Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen (driver x driver)
Summary: Heated rivals or something more?
Word count: 5,703
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The Dutch Grand Prix truly was Max's race.
Orange smoke covered half the grandstands before lights out. Every time Max's car appeared on the giant screens, the place cheered like crazy. Charles couldn't even hear his race engineer over the crowd during the formation lap.
"Home race," he muttered. "Lucky you."
Then the lights went out.
By lap five, it was already chaos.
Charles had managed to get a better exit through Turn 3 and tucked himself into Max's slipstream. Of course Max defended the inside.
Charles went around the outside and neither of them lifted.
The Ferrari and Red Bull came within inches of each other, wheels almost touching.
"C'mon!"
Max squeezed him toward the edge of the circuit, but Charles held his ground.
The crowd collectively gasped.
Charles somehow completed the move, only for Max to immediately dive back down the inside into Turn 3.
They swapped places again.
"What's the plan here!!?" Max practically yelled over the radio.
GP tried to calm him. "Plenty of race left."
"I KNOW THERE'S PLENTY OF RACE LEFT."
Another lap, another attack.
Charles feinted left and Max covered. Charles switched back, but Max barely left enough room.
Their front wheels touched. Just enough to send a puff of tire smoke into the air.
Charles caught the slide and Max caught his...yet neither wanted to back down.
The crowd lost their minds.
On the Ferrari pit wall, mechanics held their breath.
Over at Red Bull...GP looked like he'd aged five years in twenty seconds.
"These two..." someone muttered.
"They're going to crash."
Miraculously...they didn't.
Instead they spent another fifteen laps trying to out brake each other into every corner on the circuit...and some would call it dancing.
Max complained, Charles complained. Their engineers complained...the FIA probably complained.
By the final stint, Lando had quietly inherited the lead after a perfectly timed safety car and flawless strategy.
Neither Max nor Charles even noticed...they were too busy trying to beat each other.
Until the checkered flag.
"Lando Norris wins the Dutch Grand Prix!"
Charles crossed the line P2 and Max crossed P3.
Silence...then...
Max hit his radio. "...P2 isn't so bad."
"You finished P3, Max."
"...seriously?"
"You lost the position during the final pit cycle."
A beat.
"...Leclerc?"
"Yes."
Over on Ferrari radio...Bryan was just as eager.
"You forgot there was another car, well done on P2 still."
"I was occupied."
"You mean obsessed?"
"...maybe."
Parc ferme was...awkward.
Charles climbed out first and Max arrived seconds later.
They looked at each other and neither moved.
Lando, standing between them, looked from one to the other like a child caught between divorced parents.
"...Hi?"
Nothing.
Charles adjusted his gloves and Max took his helmet off.
Still nothing.
Photographers went insane.
"Oh, they're definitely fighting."
"They won't even look at each other."
"This is unbelievable."
Lando sighed dramatically. "You two are exhausting."
Still...nothing.
The podium ceremony somehow got even worse.
Lando stood in the middle grinning...Charles on one side, Max on the other.
Champagne time and Lando immediately sprayed both of them.
Charles retaliated...only at Lando. Max retaliated...also only at Lando.
Lando blinked. "...Guys?"
Charles walked around Max entirely just to spray Lando from another angle. Max joined in.
Within twenty seconds...Lando was absolutely drenched.
Charles? Dry.
Max? Also dry.
The photographers could barely contain themselves.
"They refuse to spray each other!"
"They're actually serious."
"Friendship over."
Lando eventually lowered the bottle. "You know..."
He looked at both of them. "...I don't even know why I'm involved."
Charles shrugged. "Collateral damage."
Max nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Oi!"
The media pen was somehow even worse, with microphones appeared from every direction.
"Charles!"
"Max!"
A reporter went first. "Charles, did Max cross the line today?"
Charles didn't even hesitate. "Several times."
Another reporter. "Do you think his driving was reckless?"
"I think everyone saw the race."
"So yes?"
Charles shrugged. "If that's how you interpreted it."
Across the media pen...Max had already been cornered.
"Max, Charles suggested your driving crossed the line."
Max snorted. "Charles suggests a lot of things."
"So he's wrong?"
"I'm saying maybe he should focus on driving instead of complaining."
Charles overheard that and he looked over.
"Oh, that's funny."
Max looked back. "It is."
"You nearly drove me into the gravel."
"You were already heading there."
"I had the corner."
"You had optimism."
Several reporters physically leaned closer because the tension was delicious.
One journalist asked the question everyone wanted. "Would you say your friendship has changed?"
Charles answered first. "...friendship?"
He laughed. "I wouldn't call it that."
Max folded his arms. "Neither would I."
"So you two aren't close anymore?"
Max shrugged. "I've got enough friends."
Charles nodded. "Same."
One reporter whispered to another... "Wow."
Another typed furiously into his phone.
By the time media duties finished...the headlines had already started appearing.
VERSTAPPEN AND LECLERC FRIENDSHIP FINALLY OVER?
HAS THE RIVALRY RETURNED?
MAX SAYS "I'VE GOT ENOUGH FRIENDS."
CHARLES FIRES BACK.
Charles climbed into the Ferrari courtesy car trying not to smile and his phone buzzed.
Max: you're unbelievable.
Charles: Me??
Max: "You had optimism."
Charles: ๐
Max: My hotel, one hour.
Charles: Yes dear โค๏ธ
Max: delete that message.
Charles: never.
Around midnight...room 1633, Max opened the hotel room door. Charles didn't even bother knocking properly anymore.
He walked in carrying two bags of Dutch candy. "I brought supplies."
Max looked inside. "...why are there seventeen bags?"
"They were on sale."
"You got scammed by the Dutch."
"I know."
Charles kicked off his shoes before immediately collapsing onto the enormous bed like he owned it.
Max shut the curtains and locked the door.
The second he turned around...Charles held out one arm. "Cuddle?"
Max rolled his eyes. "...you're impossible."
"You still coming?"
Another exaggerated sigh. "...yes."
Thirty seconds later...Max was lying against the headboard with Charles tucked into his side underneath the blankets.
Charles rested comfortably against his chest, one arm wrapped lazily around Max's waist.
Neither said anything for a minute. It felt...normal, just like how there were at home.
Charles reached for his phone. "...ready?"
Max already knew what he meant. "Oh yes."
Charles opened social media and the first tweet had over eighty thousand likes.
"I genuinely think Verstappen and Leclerc would fist fight if left alone."
Charles burst into laughter. "Oh my god."
Max leaned over to read.
"They're not wrong..."
Charles smacked his arm. "Meanie."
Another tweet.
"They've hated each other since karting and nothing has changed."
Max snorted. "If only they knew."
Charles kept scrolling. "They didn't spray each other with champagne because they couldn't even stand looking at one another."
Another.
"They'll never be friends again."
Another.
"Someone separate them before Monza."
Charles was laughing so hard he nearly dropped the phone. "I can't breathe."
Max was trying very hard not to laugh...but he failed.
"I like this one."
Charles handed him the phone.
Max read aloud. "If these two ever became friends I'd shave my head."
Charles buried his face against Max's shoulder. "We're terrible people."
"We really are."
"I almost feel bad."
"...almost."
Charles looked up at him with that stupid grin Max had completely fallen in love with years ago.
"You know..."
"Hm?"
"We're really good at this."
"Acting?"
"Mhm."
"No one suspects anything."
Charles nodded proudly. "We've created the perfect image."
"The enemies."
"The rivals."
"The two people who can't stand each other."
Max smiled. "It does make dates easier."
Charles laughed. "No paparazzi ever follows us."
"They're too busy looking for you fighting me."
Charles shifted even closer until he was practically curled into Max's side and he rested his chin on Max's shoulder.
"So dramatic today."
"You nearly crashed into me."
"You nearly crashed into me."
"You started it."
"You defended aggressively."
"You attacked aggressively."
"You complained aggressively."
"It was my home race."
Charles nodded seriously. "Fair enough."
"I'll complain even more at Monza."
"I'll allow it."
Silence settled again and Charles looked up at him. His expression softened into something only Max ever got to see.
He leaned over and pressed a slow kiss against Max's cheek. "My enemy," he whispered.
Max couldn't help smiling. "My biggest one."
Charles giggled into his shoulder. "I love how absolutely convinced everyone is."
Max tightened an arm around his waist. "Good."
Charles looked back at his phone, another ridiculous headline appearing across the screen.
He started laughing all over again. "Oh no."
"What now?"
Charles turned the phone so Max could see.
'LESTAPPEN: A FRIENDSHIP THAT CAN NEVER BE REPAIRED.'
Max read it.
Then looked down at Charles, who was currently stealing his hoodie, half under his arm, and using him as a pillow.
"...yeah," Max said with a completely straight face.
"I don't think anyone's repairing this..."
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
Monza was wild in the best way. Ferrari flags hung from every balcony, red smoke drifted through the grandstands before the cars had even left the garages and every few minutes, thousands of voices erupted into the same chant.
"Charles! Charles! Charles!"
It was loud enough that even Max could hear it from inside the Red Bull garage.
He looked toward the Ferrari side of the paddock where fans were already packed ten rows deep behind the barriers.
"...bit excessive," he muttered.
GP grinned. "It's Monza."
"I noticed."
Across the paddock, Charles stepped out of the hospitality unit wearing his race suit around his waist.
The noise somehow doubled and he couldn't help smiling.
Bryan laughed. "They're going to carry you around the circuit themselves if you win."
Charles looked toward the sea of red. "I'd rather they didn't."
"You sure?"
"I don't think my back would survive."
Qualifying yesterday had only made everything worse. Charles on pole and Max alongside him in P2...again.
When the front row graphic appeared on the giant screens, social media immediately reignited.
Round Two of the Lestappen battle...Monza edition...the rivalry continues.
Neither driver acknowledged the other during the national anthem...neither looked across the grid and photographers absolutely loved it.
Lights out and Charles launched perfectly...yet Max somehow launched even better.
They entered turn one side by side, neither lifting. The Ferrari squeezed toward the apex, the Red Bull refused to disappear.
The crowd collectively forgot how to breathe. Wheel to wheel, mirror to mirror...the tiniest brush of rubber.
Charles somehow held onto the lead and the Tifosi cheered.
Bryan came over the radio. "Beautiful start. Keep it clean."
Charles let out a breath. "I'm trying."
Behind him...GP already knew what was coming.
Max didn't disappoint. "He pushed me."
"You were both alongside."
"He definitely pushed me."
"You still have the whole race."
"I want the position now."
Lap twelve...overtake mode...
Max closed in and he sent it around the outside of Ascari.
Charles defended, again...neither giving the other an inch.
GP calmly spoke. "Stay patient."
"I have been patient."
"You've been racing for twelve laps."
"Exactly."
Lap twenty and Max finally got ahead...for exactly four corners.
Charles got an amazing exit...slingshotted down the straight, late on the brakes, back into P1.
Bryan came on. "Nice move."
"I know."
"You enjoyed that."
"A little."
GP sighed. "He got you back."
"I noticed."
"Recharge. We'll go again."
Max clicked the radio. "I swear he appears from nowhere."
Lap thirty five.
The race became ridiculous...Charles defended into turn one and Max crossed underneath, Charles switched back, then Max forced him around the outside...and Charles somehow made it stick.
