Page 45 of Dirty Air
Henry falls to his knees in front of him, panting. He huffs with disbelief and drags Fritz in for a kiss, but pulls back in disgust. “What kind of cum-flavored champagne have you been drinking?”
With Henry at his level, Fritz takes the brunt of the shower spray to his face. He revels in it, grateful that the hotel apparently has endless amounts of hot water.
Fritz rocks backwards, off his sore knees, until he’s sitting bare-assed on the tile. “That was better than a phone call.”
“Yes, definitely.” Henry scoots back until he can lean against the opposite wall. His head falls backwards, thunking on the tile. “Definitelybetter.”
Fritz takes a moment to appreciate the view. Water droplets trail down the curves of Henry’s muscles like rain on a perfectly sculpted statue. He sighs with his entire body, and smiles up at the ceiling.
Fritz’s heart skips a beat. This could be a thing that they do now. Something more than phone calls, something tangible.
When they gather enough energy to stand, they rinse each other off again. “Not that your tongue didn’t do a good job,” Henry says, setting the champagne bottle outside the shower and grabbing a clean washcloth.
Afterwards, Fritz hastily dries himself and wraps the towel around his waist. After Henry towels off, he patters naked out of the bathroom to pick up his dirty clothes.
“You can borrow some of mine,” Fritz says as Henry inspects his champagne-stiffened clothes.
“Maybe fifteen years ago I could’ve.” He shakes out the shirt and it loosens a smidge.
“At least make yourself comfortable while you’re here.” When Fritz throws himself onto the bed, Henry’s eyes fall to his spread legs and the peek he gets from up under the towel. “Relax a bit. We can order room service, turn on the tv, watch my stupid beer commercial.”
Maybe go again, if Henry’s up for it.
It’s no luck, the older man still wrestles his dirty clothes back on. “Can’t, I’m afraid. I’m on the red-eye tonight.” He skips the underwear, and Fritz definitely notices. “Gotta pack and nap before I head to the airport. Possibly take another shower.”
When he’s dressed, he gives Fritz a chaste kiss and a smile as he cups his cheek. “You did amazing today and I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
It’s so domestic, Fritz can feel his cheeks heat. “Do not apologize for helping me win.”
He walks his race engineer to the door and eagerly accepts another kiss. Although Fritz injects it with heat, his hands wandering again, desperate for more connection, Henry still leaves.
“See you in Hungary.”
The door slams shut, the sound echoing in the small room, and Fritz is suddenly more alone than ever.
He’s done this before. Fritz has lived in hotel rooms by himself for years now and he’s always been fine with it.
He’s fine. It’s fine. He doesn’t need anyone.
Fritz grabs his phone for something to do, sorting through the congratulatory texts. He should call his mother. Or Dieter. Or his sister. Or… anyone. But he doesn’t really feel like talking.
Plus, his throat still smarts.
Madison’s post-race text with the link to this weekend’s photos is buried in his notifications, and Fritz actually clicksthrough to see them this time. He studies each picture, saving his favorites.
There are a couple with Lucas, a few of Fritz by himself on the top step, a couple with Henry he really likes.
Once he has a good collection, Fritz opens his social media to find his feed is already full of other people sharing the same pictures he just downloaded. He can’t blame them—Marketing is probably annoyed that so many good pictures of him go to waste when he doesn’t post. Still, it takes the fun out of doing it.
The official Formation 1 account posted a video of Henry and Fritz. It starts with them yelling at each other, just moments away from a physical altercation. Then, the clip cuts to the podium, the two of them laughing together, doused in champagne.
He bookmarks the post.
Now he has two videos to watch.
More professional photos. A touching post from Lucas he reads with tears in his eyes. A selfie of Ella with Fritz’s podium on her TV. Videos and pictures of the photo finish.
Fritz scrolls until he’s caught up, then the platform suggests other content.
