#my Lewis/George lore knowledge is very patchy and literally is taken from what I've read on my dash

[racingliners]

Long distance love confession for gewis? If you vibe with them 🫶🏻 - Jay

Hello!!! Sorry for taking so long with this, I had to let it marinate in my brain for a while until I landed on something that felt right. It's very rough an unedited but I hope you still enjoy it! 💚

love confessions writing prompts

George/Lewis, 1.8k, no warning apply

London in December was actually quite beautiful to George, packed streets of people doing their Christmas shopping aside. The strings of lights and sparkling Christmas trees made being out in the cold air worthwhile as George also went from shop to shop getting the last gifts he needed before making the trip down to Norfolk to spend the festive season with his family.

George let out a long sigh when he finally returned to his flat in Finchley. As convenient as it was to be able to take the tube home, the Northern line train was still on the unpleasant side of warm thanks to it being busier than a usual Tuesday. The one small privilege was that he’d been able to make the journey home without being recognised – the visual identity of F1’s newest race winner hadn’t made it into the consciousness of the general British public just yet.

He'd managed to set his various bags down next to the sofa and had turned to take the seven steps over to the kitchen to make himself a much needed cuppa when his phone rang from his pocket. George pulled it out quickly, assuming it was Aleix calling for his weekly Winter Break catch up or Cara once again asking George if he’d remembered to buy aftershave for their Dad.

But the caller ID just read ‘Lewis’ and George almost froze into place, his only movement blinking slowly at the rectangular screen in front of him.

2022 had been a strange year for George for a plethora of reasons. The new regulation cycle being one, and the W13 and all its various problem’s another. But the development of George and Lewis’ professional relationship had been the strangest of all, in that they both worked rather well together.

Truth be told George wouldn’t have blamed Lewis for not wanting to give George much past the basic professional curtesy with the past twelve months he’d gone through. And yet he was more than just welcome and respectful, he was kind to the point where George could tell from Lewis’ eyes that he meant it whenever he asked how George was, and they’d started to bounce off each other in the debriefs with the engineers over the last handful of races of the season.

And then there was the dinners. How before the first race of the year Lewis had suggested they get a table at a restaurant in Bahrain and take the time to get to know each other away from the buzz of the paddock or the factory. It then turned to a late lunch in Melbourne, an evening supper in Montreal, and it was at the 3am dinner in Singapore that George had finally realised that he’d been enjoying the time spent with Lewis far more than what a teammate should do.

Never meet your heroes, they say. George wished there was guidance for what to do when you’d fallen in love with them and they were now calling you at half past four in the afternoon on a random Tuesday in December.

Somehow George managed to move his thumb over to the green answer button before he so rudely sent Lewis to his voicemail.

“Lewis, hi!” George’s voice came out two octaves higher then normal, he almost didn’t recognise himself. “H-how’s Colorado?”

“Ack it’s fricking freezing! It’s like minus nine right now or something. I was gonna go out snowboarding but all the slopes are closed because it’s so foggy.” Lewis sounded less frustrated and more perplexed at the scene he was likely staring at out of the windows of his lodge near Aspen. He’d showed George a couple of pictures back in Abu Dhabi and it looked like one of the most perfect places on the planet.

“Ah, I don’t think it’s gotten above two degrees today.” The fact that British people were so good at talking about the weather no matter what a person’s personal circumstance was the sole reason why George was able to even hold a conversation. “Wait, what time is it for you over there?” His brain was sadly still too scrambled from the sheer disbelief of Lewis calling him for George to both remember what the time difference between London and Colorado was and do the maths.

“It’s just gone 9.30, I’m about to have breakfast.” His beloved Winter break pancakes no doubt. “I just wanted to call because… well I felt like I’d just brushed you off when you said goodbye at the factory yesterday and I just wanted to clear the air.”

“Oh,” George scrambled back through his memories from the past 24 hours and managed to pull that moment to the surface – when Lewis had almost ran out the factory doors at Brackley just before lunchtime and George had to shout for Lewis to hear his wishes for Lewis to have a good Christmas. “I just assumed you were in a rush to catch your flight, I wasn’t offended.”

Lewis let out a long sigh from the other end of the line that George almost felt it drift across the Atlantic ocean.

“Thank god, I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the flight over and I just… well. Given everything we’ve gone through this year I didn’t want to carry any hard feelings over to next year.”