Bryan couldn't hide his excitement anymore. "Charles..."
"What?"
"That was unbelievable, mate."
Charles smiled. "Grazie."
Meanwhile... GP had accepted his fate.
"I'm running out of ideas."
"So am I."
"You'll get another chance."
"I've had seventeen chances."
Late safety car and everything reset.
Lando, Oscar and George all closed back up.
Ferrari chose fresh softs, so Red Bull matched them.
Everyone watching knew exactly what was about to happen. Max versus Charles...again.
The restart was madness.
Charles timed it perfectly and Max stayed glued to his gearbox. Lap after lap, every braking zone, every straight, every corner...nothing between them.
Bryan's voice remained steady. "Don't overdrive."
"I'm trying."
"Remember exit."
"I know."
Behind him...GP's voice sounded almost identical.
"Don't force it."
"I'm not forcing it."
"You sound like you're forcing it."
"I'm thinking aggressively."
Two laps remaining. Max looked...Charles defended. Max switched sides, Charles covered. Max tried again...and Charles left exactly one car width.
The Ferrari somehow stayed ahead.
Final lap.
The Tifosi were already standing because nobody could cont win their excitement.
Charles crossed the line P1 and fireworks exploded. Red smoke filled the air, and Ferrari mechanics climbed over the pit wall screaming.
Charles hadn't won a race in a long time, so winning Monza was special.
Bryan almost yelled into the radio. "YES! You did it! You absolutely did it!"
Charles hit the steering wheel once. "YES! LET'S GO!!!
Behind him...Max crossed second.
GP came over the radio. "P2."
A long silence. "...he's annoyingly good around here."
GP laughed. "I'll pass that along."
"Don't."
Parc ferme looked exactly like Zandvoort...only louder.
Charles climbed out to deafening cheers.
Max removed his helmet and their eyes met. For about half a second, then both looked away.
Lando, who'd managed third, meaning another podium with them, sighed dramatically.
"Oh good."
"The divorce continues."
Neither responded and the champagne arrived.
Lando instinctively backed away. "I'm not falling for this again."
Charles immediately sprayed him and Max joined in from the opposite side.
"Oh come on!"
Within seconds...Lando was soaked.
Charles and Max remained suspiciously dry...again.
The photographers nearly fell over each other trying to get pictures and then the media pen somehow felt even more tense than the race.
Reporters practically sprinted toward Charles.ย
"Charles!"
"Incredible victory!"
"What did you think of Max's driving today?"
Charles shrugged. "It was...predictable."
Pens started writing immediately. "Predictable?"
"I knew he'd keep coming."
"So you expected that level of aggression?"
Charles nodded. "Oh yes."
"He never gives up."
On paper...it sounded like criticism. Only one person would understand that Charles actually meant...he never stops fighting for us.
Across the media pen...Max had been cornered.
"Max, Charles called your driving predictable."
Max smirked. "I know exactly what he's like."
The reporters leaned in.
"He always thinks he's in control, doesn't mean he is."
More typing. More headlines.ย
Again...only Charles would understand.
Because every time they cooked together...Charles insisted on controlling everything in the kitchen...ย
Another reporter asked... "Do you respect each other anymore?"
Max folded his arms. "I tolerate him."
Another headline was born.
Meanwhile...Charles got the exact same question.
"I've learned to live with him."
Phones exploded and the internet lost its collective mind. Someone uploaded both interviews side by side within minutes.
'I tolerate him.'
'I've learned to live with him.'
Friendship officially dead...Lestappen is over. No coming back from this.
Another account posted: Notice neither one denied disliking the other, it's actually heartbreaking.
By the time they left media...even their PR teams looked exhausted.
Silvia rubbed her forehead. "They're going to ask about this for weeks."
Grace from RedBull sighed. "I don't think they'll shake hands again this season."
Neither knew...both drivers had spent the entire interview making references to who controlled dinner, movie nights, and whose turn it was to do laundry.
Outside the paddock...cameras followed every step.
Charles walked toward the parking area, Max exiting from another building.
For one brief second...they crossed paths.
Charles didn't even look over and Max kept walking.
Ice cold...nothing...not a word...not even a nod.
The cameras loved it.
"There it is."
"They didn't acknowledge each other."
"It's officially over."
One reporter practically shouted after Max. "Any comment on Charles?"
Without turning around... "No."
Then they both climbed into separate cars and drove away.
Within fifteen minutes...Charles had changed into comfortable clothes at his hotel. He'd barely kicked off his shoes when his phone buzzed.
Charles immediately smiled.
Max:ย Good acting today.
Charles:ย You too.
Max:ย "I tolerate him?" Really?
Charles:ย You said predictable first ๐
Max:ย Be ready by eight.
Charles:ย For?
Max:ย Special date night to celebrate your wine. Dress nicely and don't ask questions.
Charles stared at the screen, then ย smile slowly spread across his face.
Charles:ย Yes, darling.
A full minute passed before Max replied.
Max:ย ...delete that.
Charles laughed to himself.
Instead, he tossed his phone onto the bed, walked over to his suitcase, and started digging through it for his nicest shirt.
Outside, the internet was still arguing over whether their friendship had just imploded for good.
Inside his hotel room... Charles found himself wondering what exactly Max had planned.
Whatever it was...it was apparently worth dressing up for.
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
Charles waited until the hallway was completely empty before stepping out of the elevator.
He had a hat was pulled low over his head, even though it was nearly nine at night, and a black jacket zipped high enough to cover most of his shirt. It was probably unnecessary. Nobody staying on this floor would expect Charles to be sneaking into Max's hotel room less than five hours after they had spent an entire race weekend acting like they wanted to personally launch each other into the barriers.
Still...he checked both directions, then checked again.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Max: are you coming or did you get lost?
Charles stopped in front of the correct door and rolled his eyes.
Charles:ย Iย am literally outside.
The door opened before he could even knock.
Max stood there in a dark button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.
Charles forgot what he had been about to say.
Max looked him over. The nice shirt. The dark trousers, the careful hair, the tiny nervous smile Charles was trying to hide.
"You took long enough."
Charles scoffed.
"I had to make sure nobody saw me."
"You walked down a hotel hallway, Charles. Not across a military base."
"You are not the one who has twenty Ferrari fans studying every photo of your shoes."
"They study my shoes too."
"Yes, but mostly to insult them."
Max stared at him and Charles tried to keep a straight face.
He lasted maybe two seconds. Max grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him through the doorway.
Charles barely had time to kick the door shut behind him before Max kissed him passionately.
It wasn't one of the quick kisses they usually stole in elevators or hidden corridors, both of them listening for footsteps.
Max held his jaw with one hand and kissed him slowly, like they had nowhere else to be. Like the entire night had been set aside for them.
Charles melted almost immediately. His hands found Max's waist under his shirt, holding him close.
When they finally pulled apart, Max kept his forehead against his.
"Congratulations, mijn liefje."
Charles smiled. "Merci, mon amour."
"You were annoying today."
"You were more annoying."
"You defended like a maniac."
"You attacked like a maniac."
"You nearly put me in the grass."
"You had plenty of room."
"I had half a tire."
"That is still room."
Max gave him a look.
Charles grinned. "Besides," he added, "you like when I make it difficult."
Max's expression shifted just slightly.
Charles noticed. "Oh?"
"Don't start."
"I was talking about racing."
"No, you weren't."
Charles kissed the corner of his jaw. "My enemy knows me so well."
Max shook his head, but he was smiling when he took Charles's hand. "Come on."
"Where?"
"You ask too many questions."
"You told me not to ask questions three hours ago. I have been very patient."
"You sent me eleven messages."
"They were observations."
"You asked what kind of shoes to wear."
"That was important."
"You asked if you needed a jacket."
"It could have been outside."
"You asked if you should bring your passport."
Charles paused. "That one was reasonable."
"We're in Italy."
"You said special date night. Maybe we were leaving Italy."
"For dinner?"
"You own a jet."
Max stopped walking and turned to him. "Do you always create this many problems in your own head?"
"Yes."
"Right."
"Are we leaving Italy?"
"No."
"Okay, good."
Max led him through the suite toward a set of glass doors at the far end of the room.
Charles could already see a glow beyond the curtains.
His steps slowed and Max looked back at him but didn't say anything.
He simply opened the door and Charles stared.
The balcony had been completely transformed.
A small dinner table sat in the center, covered with a white cloth. Candles were arranged around it in glass holders, their flames moving gently in the night air. There were flowers along the railing, mostly white with small red accents, and soft lights wrapped around the edges of the balcony.
Charles stepped outside slowly. "You did this?"
Max shrugged like there wasn't an entire candlelit dinner waiting for them. "I paid someone to do most of it."
"That still counts."
"I chose the food."
Charles looked at the table...his favorite pasta. A bottle of wine he always ordered when they were in Italy...fresh bread...even the ridiculous sparkling water he liked that Max constantly complained was overpriced.
Charles turned back toward him. "Maxie."
"What?"
"This is..."
He stopped. For some reason, it felt difficult to finish the sentence.
Max's expression softened. "Too much?"
"No."
Charles immediately shook his head. "No. Not at all."
He looked around again...it wasn't only romantic. It was quiet, private. Exactly what he wanted, even though he had never said it directly.
Every year, whenever Charles did well at Monza, people expected him to celebrate loudly. Ferrari dinners. Sponsor events. Crowded parties where everyone wanted a photo or a conversation or ten minutes of his time.
Charles usually went because it was expected. He smiled, he thanked everyone, he stayed until it was polite to leave...but it was never what he really wanted.
Tonight, after finally winning again, he had only wanted to be somewhere calm. Somewhere he didn't have to perform. Somewhere he could sit with Max and let the whole day catch up to him.
And somehow, Max knew.
Charles looked at him. "You knew I didn't want to go out."
Max nodded. "You hate clubs after races."
"I do not hate them."
"You spend the whole time looking at the exit."
"I get tired."
"You once hid in a bathroom for twenty minutes because Lando started karaoke."
"He was singing badly on purpose."
"He always sings badly."
"Exactly."
Max stepped closer. "I know you, Charles."
The teasing disappeared from his voice.
Charles swallowed and Max's hand settled gently at the back of his neck.
"You didn't want a room full of people tonight," he continued. "You wanted quiet. You wanted good food. You wanted to actually sit down after pretending you weren't exhausted all day."
Charles gave a small laugh. "I was not pretending."
"You won at Monza," he said. "You should celebrate how you want."
Something tightened in Charles's chest...it had been such a long day, a good day...one of the best, but still long.
There had been the pressure. The strategy. Max filling every mirror. The final laps. The radio. The screaming. The podium. The interviews. The endless questions...and now this.
Someone seeing past all of it, someone seeing him.
Charles stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Max's waist. Max caught him without hesitation.
Charles buried his face against his shoulder. "I love you," he mumbled.
Max's arms tightened around him. "I love you too."
"You are very nice sometimes."
"Don't tell anyone."
"I might put it in our engagement announcement."
Max went completely still, but Charles didn't notice. He was still holding him, cheek pressed against Max's chest.
After a second, Max cleared his throat. "What engagement announcement?"
Charles laughed and pulled back. "I'm joking."
"Right."
