Page 81 of Dirty Air
“How was it?” a mechanic asks, patting his shoulder.
“Fucking fast,” Fritz breathes. He removes his helmet and whips off the balaclava, but softly unhooks his earpieces.
“Faster than the VFIBR, huh?”
“Not just fast, but…” Fritz doesn’t know the right word in English. “Hungry? Strong? It wanted more from me—I could barely contain it.”
“And it doesn’t get easier, mate,” Sam Campbell calls, smiling over at him. They’re teammates now. That’ll take some getting used to. “It’ll chew you up and spit you out if you let it.”
“Right.” But he’s not right. It’s not a cruel car, it’s domineering. It’s?—
Oh God, Fritz feelsfucked.
Like he’s literally just had sex. The insatiable hunger, the power radiating off the car—it’s like being fucked against a window for everyone to see.
It doesn’t scare him, it excites him.
“So fast he missed the garage the first time,” someone comments.
“Hey! I used to be all the way down at the end!”
Fritz hoped no one would notice his little trip down pit lane, but of course they had. The VFIBR mechanics even waved at him when he paused in front of their garage before driving away.
Well, better to do so during testing than during an actual race.
He only just entered his driver’s room when there’s a knock on the door. It opens before he can answer, but Fritz doesn’t have enough time to be upset before he registers Lucas’s face.
“Feels weird to knock on my own door,” the champion says, closing it behind him. He holds his helmet and his eyebrows raise, like he’s waiting.
Right, the exchange. With everything else happening around him, Fritz might’ve forgotten. He stumbles over himself to grab his own helmet. He takes the proffered marker and hovers for a moment.
What is he supposed to say to his hero? What words can fully encapsulate everything Lucas has done for him? Has inspired in him?
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve written ‘Fritz’. We’re friendly enough for nicknames, right?”
“Ja,” Fritz isn’t going to cry. “Of course.”
He hands his completed helmet over and cradles Lucas’s like it’s made of glass. He’s always been so far away, it’s been impossible to study all of the little details that make up his infamousdesign. Everything is perfectly placed, barring the handwritten inscription:
Dear Fritz, You remind me of my younger self. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish. (Selfishly, I hope you stop at three WDC’s.) Take care of him. Yours, Lucas
“Him?” Fritz asks, looking up. Did Lucas know about Henry?
“My car, of course.”
“Of course,” Fritz repeats. Most drivers refer to their cars as women.
He doesn’t ask what he wants to, but he’s desperate to know. Why else would it be a man, if he didn’t experience the same thing Fritz did? If he didn't feel ridden hard and put away still wanting?
Lucas doesn’t share his hesitation. “You have been with both men and women?”
Fritz isn’t ashamed of his bisexuality, but his mouth drops open like a fish. “Um, yes. Yes, I have.”
“See? You remind me of me. The car? He is a man.” Lucas winks. “Enjoy the ride.”