“It’s the last thing I would get offended over, believe me.” George finally felt his shoulders relax and he even rolled his eyes. Yes, there were ways in which he and Lewis were very different, but there were just as many ways in which they were the same. “If you’d said fuck off to my face then that would have been a different story.”

Lewis immediately burst out laughing, George could perfectly picture his eyes crinkling shut and his shoulders shaking up and down while he pressed his free hand against his chest. George had to quickly bite down on his lip to get the image out of his head as he forced himself to lean against the counter.

“How’s your day been anyway mate?” Lewis asked, the final few notes of laughter drifting out of his voice as he spoke. George recounted his afternoon braving London’s shopping district as briefly as possible since Lewis definitely had more important things to be tending to, despite the fact that over the past few days George was starting to want nothing else than endless Tuesdays where he and Lewis talked about nothing over steaming cups of tea while Roscoe sat snoring at Lewis’ feet.

George quickly shook his head, he couldn’t allow himself to have that kind of image in his head. World champion megastars like Lewis didn’t fall in love with maiden Grand Prix winners like George.

“Well, congrats on surviving the tube during December, that’s a badge of honour in itself.” Lewis said not quite non-chalantly with a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Thank you! I’ll put it next to my Brazil trophy.” George grinned.

“Has it arrived yet?” Lewis was quick to ask.

“Yeah last week, it’s still in its box I haven’t figured out where to put it yet.” George huffed. Specifically the box was nestled next to his bedside table because putting it in the wardrobe out of the way felt like sacrilege despite the fact his flat didn’t have an office to safely store it in. “But that’s for future me to worry about I suppose.”

Lewis just hummed, not sounding like he was planning on hanging up any time soon. It was nice, but odd. Their phone calls had never really lasted this long before.

“I um…” George started, his eyes fixed on his shoes, but he couldn’t think of anything. “It’s good to hear from you, I’m glad you and Roscoe made it to the lodge safely.”

“You should have seen it last night when I got here, it’s so beautiful. I wish I’d had that huge navy scarf of yours for when I got off the plane though. It was so cold.”

George’s heart briefly lurched at the thought of Lewis remembering about George’s Winter scarf that he’d gotten for his last birthday. As Lewis had correctly remembered it was navy blue and made from thick cashmere – George’s parents had splurged on it as a ‘Happy first season at Mercedes gift’. He’d even worn it when he’d been out shopping since today was fairly cold by London standards.

“Well now I know what to get you for Secret Santa next year.” George somehow managed to quip. All half of his brain could think about was how good Lewis would look in navy cashmere.

“Yeah but now I know and you’ll also have to rig it so you get me, Shov will be so pissed off with you.”

“Even though you’d be getting a new scarf out of it?”

For the first time Lewis paused, and George wondered if he’d put his foot in it so badly that Lewis had hung up without a word.

“Lewis?” He asked quietly, only loud enough for the mug rack on his left to hear.

“George I-” Lewis started, then just as quickly stopped. George hadn’t completely ruined a perfectly normal conversation then. “I actually called because I needed to talk to you about something and… I did have time to talk about it with you at the factory but it wouldn’t have been the right place.”

“Oh.” George couldn’t help himself from saying as he felt half the air get knocked out his lungs.

“Excluding Brazil, this season’s been shit for so many reasons. But, despite that, I’ve still really enjoyed all the dinners we had this year. It’s been great getting to know you properly.”

“Yeah mate, me too.” George’s cheeks suddenly felt so warm that they must have been as red as a strawberry. “I’m glad that we were both able to make the time for them.”

“You’re a…” Lewis paused to take a breath. “Really great guy George. I just woke up this morning and realised why I was so worried about offending you because I think I like you a lot more than I should like a teammate and you’re in London and I’m in Colorado and-”

“I think I love you too Lewis.” George blurted out, lifting about five F1 cars worth of weight off his shoulders in the process. “You have no idea how much I want to be looking at snow and fog right now.”

A small moment of silence followed, which was eventually broken by George and Lewis slowly breaking out into relieved laughter.

“We’re going to have to have another dinner to talk about this you know.” George sighed, already beaming at the prospect.

“Well…” Lewis’ voice briefly trailed off, George could picture the small crease in his brow. “Your place or mine?”