"You looked terrified."
"I wasn't terrified."
"You were."
"I was confused."
"You froze."
"Because you say strange things."
Charles smiled and kissed him once...then again.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Really."
Max kissed his forehead. "Come eat."
They sat down, and for the next hour, it was exactly what Charles had hoped for without knowing how to ask.
They ate slowly, they talked about the race, they argued about turn one...again.
"You moved under braking."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I chose a line."
"You chose three lines."
"It is called defending."
"It is called being a pain in my ass."
Charles took a sip of wine. "You seemed to enjoy it."
"I enjoyed almost passing you."
"Almost."
Max narrowed his eyes.
Charles smiled sweetly. "Winner," he reminded him.
"By two tenths."
"Still a winner."
"Barely."
Charles leaned across the table. "You can say congratulations again."
"I already did."
"I want to hear it properly."
Max stared at him for a moment, then he smiled. "Congratulations, sweetheart."
Charles immediately went quiet.
Max's smile widened. "Oh, now you have nothing to say?"
"You cannot use that voice without warning."
"What voice?"
"That one."
"I said congratulations."
"You know what you did."
Max reached for his wine like he had no idea what Charles meant.
Charles watched him suspiciously.
Dinner continued...they talked about the rest of the season. About going away somewhere when they finally had time. About a house they had looked at online that Max claimed was too big and Charles claimed was only slightly too big.
"We do not need seven bedrooms."
"What if people visit?"
"Who?"
"Family."
"They can use one room."
"All of them?"
"They can take turns."
Charles laughed. "You are a terrible host."
"I am an honest host."
"We also need a larger kitchen."
"I don't cook."
"I cook."
"You set fire to a towel last month."
"That was one time."
"It was in the oven."
"I forgot it was there."
"How do you forget a towel is in the oven?"
"I was distracted."
"By what?"
Charles smiled. "You."
Max looked away, trying and failing to hide his expression.
Charles pointed at him. "See?"
"Eat your food."
When they were done, Max stood. "Dessert."
Charles sat up. "There is dessert?"
"You think I would organize all this and forget dessert?"
"Yes."
"That's offensive."
"You once served me yogurt and called it dessert."
"It had fruit."
"It was breakfast."
Max disappeared inside.
Charles leaned back in his chair, looking out over the city. He still couldn't quite believe the day. The win, this dinner...Max.
A few months ago, hiding had been exciting...funny, even. There was something ridiculous about arguing in press conferences and then meeting in one of their rooms later that night.
But lately, it had started to hurt a little. Not because Charles wanted the whole world involved in what they had...de didn't. He liked having something that belonged only to them. Still, there were moments when he wanted to reach for Max without checking where the nearest camera was...moments when he wanted to celebrate with him openly...moments when Max stood beside him on a podium and Charles had to spray Lando instead because touching Max would have meant too much.
He looked back when the balcony door opened and Max walked out carrying a small plate.
Charles paused. "No."
Max placed it in front of him and Charles stared down at the dessert.
His favorite...not just something similar. The exact chocolate and hazelnut pastry from a small bakery they had visited months ago in another Italian city.
Charles looked up. "How did you get this?"
"I called them."
"They are hours away."
"They delivered it."
"They delivered one dessert hours away?"
"I paid them."
Charles looked between Max and the plate. "You are insane."
"You like it."
"I love it."
"Then eat it."
Charles picked up his fork but paused. "How did you even remember?"
Max looked almost offended. "You talked about it for three days."
"I did not."
"You showed me pictures of it twice."
"It was very good."
"You said you dreamed about it."
"That may have been a joke."
"It wasn't."
Charles took a bite and he closed his eyes immediately.
Max laughed. "Good?"
Charles pointed the fork at him. "I am marrying you one day."
Max went quiet again and Charles opened his eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You did the freezing thing again."
"I didn't."
"You did."
Max reached into his pocket and Charles stopped chewing.
For the first time all night, Max looked nervous...actually nervous.
He stepped away from the table.
Charles slowly placed his fork down. "Max?"
Max stood in front of him, then lowered himself onto one knee.
Charles's breath caught. For a second, all he could do was stare. Max pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it.
Inside was a simple silver band.
Charles covered his mouth with one hand.
Max looked up at him. "I had a whole speech," he said.
Charles let out a watery laugh. "You still have to say it."
"I know."
Max took a breath. "I'm trying to remember it."
"You forgot?"
"You're staring at me with those green eyes."
"You are proposing to me."
"Yes. That's the problem."
Charles laughed again, but tears were already gathering in his eyes.
Max looked down briefly, then back up. "When we were kids, I thought you were the most annoying person I had ever met."
Charles made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "Very romantic."
"I'm getting there."
"Okay."
"You were loud. You argued about everything. You always wanted to beat me."
"You were worse."
"Charles."
"Sorry."
Max smiled. "Then we got older, and somehow you were still there. Still annoying. Still arguing. Still making everything difficult."
Charles wiped beneath one eye. "This is not improving."
"And somehow," Max continued, "you became the person I wanted next to me for all of it."
Charles went still.
"The wins. The bad races. The boring days. The days when everything feels too loud. You're the first person I want to talk to, even when we're pretending we don't talk at all."
Charles's face crumpled slightly.
Max's voice softened.
"I love that you understand me without making me explain everything. I love that you can make me laugh when I really don't want to. I love that you steal my clothes and control the kitchen and fall asleep halfway through movies you picked."
"I do not."
"You do."
Charles laughed through his tears.
"I love you when you're winning," Max said. "I love you when you're impossible. I love you when you're angry with me. I love you when you call me your enemy and then spend the whole night wrapped around me."
Charles reached for his hand and Max took it.
"I don't want to keep pretending forever," Max continued. "I don't want to celebrate your wins from the other side of a podium and then wait until nobody is looking to tell you how proud I am."
Charles's tears slipped free.
Max squeezed his hand. "I want everyone to know you're mine."
Charles laughed. "Possessive."
"Of you? Very."
"I like it."
"I know."
Max looked down at the ring, then back at him.
"Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, will you marry me?"
Charles nodded before Max even finished. "Yes."
Max blinked. "Yes?"
"Yes, you idiot."
Charles slid out of his chair and dropped down in front of him.
Max barely had time to take the ring from the box before Charles kissed him.
Charles was laughing and crying. Max was trying to kiss him back while also somehow getting the band onto his finger.
"You have to let me put it on," Max mumbled against his lips.
"Fine."
Charles held out his hand and Max slid the silver band onto his finger.
It fit perfectly and Charles stared at it, then at Max...then he kissed him again.
"I love you," Charles whispered.
"I love you too."
"My fiancรฉ."
Max smiled. "My enemy."
Charles laughed and pressed his forehead against his.
They stayed on the balcony floor for a while...but neither cared.
Eventually, Max helped Charles up, and they finished dessert together, taking turns stealing bites from the same plate.
Charles kept looking at the ring and Max kept pretending not to notice.
"You're staring again," he said.
"It is nice."
"You chose the style."
"When?"
"You showed me one online two months ago."
"I thought I was showing you a watch."
"You sent me a ring."
"Oh."
Max smiled. "Very subtle."
Charles held his hand up toward the candlelight. "I cannot believe we are engaged."
"You said yes very quickly."
"I have wanted to marry you for ages."
Max looked at him. "You have?"
Charles froze.
Max's eyes narrowed. "How long?"
Charles took another bite of dessert. "No idea."
"Charles."
"Maybe a while."
"How long?"
"Do not ruin the evening."
"I'm not ruining it."
"You are interrogating me."
"Because apparently you've been secretly planning our marriage."
Charles shrugged. "I had thoughts."
Max leaned closer. "What thoughts?"
"The house with seven bedrooms."
Max stared at him.
Charles smiled. "For a family."
There was a brief silence, then Max kissed him again.
Across the internet, things were going terribly. At least according to everyone watching.
Fans were still replaying the race. Slow motion videos of Max and Charles going wheel to wheel filled every platform.
People analyzed the radio messages...they analyzed the podium...they analyzed a two second clip of Charles walking past Max without looking at him.
One account posted a ten part thread titled.ย
THE COMPLETE COLLAPSE OF LESTAPPEN: A TIMELINE
Another fan wrote:ย I genuinely think they hate each other now and I'm actually sad.
Someone else replied:ย They didn't even spray each other with champagne. It's over.
A television panel spent fifteen minutes debating whether their friendship had become "irreparably damaged."
Another said the rivalry was "personal now."
Meanwhile, Max and Charles were lying in bed. Charles was wearing Max's shirt and Max had one arm around his waist. The ring rested against Max's chest while Charles scrolled through the theories.
"Oh, this one says you blocked me."
"I should."
"This one says I unfollowed you."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Shame."
Charles looked up. "You just proposed."
"I can still unfollow you."
Charles kissed his chin. "You would miss my posts."
"You post the same sunset on your story every week."
"They are different sunsets."
"They all look orange."
"You have no appreciation for beauty."
"I appreciate you."
Charles paused. "That was smooth."
"I know."
Charles went back to scrolling. "Oh no."
"What?"
"They think Lando is caught in the middle."
Max looked at the screen and a fan had posted a photo from the podium with Lando standing between them.
The caption read:ย Lando watching his two divorced parents fight again.
Max laughed.
Charles laughed harder. "We should apologize to him."
"No."
"He has been drenched with champagne twice."
"He'll survive."
Charles scrolled further, then he looked at his ring again.
"Are we really doing this tonight?"
Max's expression softened. "You don't want to?"
"I do." Charles sat up slightly. "I really do."
They had talked about eventually going public. Never decided when...never agreed how. But somehow, tonight felt right.
After the race, after the proposal, after the entire world had decided they despised each other.
Charles smiled slowly. "I have an idea for the caption."
Max immediately looked suspicious. "What?"
Charles whispered it and Max stared at him.
Then he started laughing. "No."
"Yes."
"It is terrible."
"It is perfect."
"It's from when we were children."
"Exactly."
"We'll never escape it."
"We have never escaped it."
Max shook his head.
But ten minutes later, they were sitting side by side against the headboard choosing a photo.
At 6:33 in the morning, they posted it together.
For about fifteen seconds, nothing happened, then the internet broke.
Charles refreshed the post and the comments multiplied so quickly he could barely read them.
"What the-"
Max grabbed his own phone.
"Lando commented."
Charles found it.
landonorris: I KNEW YOU TWO WERE WEIRD
Charles laughed. "He did not know."
"He absolutely did not know."
Another comment appeared.
pierregasly: THIS EXPLAINS NOTHING AND EVERYTHING
Then Oscar.
oscarpiastri: congrats. impressive commitment to the bit.
Then Carlos.
carlossainz55: YOU MADE ME DEFEND YOUR FRIENDSHIP IN AN INTERVIEW
Charles buried his face in Max's shoulder. "This is incredible."
Fan reactions were even worse.
THEY'RE ENGAGED?
ENGAGED???? I THOUGHT THEY WERE ABOUT TO FIGHT
NOTHING JUST AN INCHIDENT IS INSANE
THEY HAVE BEEN TOGETHER THIS WHOLE TIME?
SO ALL THOSE MEDIA PEN ARGUMENTS WERE FLIRTING?
