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Fernando lit two candles, partly for the visual effect and partly because it couldn't do any harm to add a bit of magic. He adjusted the tripod holding his phone and retreated to the couch. With nothing but the candles and lamps to light the room, every line and sinew of his body appeared, from what he could see on the phone screen, to be shown to it's best advantage. He concealed the remote behind him, flexed and clicked. Again. Again. Slightly left. Slightly right. Arm forward, to show his forearm tattoo. A half-turn to the camera to show his back tattoo. Lewis had the right idea - body art everywhere meant there was never a boring angle. Actually, his back was a good side - he turned fully, tightened his back muscles and flicked a glance over his shoulder at the camera, like he was urging on a lover.
One of the pictures was bound to be good enough. And one was all he needed to get rid of that arsehole Krack.
Fernando threw a sweater on, retrieved his phone and flopped on the couch to check the results.
God, some of these were terrible. One of the arm-forward photos made it look like he had two elbows and neither pointed the right way. But the one where he was looking back at the camera was almost pornographic. Fernando was sure he'd looked with less intensity at people he was actually fucking.
Perfect.
After a workout 🥵🔥💦
Now he just had to sit back and wait.
***
A week later, Fernando stormed from the Aston Martin motorhome. Stroll Sr had just given a speech about how the team's 2023 resurgence would never have been possible without Mike. How Mike was the dream maker. How he would bring a championship to the Stroll name. Everyone knew he meant Lance, and everyone had looked Lanc's way as they applauded. Even though Fernando was 20 points ahead and had two wins in 2023 so far, and it wasn't even the summer break yet. Lewis was leading the championship, but Fernando had a crotch shot so obscene that he figured he could get Lewis out of Mercedes by posting it before the end of the season. Everything was in place for his third title, and the team was still backing Lance.
But the thirst curse wasn't working. Fernando's topless-from-behind photo had a number of interesting results - Mark Webber had phoned him for no reason, just to talk, for the first time in three years. Ted Kravitz had nicknamed him Alhotso. His tattoo artist had de-listed the phone number of his studio. Fernando's mom had yelled at him for twenty minutes about what kind of mother this would attract for her long-overdue grandchildren. Danny Ric had posted a hamper of extra-durable condoms addressed to 'the photographer'.
But Mike Krack still had a job.
Fernando headed for his hotel. He had a plan.
His plan involved a strategically placed white sheet, the hotel aircon turned up high and blasted towards his face for perfectly messed hair and stiff nipples, and a black-and-white filter. Really needed a cigarette for the full old-movie-star effect, but his sponsors wouldn't like that. Although, Fernando thought, if they really had a problem with it, he could just post thirst traps til they were gone and get new sponsors.
He posted the photo and waited. As he watched the likes roll in, he mentally skimmed the list of people he needed to get rid of. If each elimination took two thirst traps, he might need to consider starting an OnlyFans.
***
Fernando took a deep, steadying breath and pressed the buzzer for Lewis's apartment. It had been an interesting week, since the sheet pic. #SendSheetPics was trending on Twitter. Three bedlinen companies had contacted Flavio about potential ad campaigns. Jenson had phoned looking for the phone number of his trainer. Jenson's wife had also phoned looking for the phone number of his trainer. Nico Rosberg had written an editorial for Sky's website about Fernando's career to date - the first letter of each sentence spelled out 'I Am Still The Fucking Prettiest.' Mark had sent him a set of Egyptian cotton bedlinen, a Rolex and a dozen roses.
And Mike Krack still had his fucking job.
Lewis's face appeared on the screen.
"Fernando?" he said.
"May I come up, Lewis?" Fernando asked. "I really need your help."
***
"The thirst curse?" Lewis asked, his eyes as wide as they had been for most of 2007. He passed Fernando a coffee.
"Didn't fool me when you were a rookie and doesn't fool me now." Fernando took a sip. Of course it was excellent.
Lewis dropped the pose. "Alright, I may have read about it online. What about it?"
"Is not working for me. Two photos and my nemesis still has his job."
"You only have one nemesis?" Lewis blew on his drink, sending a cloud of steam across his dark eyes. That, Fernando thought, would look wonderful on film.
"I am trying to do it one at a time," Fernando said. A flare of optimism lit in him. "Can you do a few at once? Like the Flight of the Principals in December 22."
"I can't do it at all, Fernando. It's a coincidence. A fun fan theory."
"Is real!" Fernando insisted. "I've gone back, I have tracked, I have the data. There is no way is a coincidence."
"Fernando... Even if it was true, I'm not comfortable with making people lose their jobs."
"Will find other jobs! F1 is small, they need good people everywhere."
"If they're good people, why do you want to get rid of them?"
"They are good, but not good for me."
Lewis sighed. "This is why no one likes you."
