LDR Ch 16

“But why do you remember their names?”

Caught off guard by the sudden topic, Leo asked hesitantly, and Harrison responded as if the memory from when he was 13 still saddened him.

“Of course I remember. It was so sad.”

When Leo crossed his arms and stared, Harrison dropped the exaggerated act and said casually,

“Was it three weeks or four? You barely dated her before she dumped you. All you ever talked about was racing.”

Leo wanted to argue, but it was true, so he couldn’t.

“And you broke up with all the girlfriends after that the same way.”

That was true too.

“It wasn’t about that—it was a matter of consideration.”

Sure, it was true that he got dumped repeatedly for only talking about racing, but to begin with, Leo had always met his girlfriends while in Switzerland, so distance was already an issue. On top of that, the biggest problem was his failure to find common topics or consider their feelings—racing itself wasn’t the issue.

“When you were in F3, you managed to get Annika to watch a race, but then you ruined it by bringing her to the garage. You kindly let her wear a headset, and she heard you cursing over the radio, saying she couldn’t date someone so aggressive.”

But Harrison ignored Leo’s excuse, and Leo looked at him, slightly stunned.

“Do you remember the names of everyone I’ve dated?”

Harrison nodded as if it were obvious.

“That’s kind of creepy.”

Since Leo had started dating Harrison at the tail end of 19, his earlier relationships were from when he was younger, and since none of them lasted long, even Leo sometimes forgot their names. Yet Harrison remembered them all. But Harrison, as if he couldn’t understand why, said,

“Why? I liked all of them.”

“That’s kind of annoying.”

That was exactly why Leo hadn’t realized Harrison’s feelings until he confessed. Despite his disinterest in people, Harrison always showed maximum sociability to Leo’s girlfriends, treating them kindly, and subtly scolded Leo when they broke up. Even so, Leo continued,

“But looking back now, Annika was pretty insightful.”

In hindsight, Leo was largely at fault for all those breakups, and though he didn’t realize it at the time, his girlfriend at 16 was remarkably wise. Harrison nodded in agreement with Leo’s words.

“Yeah. To figure that out so quickly at that age.”

Leo nodded too. Even at 26, Leo was still listening to his boyfriend spew all sorts of curses over the radio. That she realized at 16 what Leo still hadn’t grasped at 26 was almost an insult to compare.

But wait, doesn’t that mean it’s not me who needs self-reflection, but the guy spewing those curses? Harrison knew full well Leo could hear his radio. But before Leo could say anything, Harrison naturally took Leo’s hand, rubbing warmth into his cold fingers, and said,

“You’ve always loved racing so much.”

Leo looked at Harrison’s face, lowered as he warmed Leo’s hand.

“I’ve always loved that you love racing.”

From 6 to 16, to 26. Leo had followed every change in him.

“That’s why I came to love it too.”

Leo suddenly recalled the Harrison who hadn’t yet loved this world.

“Harry, have you ever thought we chose our paths too early? You found yours at 4 and you’re still doing it.”

For some reason, in that moment, Leo thought of his mother. Victoria had a strained relationship with Leo’s father, her own father. She already resented him for being absent during her childhood, always at races, but when Leo started racing, she blamed him for dragging her son into it too.

They didn’t fight in front of Leo, but he overheard bits of it a few times. Most of it had faded from memory, but a fragment of that conversation lingered in his ears. Her voice saying, “You don’t love racing—you’re addicted to it.”

“So, doesn’t it feel like we got addicted to it before we even had the ability to choose?”

Then he thought of his younger sister. Elizabeth quit karting after crashing on a rainy day. She still rides occasionally but avoids rainy days. That’s a normal reaction. A 12-year-old shouldn’t have to understand the real risk of injury. At 12, the biggest injury should be falling while running.

Leo and Harrison stayed in that world even as other kids they started karting with dropped out—because of the danger, school, or the pressure. They were only 6, only 10, only 12, only 15. Even when Leo left that path, he was only 17. Could that really be called a choice?

“Of course it’s an addiction.”

Harrison spoke simply, as if he had no intention of defending it, and kissed the palm of Leo’s hand, which he’d warmed. A vibration, as if the answer was already known, passed between his lips and Leo’s palm.

“But even so, I love it too.”