MAX SAID "I TOLERATE HIM" ABOUT HIS ACTUAL FIANCร
CHARLES SAID "I'VE LEARNED TO LIVE WITH HIM" BECAUSE THEY LITERALLY LIVE TOGETHER
LANDO GOT CHAMPAGNE ATTACKED SO THEY WOULDN'T SPRAY EACH OTHER ROMANTICALLY
Someone created a fan edit within minutes...every glare, every radio complaint, every cold shoulder, every interview comment...set to dramatic music.
The final slide was their engagement photo.
Charles was crying with laughter. "Oh my god."
Max read another post aloud. "'We thought Lestappen was over while they were apparently planning a wedding.'"
"That is good."
"This one says we deserve an oscar award."
"We do."
"This one says you looked at me like you wanted to kill me."
Max glanced down at him. "Sometimes I do."
Charles smiled. "Romantic."
His phone continued vibrating nonstop...messages from family, friends, drivers. People demanding explanations, people threatening to never trust either of them again.
But Charles stopped reading. He put the phone down and looked at Max.
For the first time, there was nothing to hide...no separate hotel exits tomorrow morning...no pretending not to look at each other in the paddock...no spraying poor Lando instead.
Charles rested his hand over Max's chest, the silver band catching the dim light.
"Everyone knows," he whispered.
Max covered Charles's hand with his own. "Good."
Charles shifted closer. "Are you scared?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
Max thought about it, then looked at him. "No."
Charles smiled. "Me neither."
That wasn't completely true...he was nervous. The world would be loud tomorrow, there would be questions...headlines...cameras.
A hundred people wanting the full story, but right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was lying beside the man he loved.
His fiancรฉ, his rival, his best friend.
Charles kissed Max's cheek. "My enemy."
Max smiled and pulled him closer. "Forever now."
Charles looked down at the ring one last time. Then he curled into Max's side, laughing as their phones continued going completely insane on the nightstand.
Max turned off the light, kissed Charles's forehead, and held his fiancรฉ close.
They could explain everything tomorrow...or maybe they wouldn't...because the confusion was half the fun.
Summary: Domestic boyfriend fluff, failed cooking, couple banter and lots of caretaking on Oscar's part.
Word count: 4,700
-----------------------
The apartment was suspiciously quiet and that should've been Oscar's first clue.
Normally, by eight in the morning, he'd have heard at least one loud crash, three dramatically sung lyrics from whatever playlist Lando had decided was life changing that week, and at least five attempts at getting Oscar to wake up.
Instead...silence. Peaceful, glorious silence.
Oscar frowned into his pillow. He cracked one eye open, looked toward the empty side of the bed, then looked at the clock.
8:07.
"Lando?" he mumbled to the empty room.
Nothing, which was weird.
He rolled onto his back, enjoying the cool sheets for another minute before pulling the duvet up to his chin. Maybe Lando had gone for a run.
...
No.
He laughed quietly to himself....absolutely not. That man considered walking to the mailbox cardio.
Just as he closed his eyes again...
BANG.
A loud metallic crash echoed.
Oscar didn't even flinch. "...There he is."
Another crash. Then what sounded suspiciously like a cupboard door slamming.
Then...
"Oh for fuck's sake!"
Oscar sighed into his pillow. "Definitely awake now."
Meanwhile...
Lando was having what experts might call...a crisis.
He stood in the kitchen wearing oversized grey sweatpants and one of Oscar's hoodies, wooden spoon in one hand, spatula in the other.
He looked at the frying pan and the frying pan looked back.
"You know," he muttered, "I don't appreciate your attitude."
The bacon continued sizzling aggressively.
"I was trying to do something romantic."
The bacon suddenly spat hot grease directly at him. "Ouch!"
He jumped backward. "Rude."
The original plan had been beautiful...
Wake up before Oscar, cook him breakfast, bring it to bed, receive a bunch of kisses...become Boyfriend of the Year.
Instead...one piece of toast had become charcoal. The eggs somehow looked...watery and overcooked at the same time. One strip of bacon had curled itself and the coffee machine had beeped angrily at him for reasons he still didn't understand.
"This is recoverable," he told himself.
"It is absolutely not recoverable," came a sleepy voice from behind him.
Lando yelped and spun around so fast he nearly launched the spatula across the kitchen.
Oscar stood in the doorway rubbing one eye, hair sticking up in every direction, still half asleep.
He looked painfully cozy...and annoyingly handsome.
He took one slow look around the kitchen. Burnt toast, smoke hanging in the air, an open carton of eggs, and flour for some reason.
"...Morning," Oscar said.
"Morning!"
Oscar blinked once. "...Why is there flour?"
Lando looked down. "...Honestly?"
"Please."
"I don't know."
Oscar nodded. "Fair."
Another pop from the frying pan made Lando yell.
Oscar's eyes drifted toward the toaster. "...is that toast?"
"It was."
Oscar walked over, picked up the black rectangle, tapped it gently against the counter.
It made a sound somewhere between a brick and a hockey puck. "...Congratulations."
"What?"
"You've invented construction materials."
Lando burst out laughing. "I hate you."
"You absolutely don't."
"I absolutely don't."
Oscar smiled. That stupid little smile that always made Lando forget what he was trying to say. He wandered over and wrapped both arms around Oscar's waist.
Oscar instinctively rested his hands on Lando's hips. "What're you doing?" Oscar asked.
"I needed emotional support."
"You burnt bread."
"I've been through a lot."
Oscar snorted and Lando tipped his head forward until their foreheads touched.
"You look cute."
"I look asleep."
"You look cute asleep."
Oscar rolled his eyes. "You've got bacon grease on your cheek."
"Oh."
Oscar leaned in before Lando could wipe it away himself. A soft kiss landed against his cheek, then another, then one at the corner of his lips.
"There."
Lando smiled so hard it almost hurt. "Was that medically necessary?"
"Probably not."
"Worth checking."
He tilted Oscar's chin up and stole a proper kiss. Oscar hummed against his lips, one hand sliding up to the back of Lando's neck.
When they finally separated, Lando grinned. "See?"
"What?"
"I've already improved breakfast."
Oscar looked at the smoking pan. "...Debatable."
Lando turned back to the stove.
"Okay. I've got this."
Oscar quietly leaned against the counter. He wasn't going to interfere, not yet.
Lando confidently cracked an egg, success. Second egg, also success. The third egg exploded against the edge of the bowl.
Shell...yolk...everything, everywhere.
Lando stared, Oscar stared.
"...It fought back," Lando whispered.
Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. "I saw."
"It attacked first."
"Mhm."
"It was self defense."
Oscar nodded solemnly. "I'll testify."
Lando pointed dramatically. "Thank you."
He reached for another egg.
This time it slipped from his fingers.
Splat.ย Straight onto the floor.
Lando closed his eyes. "...I hate cooking."
Oscar walked over. Without saying a word, he crouched down beside him and started cleaning the mess.
"You don't have to-"
"I know."
"I'm trying to surprise you."
"I know."
"I'm failing."
"I know."
Lando sighed dramatically.
Oscar looked up at him. "You know what's actually romantic?"
"What?"
"You tried."
Lando's shoulders softened. "I wanted you to wake up to breakfast."
Oscar smiled. "I woke up to a comedy show."
"Oi."
"I'm enjoying myself."
"You suck."
"You love me."
"...unfortunately."
Oscar leaned up just enough to kiss him again. "Very unfortunate."
Five minutes later...things had somehow gotten worse.
The bacon was saved...mostly.
The eggs...questionable.
The toast...irrecoverable.
Lando reached for the orange juice.
Oscar watched him. "...why are you putting orange juice in the pan?"
Lando froze. "..."
"...I thought it might caramelize."
Oscar blinked. "Your eggs?"
"I've made mistakes."
Oscar laughed so hard he had to grab the counter. "Oh my god."
"I saw something online!"
"You absolutely did not."
"I...may have dreamt it."
"You dream recipes now?"
"I'm committed."
Oscar laughed even harder.
Lando watched him for a second...god, that laugh. It was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He walked over while Oscar was still laughing and gently grabbed his face with both hands.
"What?"
"I love your laugh."
Oscar's expression immediately softened. "Whose the muppet now?"
"Says you."
Oscar slipped his arms around Lando's waist again. "You've got egg in your hair."
"...again?"
"Somehow."
"Can you get it?"
Oscar reached up, brushing his fingers gently through Lando's curls until he found the tiny bit of dried egg.
"There."
Instead of pulling away, his fingers lingered.
Lando leaned into the touch without thinking. "You spoil me."
"I literally just removed breakfast from your head."
"Acts of service."
Oscar smiled. "You've read too many relationship books."
"They're working."
Oscar leaned forward, kissing the tip of Lando's nose. "You don't need books."
"No?"
"No."
"Why?"
"You already do the important stuff."
"Like burning toast?"
Oscar laughed. "No."
"What then?"
"You make me laugh."
Lando's grin returned instantly. "Oh."
"You make this place feel like home."
That caught him off guard.
"You just..." Oscar shrugged. "...you make ordinary mornings fun."
For once, Lando didn't have a joke ready. He just looked at Oscar for a second before quietly saying, "I really love you."
Oscar reached up, smoothing one stubborn curl away from Lando's forehead. "I really love you too."
They kissed again. It only ended because...
BEEEEEEEEEP.
Both of them jumped and Oscar slowly turned toward the stove.
Smoke starting lifting upward. "...Lando."
"I know."
"...Lando."
"I know."
"...the bacon."
"I know!"
Lando lunged toward the pan and Oscar doubled over laughing again.
"You've set off the smoke alarm twice in twenty minutes!"
"I'M DOING MY BEST!"
"You nearly invented smoked orange juice eggs!"
"I SAID I WAS SORRY!"
Oscar was laughing so hard tears formed in his eyes as he opened every window in the apartment.
Lando stood in the middle of the kitchen holding the frying pan. "I don't think breakfast loves me."
Oscar walked back over, still laughing. He gently took the pan from Lando's hands and set it down.
Then he cupped Lando's face. "I've got an idea."
"Oh?"
"We start over."
"You'll help?"
Oscar nodded. "I'll help."
Lando's face lit up. "You won't judge me?"
"I'll absolutely judge you."
"...Fair."
"But I'll still help."
Lando beamed, stole one quick kiss, then another.
"So..."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"You'll teach me?"
Oscar reached into the fridge and grabbed a fresh carton of eggs. "I'll teach you."
Lando rubbed his hands together dramatically. "Round two."
Oscar looked at him, then at the kitchen, then back at him. "...Should I notify the fire department first?"
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
Oscar barely got the last word out before Lando lightly shoved his shoulder.
"You're such a muppet."
"I'm also correct."
"I haven't burned anything in..." Lando looked around the kitchen. "...At least thirty seconds."
Oscar looked at the blackened toast sitting in the sink. "It's still smoking."
"It has character."
"It has carbon."
Lando grinned. "You love my cooking."
"I love you."
"...Aw."
"I never said I loved your cooking."
Lando gasped. "I've been emotionally attacked."
"Come here."
Lando obediently shuffled over until they were standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter.
Oscar placed an egg in his hand. "Lesson one."
"I'm listening."
"Stop trying to murder it."
"I wasn't murdering it."
"You exploded two."
"They were weak."