"Plenty of people like me! You should see my DMs! A prince offered to take me to the Caribbean for a month!"
Lewis threw his head back and looked at the ceiling. "God. I have repented. I try to be a good man. I have two religious tattoos. Why are you doing this?"
"Are so melodramatic. You never change." Fernando shook his head. "Lewis, you know what it is to not have what you deserve. There was Abu Dhabi 2021. And back in 2007, you should have been the first ever rookie champion."
"That was YOUR FAULT !"
"Was Ron!"
"I'm not getting into this again." Lewis stood and walked to the window, looking out at the principality below.
"Lewis..." Fernando followed and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is my last chance at another title. It's a long shot, I know. But I want to try. All I'm asking is for you to post some thirst traps. If you don't believe it's real, what's the harm?"
Lewis was silent for a moment. Then he said "How many thirst traps are we talking?"
"Thirty-five."
"THIRTY-FIVE??" Lewis turned to Fernando, outraged. Fernando was impassive. "Man, I only have two nipples. They're not that exciting."
"They could be. I have some ideas."
***
"Olive oil??"
"Gives the best effect on camera, I have checked."
"Alright, give it here." Lewis sighed.
"No, you'll get the coverage wrong. Brace yourself, my hands are cold."
Lewis yelped. "Do you store those in the fridge - next to your heart?"
Fernando smiled. He'd gotten used to a lot of devil jokes since this started, but he would put up with that and more for the results. Two days after Lewis's first new topless selfie, Mike had taken a role with AM corporate for family reasons, so he could travel less. One of Fernando's favourite directors had been promoted, and the vacancy was filled by someone so unpopular that four other people on Fernando's list resigned voluntarily. Five people with a single selfie. Fernando was awed by the power of this man. No wonder 2007 had been such a bloodbath. If Fernando had known, they would have been unstoppable together.
"Oh." Lewis breathed deeply. "Ok, stop. That felt nice. I'm not here for nice."
"Won't look as good on camera, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Could you adjust that floodlight? I can't reach."
Lewis did as Fernando said. It was unfortunate that the power to undo the grid with thirst traps wasn't vested in someone a little taller, and better with photographic equipment. But Fernando was used to outdriving his machinery.
He stepped behind the camera.
"So slightly forward. Chin down, eyes up. Good. Could you lick your lips and open your mouth just a little?"
Lewis obeyed.
"Beautiful. Now try it without murder in your eyes."
***
"And with that, Fernando Alonso takes the lead of the driver's championship at Suzuka! Lewis Hamilton drops to second place!"
Fernando's heart hadn't pounded like this since he'd taken Lewis's last photo - the one with the trouser bulge that ended two marriages and got rid of another three people on Fernando's list. There were still a few to go - Fernando was good at photographing Lewis, but he also needed to eat and sleep - but now what would happen? The source of his power was also his greatest rival. Lewis had gotten Fernando back to the front. But if he posted enough thirst traps, could the next casualty be Fernando?
Lewis was as hungry for an eighth title as Fernando was for a third. But Lewis was four years younger and his abs could do actual magic. Fernando's had only ever managed metaphorical. Would Lewis let him have this one?
There was only one honourable way to proceed. One samurai way.
After the race, Fernando found Lewis in the motorhome. He brought some treats for Roscoe.
"You got me here," Fernando said to Lewis. "From here we compete like men. Fair and square."
"You'll lose." Lewis said.
"Maybe." Fernando shrugged. "But it will be a battle for the history books. You leveled the playing field. Now we race."
Lewis looked past Fernando into the dark Japanese night. "So no more of those bloody photo sessions in my place?"
"No. Just clean, hard racing. It will be my honour."
Lewis paused for a long moment, then his gaze flicked back to Fernando.
"...none at all?"
***
Fernando rolled over in bed and reached across Lewis to grab his phone. Yesterday's thirst trap - involving a strategically placed Santa hat, two baubles and some brandy butter - had been a calculated risk, but given it ended in bed with the rest of the brandy butter and some cranberry sauce, he decided it was worth the risk.
There was a message from Lawrence.
"Fernando, now that you've had some time to digest your title win, I've informed Flavio that we're terminating your contract for next season. I believe you know why."
There was also a message from Flavio.
"I WILL BURY THAT CANADIAN FUCK. THINKS HE KNOWS RACING. OR FASHION FOR THAT MATTER. WE WILL SHOW HIM."
Fernando looked over at Lewis's sleeping form, one arm tossed above his head, so peaceful. The most peaceful Fernando had ever seen him look, across all the seasons, all the battles. He was a beautiful man, especially when he let himself rest.
Fernando nudged him awake.
"Lewis? Lewis, wake up. I need Lawrence to sell Aston Martin to Flavio. You're going to have to get your cock out."