Work Text:
Sun beaming through the open hotel room curtains is the first thing that George notices when he wakes up in Vegas. The second thing is the thick, silver band that wraps around his ring finger.
A quick look at the man lying next to him shows that one of the bands that usually adorns Lewis' right hand has been switched to his left, and one is missing altogether, finding its new home on George's left hand.
He's married. To his teammate. To Sir Lewis Hamilton. Toto is going to kill him.
"Toto won't kill us," Lewis stirs next to him and apparently George had said everything out loud.
"He specifically said, 'Don't accidentally get married in Vegas, it's bad for PR.' before we came here." George reminds him.
"Yeah but, I've won seven world championships," Lewis shrugs.
"Yes, but I haven't! He might kill me!"
"He won't kill you, you're married to me," Lewis gives a sweet, teasing smile.
George moans, burying his face in his hands, the cool ring a reminder against his skin.
"Come on, George." Lewis runs a hand along George's back soothingly, "It's not like you married some random person."
George doesn't answer, pulling his hand away from his face to play with the ring.
"I mean," Lewis shifts on the bed, moving to sit in front of George, and takes George's hands in his, "I've thought about marrying you before."
And yeah, they've been dating for almost a year. George has definitely thought about what it would be like to marry Lewis. But to hear that Lewis has thought about it...
"You have?"
"Well, sure." Lewis beams at him, voice soft and soothing. 'You haven't?"
"I have. I definitely have. I just didn't think it would be in Vegas, while we were both drunk."
"Me neither," Lewis admits, "But I'm not mad about it."
George sighs, "I'm not mad about it either."
"Good. So, how does it feel to be Mr. Hamilton?" Lewis smirks.
"No." George shakes his head, "I did not agree to that."
"We can discuss hyphenating later, right now, I need breakfast."
George rolls his eyes, watching his boyfriend husband as he climbs out of the bed, all tanned planes and toned muscles.
He flops back on the bed and covers his eyes from the sun, "Fine but I want to pick my own ring."