Oscar looked over. "...Weak."
"Mhm."
Oscar couldn't help smiling. "You're impossible."
"And yet..."
Lando leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Oscar's jaw. "...I'm your impossible."
Oscar's ears reddened ever so slightly. He hated how easily Lando could do that.
"Focus."
"I am."
"On the egg."
"I'm looking at something prettier."
Oscar sighed. "You are unbelievably cheesy before nine in the morning."
"It's part of my charm."
"It's certainly...something."
Lando laughed.
Oscar gently took Lando's wrist. "Watch."
He tapped the egg softly against the edge of the bowl. "Not too hard."
A neat crack appeared. "Then your thumbs."
He pulled the shell apart smoothly and the egg slipped perfectly into the bowl.
Lando stared. "That looked fake."
"It isn't."
"Do it again."
Oscar handed him another egg. "Your turn."
Lando took a deep breath.
Oscar folded his arms. "I believe in you."
"...Really?"
"No."
"Rude."
Lando carefully tapped the egg, too softly and nothing happened. He tried again and still nothing.
Oscar bit back a smile. "A little harder."
Lando gave it one confident tap.
CRACK.
Success.
"Oh!"
Oscar nodded approvingly. "Now open it."
Lando proudly split the shell...and accidentally dropped half of it into the bowl.
"..."
Oscar looked at him.
Lando looked at Oscar. "The shell wanted to come too."
Oscar laughed under his breath. "We're making breakfast, not calcium supplements."
Lando fished the shell out with concentration. "There."
Oscar leaned over the bowl. "You missed one."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I refuse to believe that."
Oscar pinched the tiny piece of shell between two fingers and held it up.
Lando frowned. "...traitor."
"The shell?"
"The egg."
Oscar shook his head, smiling. "You blame everyone except yourself."
"It's called accountability."
"I don't think that's what that word means."
"It is in my dictionary."
"I'd like to burn that dictionary."
"With my toast?"
"Exactly."
Thirty minutes later...the kitchen looked significantly less like a crime scene.
Fresh coffee filled the apartment and there was actual edible scrambled eggs on two plates. Golden toast, crispy bacon. Some sliced fruit Oscar had quietly prepared while Lando wasn't looking.
Lando stepped back to admire it. "...that actually looks good."
Oscar nodded. "It does."
"I helped."
"You did."
"I was useful."
Oscar looked at him with seriousness. "Let's not get carried away."
Lando narrowed his eyes. "I'll push you into the sea."
"You hate fish."
"I'll suffer."
Oscar snorted. "You'd complain the entire time."
"I would."
"You'd make me carry you back."
"I absolutely would."
Oscar picked up both plates. "You are exhausting."
"But adorable."
"...debatable."
They settled at the kitchen island together.
Lando immediately watched Oscar take the first bite.
"Well?"
Oscar chewed thoughtfully and Lando bounced impatiently.
"Well?"
Oscar took another bite. "Lando."
"What?"
"I've only had one mouthful."
"Was it awful?"
Oscar swallowed. "It tastes good."
Lando's shoulders dropped in relief. "Actually?"
Oscar nodded. "Actually."
"No pity points?"
"No pity points."
Lando immediately shoveled a forkful into his own mouth. His eyes widened. "Oh."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I did that."
"We did."
"No..."
Lando looked genuinely proud. "I cooked."
Oscar smiled over the rim of his coffee mug. "You cooked."
Lando threw both fists into the air. "GET IN!"
Oscar laughed. "You are celebrating scrambled eggs like it's a race win."
"It feels bigger."
"It absolutely isn't."
"You've never seen me successfully feed myself before."
Oscar considered that. "...Fair."
Halfway through breakfast...Lando frowned.
"What?"
Oscar pointed with his fork. "You've got jam."
"Where?"
"Corner of your mouth."
Lando wiped the wrong side. "This one?"
"No."
"This?"
"No."
"I don't know where my own face is."
Oscar sighed dramatically before leaning across the island. "I'll do it."
His thumb gently brushed the smear of strawberry jam away.
Lando smiled and Oscar looked at the tiny bit of jam on his thumb.
Without thinking, Lando caught Oscar's wrist. He popped Oscar's thumb into his mouth for half a second to steal the jam.
Oscar froze.
"Oh..."
Lando smiled innocently. "Waste not."
Oscar stared. "...you menace."
"What?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I genuinely don't."
"You absolutely do."
Oscar reached over, grabbed the back of Lando's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Lando made a muffled, surprised noise before immediately kissing him back.
When they finally separated, Oscar rested his forehead against Lando's. "There."
"What was that for?"
"You were being annoying."
"So you kissed me?"
"It shut you up."
"It literally didn't."
Oscar kissed him again. "There."
Lando grinned wider. "I'm going to be annoying more often."
"I noticed."
After breakfast, Oscar carried the plates toward the sink and Lando hurried after him.
"I'll wash."
Oscar looked skeptical. "You'll wash?"
"I caused this."
"You did."
"I should contribute."
Oscar handed him a sponge."Knock yourself out."
For approximately fifty five seconds...everything went perfectly.
Then Oscar heard it.
Crash.
He turned around and one of the mugs had somehow tipped into the sink. Water had splashed across Lando's hoodie.
"I've been attacked."
Oscar couldn't stop laughing. "How?"
"I don't know!"
"You were washing one mug!"
"It got slippery!"
"You are genuinely a hazard in every room."
"I bring excitement."
"You bring insurance claims."
Lando flicked soapy water at him and a tiny splash landed on Oscar's shirt.
Oscar slowly looked down, then back up. "...did you just do that?"
"...Maybe."
Oscar reached for the sink sprayer and Lando's eyes went wide.
"No."
"Oh yes."
"Oscar."
"You started this."
"Oscar."
He squeezed the trigger and a gush of water hit Lando square in the chest.
Lando shrieked. "You little-"
He grabbed a handful of water and splashed it back and within seconds the kitchen had turned into an all out water fight.
They were laughing too hard to even aim properly. Oscar ducked behind the island and Lando chased him.
"You coward!"
"I'm tactical."
"You're cheating!"
"There are no rules."
"There should be!"
Lando rounded the corner just as Oscar reached for the sprayer again. Instead, Lando tackled him into a hug, not enough to knock him over...just enough that Oscar stumbled backwards into the counter with an amused laugh.
"You cheat," Oscar said.
"I improvise."
Lando's hoodie was soaked and Oscar's shirt wasn't much better. Water dripped off both of them onto the tile floor, but neither seemed to care.
Lando rested his chin on Oscar's shoulder. "I win."
"You tackled me."
"Exactly."
Oscar wrapped both arms around his waist. "I could still throw you over my shoulder."
"You absolutely couldn't."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "You want to test that?"
Lando immediately shook his head. "...No."
"Smart."
"But..."
"What?"
Lando smiled that mischievous smile Oscar knew far too well. "I bet you won't."
Oscar sighed. "You've learned nothing."
"I learned how to crack an egg."
"Barely."
"I learned how to make breakfast."
"With supervision."
"I learned you're incredibly handsome when you're laughing."
Oscar looked at him.
Lando's grin softened. "And..."
He tucked a damp strand of Oscar's hair behind his ear. "...I learned I like mornings a lot more when they're with you."
Oscar didn't say anything for a second. He simply looked at Lando with that quiet expression that always made Lando's heart flip.
Then he leaned in and this kiss was slower than the others. The kind that lingered because neither of them was in any hurry to pull away.
When they finally did, Oscar smiled. "You know..."
"Hm?"
"You never did surprise me with breakfast."
Lando frowned dramatically. "I didn't?"
"No."
"I suppose..."
Lando stole one last quick kiss. "...I'll just have to try again next weekend."
Oscar laughed.
"Please warn the smoke alarms first."
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
A few days later, Oscar knew something was wrong before Lando even admitted it. Normally, Lando was awake first.
Not because he enjoyed mornings, but because he couldn't stay still. He'd wander around the apartment, make coffee, play music too loud, or come bother Oscar until he finally gave in and got out of bed.
This morning...nothing. The apartment was silent again. Oscar blinked awake around eight and instinctively reached across the bed.
Lando was still there, curled up under the duvet. Which, by itself, was strange enough.
He frowned. "Lando?"
A sleepy groan came from somewhere under the blanket.
"...mhhhm?"
"You awake?"
"...Unfortunately."
Oscar smiled faintly. "You've been awake for approximately four seconds."
"I'm exhausted."
"You've done nothing."
"I've existed."
Oscar rolled onto his side to look at him, and only then did he notice it.
Lando's cheeks were flushed. His usually bright eyes looked glassy. His curls were flattened in every direction from tossing and turning.
Oscar reached over and rested the back of his hand against Lando's forehead. Warm, very warm.
Lando sighed at the cool touch, leaning into it without thinking. "Oh..."
Oscar's expression softened. "You've got a fever."
Lando made the saddest little noise. "I know."
"You knew?"
"I was hoping if I ignored it..."
"It would disappear?"
"...Yeah."
Oscar couldn't help smiling. "I don't think that's how viruses work."
"It should be."
Oscar pushed himself upright. "Stay there."
Lando immediately grabbed the sleeve of Oscar's t-shirt. "...where're you going?"
"Thermometer."
"...don't leave."
Oscar looked down at the hand clutching him. It was honestly a little adorable.
"I'm going to the bathroom."
"That's ages away."
"It's six steps."
"Still."
Oscar laughed quietly. "You are unbelievably dramatic."
"I don't feel well."
"I noticed."
Lando's grip tightened just a fraction. "...be quick?"
Oscar's heart squeezed. "I'll be quick."
Thirty seconds later...Oscar returned with the thermometer, a bottle of water, and pain relievers.
Lando looked up at him hopefully. "You came back."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "...were you expecting me not to?"
"No."
"Good."
Oscar sat on the edge of the bed. "Open."
Lando obediently opened his mouth. A few seconds later...the thermometer beeped.
Oscar looked at the screen. "Hm."
"What?"
"You've definitely got a fever."
"Am I dying?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
Oscar deadpanned. "I went to medical school this morning."
Lando smiled weakly. "I knew you'd find time."
Oscar rolled his eyes affectionately. "Take these."
Lando accepted the tablets. "...do I have to?"
"Yes."
"They're gross."
"They're tiny."
"They know what they did."
Oscar laughed under his breath. "You negotiate with medicine?"
"I'm trying."
"You've lost."
Lando sighed dramatically before swallowing them. "There."
"There."
"I deserve praise."
"You swallowed two tablets."
"I was very brave."
Oscar reached over and gently ruffled his curls. "So brave."
Lando smiled despite himself. "I liked that."
"I know."
"Do it again."
Oscar rolled his eyes, but his fingers slipped back into Lando's hair anyway, slowly scratching his scalp.
Lando's eyes fluttered shut. "...yeah."
Oscar watched him melt almost instantly. "You like that?"
"Mhm."
"You're easy."
"I'm poorly."
"So I've heard."
By ten, Oscar had officially canceled every plan they had.
Simulator session? Rescheduled. Lunch with friends? Canceled. Gym? Not happening. His phone buzzed with another message.
Lando peeked over from the couch where he'd somehow managed to cocoon himself in three blankets.
"Who is it?"
"Zak."
"What'd you say?"
