m sure Juan Pedro can eat their faces.”
They walked past the tire wall as he said that and the present group paled.
I better work on my strategies, Hannah told herself, or else Checo’s pet will eat my face for ruining Max’s race.