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Andrea Kimi Antonelli, born in Bologna, Italy, driver for the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team. To his fans, he's that curly-haired lamb; to the PR department, he's a bit of a handful—your typical teenager. He's got these two sharp little canine teeth that always make an appearance whenever he breaks into a smile, along with those bright, sparkling eyes.
So yeah, he's also got this other thing going on: he's a genuine, 100% Romanian vampire.
Turns out, the Southern European sun doesn't really bother modern vampires anymore, especially with today's sunscreens. That's why Kimi could just kick back on a milky-white lounger on a July day when the sky was as blue as George's eyes.
Usually, he'd spend the afternoon gaming in the sun, letting it tan his skin that healthy, wheatish color that made you think of some buff kid on a beach in Southern Italy. But today was different. Today, George was lying right next to him, generously leaving the top three buttons of his white shirt undone. The Mercedes camera was pointed at them. Maybe it was the glare from the reflector, or maybe it was just his teammate's overwhelming presence, but Kimi started feeling a little lightheaded.
George Russell was just one of those guys you couldn't ignore, no matter where you were. Kimi sometimes thought George would make a better vampire than him. I mean, look at those ridiculously huge blue eyes, skin that never tans, those endless custom-tailored suits, and that effortlessly elegant way he carried himself. If they ever rebooted Interview with the Vampire, George would totally nail the Louis or Lestrat part. Who'd want a vampire who just chills in hoodies and scarfs down pasta at some random street-side joint? A weird, jealous feeling coiled around Kimi's heart like a snake.
Truth be told, the envy had been there since the summer, when they shot that IWC ad. It was like the vampire's invisible shadow. George was fast and smooth on the track—compared to Kimi's rookie stats, the Mercedes number one driver got way more attention. George handled the photographers and reporters in the paddock like it was nothing, flashing that perfect smile and giving perfect answers that even the pickiest media couldn't find fault with. George's curls were always perfectly in place. He knew girls went crazy for George's rosy lips. Even Max, who usually couldn't stand George, once grudgingly called him "very beautiful." Vampires were used to taking it all—their victims' blood, their lives, their jewels, their mansions. A vampire had everything.
So why couldn't he have everything George had? Why couldn't he just have George?
Back home, Kimi's mom mixed synthetic blood into the ragu, pouring it over pasta, filling the kitchen with that familiar smell of grease, wine, Parmigiano, and fake starch. Maggie was parked in front of the TV with a bowl of figs and cheese, starting her movie night with a rewatch of Interview with the Vampire. God, why did a bunch of vampires have to watch that movie, the one that basically codified every lame vampire stereotype for Americans, Kimi thought. They weren't pale, they didn't go around chomping on people's necks. By now, the vampire bloodline was so diluted, blood was more like a nice little snack, not a necessity. Whatever was on TV was just background noise while he scrolled through Twitter, only looking up after he'd dutifully liked all the Mercedes PR posts. The scene where Lestrat turns Louis came on. The pretty guy half-closes his eyes, his pale neck smeared with that vibrant red.
And suddenly, he thought of Russell.
Russell, lying on the floor in the Mercedes hospitality. His big blue eyes wide with that clueless, post-race daze. The collar of his race suit pulled down just a little, showing that vulnerable part of his neck. Fangs breaking the skin, tasting the warm, adrenaline-pumped blood from someone just out of the car.
Maggie might still look like a little girl, but mentally she was old enough that movie ratings weren't a thing for her anymore. The other day, she'd asked him to help put up a Call Me by Your Name poster. It just showed a hand reaching for a peach, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, touching that perfectly ripe fruit. Kimi looked at it and saw the fuzzy skin of the peach, but his mind went straight to the sweet juice that would burst out when teeth broke the surface. Would George Russell's blood taste like a peach slushie? That ice-cold drink that kept Kimi going on scorching summer days.
Kimi didn't burn in the sun anymore, but hanging out in it for too long still made him dizzy. He was lying on the cool tiles by the pool, water droplets from his nose sliding back into his eyes. For a blurry second, he mistook the sky for Russell's eyes. George Russell was like the scorching sun to his younger teammate. Kimi liked the star that gave warmth, but if he got too close for too long, his head would spin and all he'd want was to escape back into the darkness. That's why his interactions with George were mostly limited to data sharing and PR shoots. Off-camera, their paths barely crossed. The rainy clouds over King's Lynn couldn't block the Bologna sun.
His license said he was born in 2006, making him the youngest in the paddock. But a vampire's life span is bound to be a little longer than a human's, right? Definitely longer than 27, anyway. All those years hadn't dulled Kimi's playful side. Get bored enough with the daily grind, and you start wanting to stir up a little trouble. Like, maybe drop the whole "good little lamb" act and let a little bit of the bad guy show. "Lady first." The next week, he was standing at the media center, looking up at his teammate. George just bumped fists with him, totally unfazed. What was going on? Who was the one with more time under their belt here? Right then, Kimi got this weird feeling that maybe George was the older one.
When a kid doesn't get the toy they want, they scream and stomp. A meaner kid might try to break it so no one else can have it either. So Kimi tried saying stuff in interviews that was totally not in the PR script, hoping to crack that perfect facade, even just a little. But George stayed as calm as the sea next to an iceberg. The number 63 silver arrow still raced ahead of him. A vampire can't stand losing. If you can't beat 'em, you gotta possess 'em some other way.
That not-quite-human part of him was whispering, Go on. Go pick that peach.
In his dream, the figure leaning over Russell lifted its head. Brown eyes, curly hair, flushed cheeks. It was his own face.
Ollie figured, if the paddock ever had a Seven Deadly Sins thing going on, Kimi Antonelli would be a shoo-in for Envy.