Oscar typed one last message before locking his phone. "Told him I was looking after you today."
Lando blinked. "...all day?"
Oscar looked genuinely confused. "Well..."
He shrugged. "...yeah."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"You've got things to do."
Oscar walked into the living room carrying a steaming mug. "So do you."
Lando sniffled. "What?"
"You're sick." Oscar handed him the mug.
"Drink."
Lando looked inside. "...tea?"
"With honey."
"You remembered."
"You lose your voice every time you're ill."
Lando stared at him. "You remembered."
Oscar frowned slightly. "Of course I remembered."
Lando's chest did something funny. Because Oscar hadn't said it like he'd done something special. He'd said it like it was obvious. Like remembering little things about Lando came naturally. Like it wasn't even worth mentioning.
It made Lando's heart ache in the nicest way. "...thanks."
Oscar smiled. "You're welcome."
An hour later...
Lando had somehow convinced Oscar to sit beside him. Which had quickly turned into...sitting against him. Which had somehow become...halfway in his lap.
Oscar looked down. "Lando."
"Mhm?"
"You've migrated."
"I'm comfortable."
"You've stolen all my personal space."
"It's our personal space now."
Oscar snorted. "Communist."
"Boyfriend."
Oscar couldn't argue with that. Instead, he wrapped one arm around Lando's shoulders to keep the blanket from slipping off.
Lando immediately cuddled closer. "There we go."
Oscar looked toward the television. "We're watching a film."
"We are."
"You've looked at the screen once."
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
"Cuddling."
Oscar smiled to himself. He wasn't going to admit it...but he hadn't really been watching either.
Around lunchtime...Oscar disappeared into the kitchen.
Lando frowned. "Oscar?"
"I'm here."
"What're you doing?"
"Making soup."
"...from a tin?"
"...Yes."
"You can cook now."
Oscar laughed.
"After your breakfast lessons?"
"I inspired you."
"I don't think that's true."
Lando smiled tiredly from the couch. "It is."
A few minutes later Oscar returned carrying two bowls.
Lando looked guilty. "I wasn't actually expecting you to make lunch."
Oscar handed him a spoon. "I know."
"You keep doing things."
Oscar sat next to him again. "I know."
"I feel bad."
Oscar looked over. "For what?"
"You keep looking after me."
Oscar blinked. "...Lando."
"What?"
"That's what people do."
"I know, but-"
Oscar interrupted him. "I want to."
Lando went quiet.
Oscar reached over and tucked a curl away from Lando's forehead. "I like taking care of you."
"You do?"
"Mhm."
"You don't find me annoying?"
Oscar actually laughed. "Oh, you're incredibly annoying."
Lando pouted. "Rude."
"But..."
Oscar's smile softened. "...you're my annoying."
Lando felt his throat tighten.
"...come here," Oscar said quietly.
Lando didn't need telling twice. He shuffled closer until his head naturally rested against Oscar's shoulder.
Oscar kissed the top of his curls, then another kiss, then one against his forehead.
"You smell like eucalyptus."
"You put vapor rub on me."
"I did."
"It smells weird."
"It'll help."
"I still smell weird."
Oscar buried his nose in Lando's curls dramatically. "Hm."
"What?"
"You smell nice."
"I smell medicinal."
"You smell like my boyfriend."
Lando smiled into Oscar's shoulder. "You've gotten really good at this romance thing."
"I've always been romantic."
"You absolutely have not."
"I made you soup."
"From a tin."
"I heated it beautifully."
Lando laughed, immediately followed by a cough. Oscar was already rubbing gentle circles across his back before the coughing even stopped.
"You alright?"
"Mhm."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
Oscar held the mug of tea out to him without a word.
Lando took a sip. "...Thanks."
The afternoon drifted by lazily.
Oscar read his book and Lando dozed on and off with his head in Oscar's lap.
Every single time Lando stirred awake...Oscar was still there.
Sometimes reading, sometimes scrolling on his phone, sometimes simply absentmindedly running his fingers through Lando's curls.
It became almost hypnotic. Oscar's gentle fingertips combing through his soft curls.
Lando sighed contentedly. "You know..."
Oscar looked down from his book. "Hm?"
"I think I might stay ill forever."
Oscar smiled. "I think you won't."
"I quite like this."
"You like having a fever?"
"No."
"You like me fussing over you."
"...maybe."
Oscar laughed. "I knew it."
"You've made me soft."
"I think you were already soft."
"I had a reputation."
"You cry watching dog videos."
"They're emotional."
"You apologized to a pigeon after accidentally walking too close to it."
"It looked startled."
Oscar laughed. "I rest my case."
Lando looked up at him. At the way Oscar hadn't complained once, hadn't checked the time, hadn't made him feel guilty. He'd simply...stayed. Because he wanted to, because Lando mattered.
Quietly, almost too quietly to hear, Lando spoke.
"I think I fall in love with you a little more every day."
Oscar's eyes left the page. "What?"
Lando smiled sheepishly. "I said..."
He reached up, lightly taking Oscar's hand from his hair and intertwining their fingers.
"...I think I fall in love with you a little more every day."
For once... Oscar didn't have one of his dry, witty replies. He simply closed his book, leaned down, and kissed Lando.
"I've got bad news."
Lando smiled. "What?"
"I'm already completely gone for you."
Lando's heart practically melted. "You reckon?"
Oscar nodded once. "No question."
Lando let out the happiest little laugh. "I love you."
"I know."
Oscar smiled, brushing another curl away from his forehead. "I love you too."
Then, Oscar pulled the blanket back over Lando's shoulders, picked up his book with one hand, intertwined their fingers again with the other, and settled back into the couch.
Lando watched him for a long moment before closing his eyes.
Safe, warm, completely, hopelessly loved. He'd never admit it out loud...but getting sick wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
Not when it showed him, beyond any doubt, exactly what it felt like to be cared for by his boyfriend Oscar.
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
The next morning, Lando felt...human again.
His throat was still scratchy, his nose was still annoyingly blocked, but the fever had broken sometime during the night.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains and Oscar was gone.
Lando frowned. "Oscar?"
"I'm in here."
The voice came from the kitchen.
Lando shuffled out in a pair of sweatpants, hair sticking up in every direction.
Oscar looked up from the stove. "There he is."
Lando sniffled dramatically. "I've survived."
"Barely."
"I fought bravely."
"You watched three Disney films and cried during two."
"They were emotional."
"They were Cars and Finding Nemo."
"They're masterpieces."
Oscar laughed, setting another piece of toast onto a plate.
"Sit."
Lando obeyed immediately.
Oscar placed breakfast in front of him. Perfect toast, scrambled eggs, coffee.
Lando blinked. "You made breakfast."
"I did."
"You cooked."
Oscar shrugged. "I didn't want orange juice in the eggs."
Lando gasped. "I said I was sorry."
"You'll be saying sorry until retirement."
"I've apologized at least twelve times."
"Thirteen."
"You're keeping count?"
Oscar looked up innocently. "Maybe."
Lando smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.
Oscar had nowhere to be until later that afternoon. Lando had been banned from leaving the apartment until he was completely better, which was Oscar's rule...not Lando's.
Though Lando secretly liked it.
He took another bite before looking over. "Oscar?"
"Hm?"
"...thanks again."
Oscar looked up. "For breakfast?"
"For everything."
Oscar smiled. "You've thanked me about thirty times."
"I know."
"You can stop."
"I don't want to."
Oscar reached across the island and squeezed his hand. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know."
"So stop saying thank you."
"I can't."
Oscar tilted his head. "Why?"
Lando looked down at their intertwined fingers. "Because no one's ever looked after me like that before."
Oscar's expression changed instantly. "Lando..."
"I mean it."
Lando shrugged awkwardly. "I've always just...sort of dealt with things."
"You don't have to anymore."
Lando looked back up and Oscar was already looking at him.
"You've got me now."
It was such a simple sentence. Yet somehow they wrapped around Lando's heart so tightly he thought it might burst.
He stood up without thinking and walked around the island, stopping in front of Oscar.
Oscar looked up at him. "What?"
Instead of answering, Lando cupped Oscar's face. "You know you're kind of amazing?"
Oscar smiled. "I've heard mixed reviews."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"You canceled everything."
"I did."
"You barely left my side."
"Mhm."
"You kept checking my temperature every hour."
"You kept pretending you weren't cold."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
"...fine."
Oscar laughed.
"I know you."
Lando leaned down and kissed him.
Oscar rested his forehead against his. "You feeling better?"
"A lot."
"Good."
"You fixed me."
"I think your immune system deserves some credit."
"I'm giving you all of it."
Oscar rolled his eyes. "I'll let your white blood cells know."
Lando laughed. Then his smile faded into something softer. "Oscar?"
"Hm?"
"I've been thinking."
Oscar immediately looked concerned. "That's dangerous."
Lando snorted. "Shut up."
"I'm listening."
Lando looked at him for a long second. "You know..."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think I tell you enough."
Oscar waited patiently.
"How much I love you."
Oscar's face softened. "You tell me."
"I know."
"But..."
Lando shrugged. "I don't think you realize."
Oscar stood. "I realize."
"No." Lando shook his head. "I really don't think you do."
Oscar frowned slightly. "Lando."
"I mean..."
He smiled, a little shy. "I've loved you for ages."
Oscar smiled. "I know."
"But this week..."
Lando looked around the apartment. "This week made me fall even harder."
Oscar's breath caught.
"You took care of me. You laughed with me, you held me, you stayed." Lando looked him right in the eyes. "I don't think I could ever love anyone the way I love you."
Oscar didn't speak immediately...instead he reached forward and tucked one of Lando's curls behind his ear. The same way he always did.
"You know what I was thinking this week?"
Lando shook his head.
Oscar smiled. "I was thinking how lucky I am."
"Lucky?"
"Mhm."
"You somehow make me laugh every single day."
Lando smiled.
"You make this apartment feel alive. You make ordinary things my favorite memories." He gently rested his hands on Lando's waist. "And even when you're sick..." Oscar quietly. "...you're still my favorite person to spend time with."
Lando felt tears prick his eyes.
"Oh, don't cry."
"I'm not crying."
"You've got the face."
"I don't have a face."
"You've absolutely got the face."
Lando laughed through the tears threatening to appear. "I hate you."
Oscar grinned. "No, you don't."
"No..."
Lando leaned in until their noses bumped. "I really, really don't."
Oscar kissed him, and when they separated, Oscar whispered, "I love you."
Lando smiled. "I love you more."
"I don't think that's measurable."
"It is."
"You've made it into a competition."
"I'll win."
Oscar laughed. "You usually think you win."
"I usually do."
Oscar stole another quick kiss. "You definitely don't."
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. They watched another movie and Lando only fell asleep twice this time...which was progress.
By night, the apartment had settled into that comfortable silence they both loved.
Oscar was changing into one of his Mclaren shirts after his shower when he heard Lando's voice from the bedroom.
"...Oscar?"
"Mhm?"
"You coming?"
Oscar walked into the room, towel still draped around his neck.
Lando was already buried beneath the duvet, only his curls poking out.
"What?"
Lando patted the empty side of the bed. "Stay?"
Oscar blinked, then a smile slowly spread across his face. "Lando."
"What?"