Leo might have already known this answer. His own answer was the same. He couldn’t deny it was an addiction, but there was no way to deny it was love either.

Mexico Grand Prix

Hermanos Rodríguez Circuit

After a brief phone call, Leo entered the children’s hospital playroom, a place Harrison always visited when in Mexico, and stood behind the film crew, watching Harrison. Though Harrison spoke Spanish, it wasn’t perfect, so a translator was by his side, and the hospital’s children sat in a circle around them.

“How many trophies do you have?”

When a child with a cast on their arm asked something, the translator relayed it to Harrison, who asked the children,

“Hmm, does anyone know which team I was with before?”

As the kids shouted out the name of his previous team, Harrison glanced at the media team, specifically at Heather. He seemed to wonder if it was okay for his old team’s name to come up so openly while filming ABW’s promotional video. He should’ve thought before speaking—his habit of acting first never changed. Leo laughed, and Harrison’s gaze briefly met his before he smiled at the kids again.

“That team doesn’t give trophies to drivers. We’re one team, and even a driver’s trophy is the result of everyone’s effort, so it goes to headquarters for display. Still, the first trophy is symbolic, so I got a replica to keep. I tell it I love it every day.”

The replica part was true, but the rest was a lie. He was home for less than 30 days a year and didn’t even notice where the trophy was, let alone tell it he loved it. Leo quietly watched Harrison answer the kids’ questions patiently.

Even after the media team left, Harrison visited the rooms of kids who couldn’t move easily, chatting in his clumsy Spanish. Watching him, it felt like nothing had really changed.

No one told him to, but since his debut, Harrison always arrived a day early in race countries to visit children’s hospitals. It was where he showed the most sociability he didn’t usually have.

“But when you signed your contract, you said you’d keep the trophies.”

As they left the hospital at sunset, Leo asked while Harrison sat beside him, looking a bit tired from expending a week’s worth of sociability.

“That was just because I was thrilled to be in a position to demand it.”

Drivers receive trophies for podiums, but not all can keep them. As Harrison said at the hospital, some teams consider it a team effort and don’t let drivers keep them, while others do. Until he joined ABW, Harrison had to give up every trophy.

When he transferred to ABW, the new contract included a clause that he could keep trophies. ABW was a team that split driver trophies with drivers anyway, so it was possible.

“Don’t you want to keep trophies?”

But as Harrison had just implied, he’d only added the clause because he could. In his two seasons with ABW, he’d given all his trophies to the team and didn’t even want replicas.

Leo thought driver trophies were a team effort and should go to the team, but he also knew many drivers wanted to keep them.

“Would anyone not know I won just because I don’t have it?”

The confident, almost arrogant tone quickly dispelled Leo’s fond feelings.

“And the things I really want to remember are already etched here.”

Glancing at Harrison, Leo saw him touch his eyebrow and chest. His eyes softly reflected Leo. Even after seven years together, moments that made Leo fall in love kept piling up.

“Should I say I’ll keep the next one I win?”

Harrison smiled at Leo with the question.

“I’ll give it to you.”

Giving a team effort trophy to an individual? Leo reflexively frowned, and Harrison continued,

“If I give it to your grandma, maybe she’ll keep me longer?”

That was logical enough, so Leo relaxed and replied,

“When did you ever say you didn’t want to come?”

Lord Ellington, who founded the team with Leo’s grandfather and stayed until the end, passed away a few years ago. Regretting that the founders never reconciled their friendship and with various calculations, he transferred his shares to Leo’s grandmother.

She entrusted Leo and others with ABW’s restructuring, and Leo prioritized personnel. Though he’d quit driving long ago, being Harrison’s boyfriend meant he was in the paddock daily, meeting people, which helped with recruitment.

And for drivers, he naturally wanted Harrison. Not because he was his boyfriend, but because there was no one better. Harrison might not be the absolute best, but he wasn’t second-best either. There were always about five exceptional drivers in the field, with four current or former champions, including Harrison.

The other drivers of his caliber were at top teams with the best treatment. Harrison was the only one at a second-tier team then, and despite becoming champion that year, his contract was shaky due to team conflicts, making him the obvious choice to recruit.

Harrison initially refused, reluctant to leave a team he’d been with for years. If they hadn’t been about to drop him the next year, Leo likely wouldn’t have gotten him.