"You've lost your mind!" he'd yelled, staring in disbelief at his friend, who was frantically messing up his own curls. "You'd be topping the suspect list before you could blink! George's hospitality room door is open, but not so you can go take a bite out of him after a session!"
If it was just about being annoyed your teammate was faster and wanting to mess with him out of childish spite, then just hire a ghost to give George three straight nights of nightmares, make those tear troughs a little darker! Why risk getting yourself and all your stuff thrown out of Mercedes? As a new-gen werewolf who'd devoured Twilight and Hotel Transylvania, Ollie's brain was already running through all the possible scenarios:
· Kimi gets found out and George kicks him out of Mercedes — Bad Ending.
· Kimi's secret stays safe, but once is never enough. He gets caught sneaking a bite on his teammate — Bad Ending.
· Kimi's secret gets out, but George is actually into it (??) and they live happily ever after, leading Mercedes to glory under a vampire and a driver with one foot in the grave — Good Ending.
But what Ollie never expected, after all those scenarios he'd imagined for his friend, was that none of them would actually happen.
Rewind to the night of the Mercedes annual gala.
Everything went off without a hitch. Kimi just had to play the good boy, trailing behind George. Whenever George was busy schmoozing, Kimi would politely take his champagne glass and discreetly top it off with some serious vodka. And lucky him, George seemed to have a cold or something that night. He didn't bat an eye even when Kimi handed him what was essentially sparkling water. Kimi stuck to him like a little lamb following the farmer. When George shot him a confused look, he'd just flash that innocent smile, his fangs peeking out just a little. Finally, when the flush had climbed about halfway up George's cheeks, Kimi offered to drive his teammate home. Under Toto's approving gaze, he half-guided, half-shoved George out the door, a hand on his waist. His teammate, a good 10cm taller, was practically draped over him. For a second, Kimi felt like he was being wrapped up by a giant snake from some primeval forest.
George's Mercedes AMG One glided through the streets of Monaco like a snake, the golden streetlights washing over them like flowing water. When they finally stopped, the darkness of the parking garage gave Kimi a small sense of security. Vampires didn't really have heartbeats anymore, not real ones. But right then, he felt like his heart was pounding, hot and fierce, the sound mixing with their breathing in the silent car. What did he really want? Was it just a taste of fresh blood? Or was it that unbreakable connection? Whether it was love or hate, at least it would carve his image deep into George's eyes forever.
"George, why do you never even notice me?"
He didn't get the answer he wanted. George's eyes were shut tight, like he was trapped in some endless nightmare.
Vampires still kept some human habits. Without thinking, Kimi reached out and touched George's cheek. His own body had no temperature, so he couldn't tell if George's skin was unusually hot, but the Brit's furrowed brow seemed to relax a little. Then George grabbed his hand and pressed it closer. His warm, damp breath ghosted over Kimi's sensitive palm, like a feather brushing against his heart.
This wasn't right, was it? Wasn't this a bit too intimate? Did you mistake me for someone else? Kimi felt a pang of bitterness. George had always been the composed older brother figure around him—measured, polite, never a step out of line. Too perfect. Perfect without a single flaw. Vampires were used to others following them. But when George looked at him, those blue eyes were as cold and distant as glass. He'd tried everything, and George hadn't taken a single step towards him. But just a few sips of alcohol, and suddenly he was letting his guard down, showing this real, unguarded side.
It all seemed so simple now. When George offered himself up like this, all Kimi had to do was pull him close by the neck, take a bite, lick the wound clean so his vampire saliva made it look like a mosquito bite. No evidence. Come sunrise, they'd still be Mercedes' picture-perfect team, Russonelli, all brotherly love. He'd gotten what he came for tonight. Going any further would be sliding into dangerous, uncontrollable territory.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over towards the passenger seat, reaching out his other hand to cup George's other cheek—
A huge force suddenly slammed his wrist down onto something soft. Then he felt a wet, licking sensation. George's eyes were open. When had that happened? In those blue irises, the pupils were contracting into thin, vertical black slits. Suddenly, Kimi's only thought was to get away. He was pretty sure George wasn't into collecting fancy cosmetic contact lenses.
A sharp pain shot through his wrist. Kimi looked down and saw two big beads of blood welling up. The last time he'd seen a wound like that was when Maggie was going through her oral fixation phase and took a bite out of him. The world started spinning.
Right before the young vampire passed out, he mustered all his strength for one last yell: "How come you've got fangs?!"
"So... what happened next?" Gabriel asked eagerly.
Ollie patted his friend sympathetically on the shoulder. "Look on the bright side. You bit him a little, he bit you a little. Consider yourselves even."
But Kimi just sat there in silence, pulling his face into all sorts of shapes with his hands, his bad mood practically forming a visible raincloud over this little group of rookies huddled in a corner of the paddock. Finally, he choked out, "You guys don't get it. George is a snake demon!"
"So?" Isack shrugged.
So that night, after the snake demon had sweet-talked him into total confusion and he'd lost his vampire virginity (and about 400mL of plasma), George generously offered that Kimi could take a bite of him to make up for it. "As long as you don't mind that I'm still recovering from that cold you spiked my drink for," George had added.
Kimi lay there for a bit, then leaned over to George's neck. He bit down. It felt a little... crunchy. Did snake demon blood really turn into peach slushie?
"You're biting my scales, mate."
So embarrassing. Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments in Vampire History, for sure. He'd rather have hooked up with a werewolf.
As for the fact that a snake demon's waist is incredibly slender and strong, and that George's legs really could wrap around you like a giant python... well, that's a story for another time.