"We live together."
"I know."
Oscar folded his arms. "I'm literally coming to bed."
"I know."
"So..."
Lando smiled sheepishly. "I still wanted to ask you to stay."
Oscar laughed so hard he had to sit down on the edge of the mattress. "You absolute muppet."
"I've been told."
Oscar reached over and brushed his knuckles across Lando's cheek. "I wasn't planning on moving out tonight."
"I just..."
Lando looked down. "...like falling asleep next to you."
Oscar's heart melted all over again. He pulled back the duvet and climbed into bed.
The second he settled against the pillows, Lando was there...scooting across the mattress, wrapping both arms around Oscar's torso, resting his head against his chest like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Oscar kissed the top of his curls. "There."
"There."
"You happy?"
"Mhm."
Oscar wrapped one arm around him and rubbed slow circles over his back. "You know..."
"What?"
"You didn't have to ask."
"I know."
"You never have to ask."
Lando looked up. "I don't?"
Oscar shook his head. "This is my home." He smiled. Then gently tapped Lando's chest. "And you're home too."
Lando's eyes immediately watered. "Oh no."
"What?"
"You've done it again."
Oscar frowned. "Done what?"
"You've made me emotional."
"I seem to do that a lot."
"It's really inconvenient."
Oscar laughed. "I'll try to be less lovable."
"I'd like to see you try."
"I'd fail."
"You absolutely would."
Oscar smiled. "I love you, Lan."
Lando tightened his arms around him just a little. "I love you too, Osc."
They lay there for another few minutes, saying nothing.
The room was quiet.
Oscar closed his eyes, smiling into Lando's hair, the both of them drifting off in each other's arms...
The apartment smelled like garlic, butter, and fresh basil.
Lina stood barefoot in the kitchen, completely in her own world.
Lana Del Rey played through the speakers while she worked. Flour dusted the counter. Strands of hair kept falling into her face, and every few minutes she'd blow them away dramatically before continuing to roll out pasta dough.
She was wearing one of those simple slip dresses Charles loved...comfortable and effortless. The kind of thing she'd throw on while cooking dinner and somehow still look like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
The music switched to an older song she loved, and Lina immediately started dancing.
Not real dancing, just little movements. A sway of her hips, a spin while carrying a bowl, a ridiculous attempt at twirling across the kitchen.
She laughed at herself when she almost slipped. "Good recovery," she told herself...then she went back to stirring sauce.
She had absolutely no idea the front door had opened thirty seconds earlier or that Charles was standing there watching.
For a bit, he didn't move, he just stood there smiling.
Two weeks, two whole weeks. A double header always felt longer somehow.
Flights...media...meetings. The constant chaos of F1.
And while he loved racing, there was always a point during a race weekend where he'd find himself staring at his phone looking at photos of Lina.
Usually around midnight...usually when he was exhausted...usually when he missed home, missed her.
And now she was right there, dancing badly in the kitchen while making dinner and talking to herself...while Charles honestly thought he might be the luckiest man alive.
Lina turned around to grab something from the counter and Charles saw his chance.
A grin spread across his face as he quietly crossed the kitchen.
Lina was humming along with the music now, still completely unaware.
Charles reached her and wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her against him.
Lina screamed and the wooden spoon in her hand went flying.
"OH MY GOD!"
Charles immediately started laughing.
She spun around so fast she nearly headbutted him, then her eyes widened. "CHARLES!"
His grin got bigger. "Hello, baby."
Her shocked expression melted instantly and the next second she launched herself at him.
Charles caught her automatically. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his wrapped around her waist. And suddenly neither of them were laughing anymore...Bbcause they were kissing.
The kind of kiss that came from missing someone.
Lina smiled against his lips. "I hate you."
Charles kissed her again. "No you don't."
Another kiss.
"You scared me."
Another.
"I know."
Another.
"I missed you."
His smile softened immediately.
"Yeah?"
She nodded.
"So much."
Something warm settled in his chest. Because no matter how many years passed, hearing that never got old.
"Missed you too."
He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose...making her laugh.
"I missed your face."
Kiss.
"I missed your voice."
Kiss.
"I missed your cooking."
Lina narrowed her eyes. "Interesting order."
Charles laughed. "What?"
"My face."
"Important."
"My voice."
"Very important."
"My cooking."
"The most important."
She smacked his shoulder and Charles nearly fell over laughing.
God...he loved this woman, more than anything.
Lina reached up and caresses his jaw. "You're tired."
He leaned into her hand. "A little."
"You look tired."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Charles groaned dramatically. "See? This is what I miss. The emotional support."
She rolled her eyes. "Poor baby."
"The hardest life."
"So difficult."
"The worst."
Lina was still smiling when he pulled her closer again, his face disappearing into her neck.
He inhaled deeply...he was home.
She smelled like vanilla, flour and whatever shampoo she used. It immediately relaxed him.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
Charles nodded. "Yeah."
His voice was softer now.
"Just happy to be here."
Lina's expression melted...because she knew what race weekends were like, knew how exhausting they could be, knew how much pressure sat on his shoulders.
So she simply wrapped her arms around him and held him for a second.
Charles kissed her temple, then slowly let out a breath.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'm better."
She laughed. "Good."
His hands settled on her waist, then slowly started traveling down to her ass.
Lina immediately pointed a finger at him. "Charles."
"What?"
She gave him a look.
His innocent expression was absolutely fake.ย
"Don't 'what' me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're impossible."
Charles grinned. "You are dating me."
"Unfortunately."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
He gasped dramatically. "You wound me."
Lina laughed, then carefully turned back toward the stove.
"Dinner first."
Charles immediately wrapped himself around her again...like a giant clingy boyfriend.
"Charles."
"Hm?"
"Dinner first."
"Hm."
She sighed.
"You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"What did I say?"
He buried his face in her shoulder. "No idea."
"Exactly."
Charles looked down into the pot and his eyes widened.
"Pasta?"
She smiled proudly. "Homemade."
His eyebrows shot up. "My favorite?"
"Your favorite."
Charles immediately looked emotional. "Marry me."
Lina laughed. "Give me a ring."
"Oh it's coming..."
She laughed so hard she nearly dropped the spoon.
Charles watched her for a moment, then a very specific look appeared on his face.
The look.
Lina immediately recognized it. "Oh no."
"Oh yes."
"No."
"Maybe."
She pointed the spoon at him. "Charles."
He ignored it, completely. "Question."
"No."
"You don't know the question."
"I know exactly the question."
His grin got bigger. "I want dessert."
She closed her eyes. "There it is."
Charles looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Dessert before dinner? You look too good in that dress right now..."
Lina felt her face heat immediately. "Charles!"
"What?"
His expression was shameless, absolutely shameless.
"I've been gone for two weeks."
She was trying very hard not to laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"I know."
"Hopeless."
"Probably."
"Unbelievable."
"Definitely."
Charles stole a quick kiss, then another...then another. Because apparently he couldn't help himself.
Lina finally shoved his face away. "Genuinely impossible."
He looked very proud of that description. "Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It felt like one."
She laughed, then the timer on the oven suddenly beeped.
Lina pointed dramatically. "See?"
Charles sighed. "The universe hates me."
"The universe wants you to eat first."
"I don't like this universe."
She shook her head, then reached for a tray. Before she could grab it, Charles stepped forward.
"I got it."
Lina paused. "Oh."
He pulled the tray out carefully and set it down.
"What?"
She smiled. "Nothing."
His expression softened too. "Lina."
"What?"
"I missed taking care of you."
That caught her off guard...because it was such a Charles thing to say. Something sweet hidden inside something simple.
Her heart squeezed, so she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.
Charles immediately hugged her back and leaned down, kissing her lips again, slow and sweet. The kind that made her smile halfway through it.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. "I'm home."
Lina's smile immediately softened. "Yeah," she whispered. "You are."
Charles pulled back. His breathing had changed.
"So is dinner ready at this exact moment?" he asked.
Lina paused, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "Um...yes. Yes, itโs ready. I just need to-"
"Good."
And then without warning, Charles bent down and scooped her up into his arms.
"Charles!"
Her legs kicked instinctively, one hand flying up to grip his shoulder for balance. The kitchen spun around her, and then she was cradled against his chest, her face level with his.
"What are you doing?" She was laughing now, breathless. "Dinner is literally ready. Right there. I spent so long on your favorite pasta!"
Charles was already walking, carrying her out of the kitchen and toward the hallway that led to their bedroom. His arms didnโt even shake under her weight, and that shouldnโt have been as attractive as it was.
"Pasta can wait."
"Itโll get cold."
"I donโt care at this point, ma belle."
"Charles-"
He stopped walking. Looked down at her. And the expression on his face...the desire mixed with something softer, something that looked an awful lot like adoration...made her complaints die in her throat.
"Li," he said quietly. "Iโve been gone for two weeks. Fourteen days of hotel rooms and debriefs calls and eating alone in restaurants that were too loud. Fourteen days of lying in bed at night thinking about you. Wondering what you were doing. Wondering if you were thinking about me too."
His voice cracked on the last word.ย
"So no, I donโt want your delicious pasta right now." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I want dessert first."
Lina felt heat bloom across her skin. "Oh."
"Yeah.ย Oh.ย "
He started walking again.
The bedroom door was already open and Charles kicked it shut behind them with his heel.
Then he tossed her onto the bed.
Lina bounced against the mattress, a surprised laugh escaping her lips, and before she could push herself up on her elbows, Charles was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at her. His chest was rising and falling faster now, his jaw was tight.
"Donโt move," he said. "Just...let me look at you."
She stayed where she was, propped up on her elbows, suddenly very aware of how the dress had ridden up her thighs. The hem, which normally fell just above her knees, was now bunched around her upper thighs. The red silk contrasted against her skin, and when she shifted slightly, she felt cool air against the damp fabric of her thong.
Charles saw it too.
His eyes dropped to the exposed curve of her thighs, to the thin strip of lace that covered her, and he made a sound that Lina had never heard him make before. A kind of pained, hungry noise that started deep in his throat and seemed to get stuck there.
"Two weeks," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Twoย weeks, Li."
"I know."
"Youโre already wet for me."
It wasnโt a question. Lina felt her face blush, but she didnโt look away. "I missed you."
Charles closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to gather himself. When he opened them again, they were darker, more focused.
"Iโm going to take my time with you tonight," he said, and the promise in his voice made her thighs press together involuntarily. "But right now, I need to taste you.ย Needย to, Li. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her voice suddenly not working.
"Words, ma belle."
"Yes." It came out breathier than she intended. "Yes, I understand."
His hands went to her ankles first.
Slowly...agonizingly slowly...Charles caressed her ankles. His thumbs pressed into the arches of her feet, and Linaโs head fell back against the mattress as a moan slipped out. She hadnโt realized how sore she was from standing at the stove.
"Feel good?"
"Mmhmm."
He worked his way up her calves, fingers kneading the muscle there, and she could feel herself melting into the bed. Two weeks without his touch, and every point of contact felt magnified. Like her skin had been waiting for him.
When his hands reached her knees, he stopped. "Look at me."
She lifted her head. Charles was watching her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"I want to see you," he said. "When I make you fall apart. I want to see and savor every second of it."
Linaโs stomach tightened. "Okay."