“You’d drop me if I underperformed anyway.”

It might seem like a conversation between lovers should have more emotion, but there was little in Leo and Harrison’s voices. That’s just how this world was—they both knew it well and navigated it without taking offense.

“The question is whether we’ll even have the team until then.”

“You leaving?”

The suddenly serious tone made Leo realize he’d spoken too casually to someone with trauma. Harrison’s first F1 team announced in December, after the season ended, that they were withdrawing due to financial issues. That left Harrison in a terrible limbo.

The team he was a junior for took a gamble, dropping their existing driver to sign him, but Leo remembered how tumultuous that process and its aftermath were.

“I don’t know yet. She said she’d watch for a few years.”

Leo instinctively softened his tone, but the words weren’t exactly reassuring. He couldn’t lie to Harrison, who knew the industry. Leo’s grandmother, ABW’s current owner, ran an investment firm. For the image of the company on their cars, success was great, but failure would hurt their reputation as investors.

“Talk her up. I’ve got nowhere to go.”

Leo glanced at Harrison.

“You know I know what you’re up to.”

Did he think Leo wouldn’t notice? At the last sponsor event, he talked to one team, and after the race before that, he was at a party with another. Add it up, and he’d spoken to every team on the grid.

Leo also knew he’d given vague signals to top teams subtly inquiring about him. It was only natural to keep options open.

“So what? Someone’s gotta retire before I can go.”

His unapologetic tone was almost refreshing.

“Until then, I’m here, so don’t let it fall apart now. Talk her up.”

“What’ll you do for me?”

“We’re doing it now.”

It was a casual question, but Harrison’s lowered voice was serious. When Leo looked at him, Harrison continued softly,

“Is this sponsored?”

Leo frowned instantly, and Harrison’s hand touched his thigh, creeping inward.

“Stop it.”

When Leo spoke firmly, the hand retreated innocently.

“Let’s do it inside.”

But of course, he had no intention of stopping entirely. Harrison continued, and Leo laughed, feigning complete obedience.

“Yes, young master.”

Back at the hotel, Leo and Harrison tore at each other’s clothes, groping.

“How do I impress a sponsor?”

Mid-kiss, Harrison’s sudden question prompted Leo to answer,

“Handle the media well, know the contract clauses, maintain good relations with the team, and be diligent…”

“Okay, Leo, shut up for a sec.”

With that, as if to silence him, their lips met again. Harrison pushed Leo toward the wall but cushioned it with his hand. When Leo gripped his shoulders, a dull pain hit his lower lip. The bite felt like a signal, pulling Harrison closer. As Harrison’s body pressed in, he subtly lifted his thigh between Leo’s legs, pressing gently.

With their shirts off, their chests pressed together, Leo felt Harrison’s racing heartbeat. As their breaths mingled wetly, the heat of Harrison’s skin spread through Leo’s fingertips.

Grabbing Harrison’s hand urgently, Leo moved, and Harrison followed without breaking the kiss. They stripped the rest of their clothes, collapsing onto the bed. Leo felt Harrison’s hands pulling him closer.

As their bodies overlapped, a hot hand slid between them. It gently traced Leo’s neck, then moved lower, grazing his chest and abs before reaching his groin.

The blatant impatience of Harrison’s touch matched Leo’s own. Gripping Harrison’s already hard erection, Leo felt Harrison’s fingers lightly scrape his own. The slight chill of the sensation only heightened his excitement. Harrison surely knew that.

Leo tightened his grip, rubbing the tip with his palm. Every movement of their bodies, every muscle tensing and relaxing, was felt in their tightly pressed forms.

Seven years together, seven years of intimacy, and just hearing Harrison’s breaths was enough to arouse him. Twenty years of companionship, always having something to say, always having fun together—seven years as lovers wasn’t nearly enough to grow tired.

Silently embracing, one hand stimulating each other’s erections, the other exploring their bodies, familiar excitement built steadily and quickly.

“Ah…”

The pleasure grew urgent, and a low moan escaped with a faltering touch. As their bodies tensed and wet fluid filled their hands, Leo and Harrison, unable to catch their breath, locked eyes.

With a race weekend, penetration was off the table, naturally. And generally, during race weeks, sex should be limited to once. In theory, and in common sense.