"Good girl."
The words hit her like a physical touch. Heat spread through her chest, down her belly, pooling between her thighs. Sheโd always had a thing for praise, especially from him, and he knew it. Heโd figured it out early in their relationship...how sheโd flush whenever he complimented her, how her breathing would change when he told her she was doing well.
He used it mercilessly now.
Charles hooked his fingers under the hem of her dress and began sliding it up. The silk whispered against her skin, and Lina lifted her hips to help him, letting him pull it over her head and toss it aside. Now she was lying in just her black lace thong, her breasts bare, and the way he looked at her made her feel like the most beautiful thing heโd ever seen.
"Youโre so pretty," he whispered. "I donโt tell you that enough."
"You tell me all the time."
"Not enough." He lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. His shoulders pushed her thighs apart, and Lina could feel the warmth of his breath against her inner thigh. "Lie back for me."
She did.
The first kiss he pressed to her thigh was soft, barely there. The second was open mouthed, his tongue tracing a small circle against her skin. By the time he reached the edge of her underwear, Lina was gripping the sheets in anticipation.
"Charles."
"I know, ma belle." His voice vibrated against her. "Iโve got you."
He hooked a finger under the lace and pulled it aside, and then his mouth was on her pussy, and Lina stopped thinking entirely.
The sound she made was broken...half gasp, half moan. Charles groaned against her slick skin, his tongue moving through her folds like he was starving, like she was the first meal heโd had in weeks. One of his hands pressed flat against her lower belly, holding her in place, and the other gripped her thigh hard enough that she knew sheโd have marks tomorrow.
She didnโt care.
"You taste-" He broke away just long enough to speak, his voice wrecked, "-so fucking good, Li.ย Deliciously all mine."
Then his mouth was back on her, and his tongue circled her clit, and Linaโs hips bucked up without her permission. Charles just pressed her down harder, taking what he wanted, making sounds of satisfaction that she felt vibrating through her entire body.
Two weeks. Two weeks without this. Without him. Her body was wound so tight she felt like she might snap at any moment.
Charles sucked her clit between his lips, pressing his tongue flat against it, and Lina cried out. Her hands came up to grab at his hair, tugging hard, but he didnโt seem to notice. He was completely focused on her, on drawing out every sound she made, on the way her thighs were shaking around his head.
"Charles!!! Charles, I-"
He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his chin glistened. His eyes were wild. "What is it, ma belle?"
"Iโm so close."
"Already?" There was no judgment in his voice, only satisfaction. "Iโve barely started eating you out."
"Two weeks," she managed, and he laughed, before lowering his mouth to her again.
This time he didnโt tease. His tongue worked her with single minded purpose, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her clit, and Lina felt the pressure building in her core, building and building until she couldnโt see straight.
"Youโre doing so well," Charles said against her, the words muffled but clear. "Being so good for me. Can you let go? Can you cum for me, Li?"
She nodded frantically, unable to form words anymore. Her hips were moving in rhythm with his mouth, chasing the feeling, and every nerve in her body was focused on the point where his tongue met her clit.
"Come on. Let me feel you."
She let go.
The orgasm coursed through her, and Linaโs back arched off the bed as a moan was screamed from her lips.ย
"Yes Charles! Yes!"
Her fingers twisted in his hair, holding him against her as her hips bucked and her thighs clenched around his head. The pleasure radiated outward from her core, white hot and consuming, making her toes curl and her stomach muscles flex.
And Charles didnโt stop. He worked her through it, his tongue gentler now but still moving, drawing out every last spasm until she was trembling, oversensitive and gasping for air. Only then did he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs, her hip bones, the curve of her belly.
"Look at you. Look how gorgeous you are when you cum for me."
Lina couldnโt respond. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, her chest heaving, little aftershocks rippling through her. She felt wrung out, dismantled. She felt like sheโd forgotten her own name.
Charles crawled up her body, his weight settling over her, and when she opened her eyes, he was smiling.
He was still fully clothed. His dress shirt was wrinkled beyond saving now, and there was a damp spot on his shirt from where sheโd been grinding against his face. The sight of it...of him, fully dressed while she lay naked and ruined beneath him, made her stomach flip.
"Hi baby," he said.
"Hi." Her voice came out raspy. "That was-"
"Mm hmm." He dipped his head to kiss her, and she could taste herself on his lips. "That was nothing. Iโve got two weeks of making up to do."
His mouth moved to her jaw, then her neck, and Lina let her head fall to the side to give him better access. "Youโre still dressed."
"I noticed."
He pulled back and sat up on his knees, straddling her hips. His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and Lina watched as he worked them open one by one, revealing more of his chest with each inch. The muscles of his stomach tightened under her gaze. Heโd always been fit, but he looked even better now...maybe from all the hotel gym workouts heโd mentioned in his texts.
The shirt slid off, revealing his broad and strong shoulders. Then his hands went to his belt.
"How many times?" he asked. Something that made her pulse quicken.
"How many times what?"
"How many times did you touch yourself while I was gone?"
Lina felt her face go hot. "Charles-"
"Tell me." He unfastened his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers in one smooth motion. His big cock sprang free, thick and already slick at the tip, and Linaโs mouth went dry at the sight of it. "I want to know."
He lowered himself over her again, propped up on his forearms. The heat of his cock pressed against her, skin to skin from chest to hip, and she could feel the weight of his erection against her thigh.
"I didnโt," she said, meeting his eyes.
Charles raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"I was a good girl for you."
Something flickered across his face...surprise, maybe, or disbelief. He stared her for a long moment, and Lina held his gaze, even though she could feel the lie burning at the back of her throat.
"Li." He said her name softly. "Youโre telling me that for two weeks you didnโt touch yourself even once? Not even to the thought of what I would do to you when I got home?"
She hesitated for just a second too long.
"Ah." Charlesโs smile turned dark. "There it is."
"I just-"
"How many times?"
She swallowed hard. "Charles, I didnโt mean to-"
"How many?" His voice was still gentle, but the possessiveness underneath was unmistakable.
"Four," she whispered.
"Four what?"
"Four times."
He made a sound that she couldnโt read. "Four times. When I specifically told you to wait for me."
"I know." She felt small suddenly, in a way that should have been uncomfortable but wasnโt. "I know, Iโm sorry, I just...I missed you so much and I couldnโt help it and-"
"Shhh." He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Itโs okay. Iโm not angry."
She blinked up at him. "Youโre not?"
"No. I think it's so sexy you took care of yourself while I was gone..." He leaned down, his mouth brushing against her ear. "But you know what happens to bad girls, donโt you, ma belle?"
Before she could answer, he fully thrust his cock inside her. He was so deep and she was so wet.
Lina gasped, her back arching off the mattress. He was big and the stretch of him made her eyes water. Her hands scrambled for something to grab...deciding on his shoulders, nails digging in.
"Oh my god."
"Thatโs it." Charlesโs voice was strained, his forehead pressing against hers. "Take all of me. You can do it...youโre doing so good, Li."
He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then thrust back in. Harder this time, deeper. Linaโs moan caught in her throat.
"My good girl," he coaxed, setting a deep rhythm now. The bed creaked under them. "Even when youโre bad, youโre still so good for me."
The praise washed over her, making her feel warm and safe and wanted, even as his pace increased. His hips slammed against hers, driving into her with enough force that the headboard started tapping against the wall.
"Four times," Charles said, his voice somehow still steady even as his breathing grew ragged. "Four times you touched yourself without me. Without asking. What did you think about?"
"You." The word was punched out of her with each thrust. "Always you."
"Tell me."
"I thought about-" She broke off on a moan as he angled his hips differently, hitting a spot that made her vision go white. "About your strong hands. Your lips. The way you say my name."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Charles,ย pleaseย -"
He brought his hand up to her throat, just resting there, his palm flat against her collarbone, his fingers curled loosely around the sides of her neck. The weight of it, the implication, made Linaโs inner walls flutter around him.
"You like that," he breathed. "You like knowing youโre mine."
She nodded, unable to speak.
His fingers tightened slightly...just enough that she could feel her pulse beating against his palm. "Say it."
"Iโm yours."
"Thatโs right." He thrust harder, deeper, and Linaโs eyes rolled back. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you sound like this. Youโreย mine, Li."
He released her throat and brought both hands to her breasts instead. His fingers found her nipples, already pebbled tight, and pinched.
Lina moaned.
The pleasure pain shot through her like electricity. Her hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, her legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper. She could feel another orgasm building, different from the first...more intense, coiling low in her belly.
"Iโm close," she gasped. "Charles, Iโm close again."
"Already?" His laugh was breathless. "So am I. Can you hold on for me? Just a little longer?"
"I donโt...I donโt know if I can-"
"You can." His lips found hers, the kiss messy and desperate. "You can because youโre my good girl and you want to make me happy, donโt you?"
"Yes. Yes, I want to-"
"Then hold it. Just a little bit longer. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded frantically, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. The pressure was almost unbearable now, every nerve ending screaming for release. Her thighs were shaking. Her hands were shaking. She could feel a tear slipping down her cheek, and she didnโt know if it was from the overwhelming pleasure or from the sheer effort of holding back.
Charlesโs thrusting was becoming erratic. He was close too...she could tell by the way his thrusts were losing their control, by the way his breathing had turned to harsh panting against her neck.
"You did so well," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "So good for me, Li. My perfect girl. Even when youโre naughty, youโre perfect. Iโm going to spend the whole week making you feel good. Every day. Every night. Iโm going to worship every inch of you until you canโt take anymore. My beautiful girl."
His hand slid down between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit. "Now, cum."
She broke.
The orgasm ripped through her, more intense than the first, stealing her breath, her voice and her vision all at once. Her inner walls clenched around him in pulses, and she felt his cock twitch inside her, felt the hot rush of his cum as he groaned her name against her throat. His hips kept moving, riding out the waves of pleasure, and his thumb never stopped circling her clit, drawing out every last spasm until she was writhing beneath him, overstimulated and trembling and utterly undone.
"Charles...I canโt...itโs too much...."
He stilled immediately, but he didnโt pull out.
For a bit, they didn't move. Lina could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, could feel Charlesโs pulse pounding against her chest where they were pressed together. His face was buried in her neck, his breath hot and uneven against her skin.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were soft now. The wildness had faded, replaced by something sweet. Something that made her heart squeeze tight in her chest.
"Hi," he said again.
Lina laughed weakly. "You keep saying that."
"Because every time I see your face, I feel like Iโm meeting you for the first time all over again.โ"He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "I love you, Li."
"I love you too."
He kissed her and then pulled out with a quiet groan. Lina winced at the loss, suddenly aware of how empty she felt without him inside her.
Charles rolled onto his side and immediately tugged her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.ย
"So," he said after a second, "four times."
She groaned. "Are you really going to hold that against me?"
"Iโm definitely going to hold it against you." He nipped at her earlobe. "Youโre going to have to work to earn back your good girl status."
"And how do I do that?"
His hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, and squeezed. "I have a few ideas."
Before she could respond, a loud beeping sound echoed from the kitchen.
The pasta.
"Shit," Lina said, pushing herself up on her elbows. "The timer for the pasta. I forgot to turn off the stove."
"Let it burn."
"Charles!"
He laughed and let her go, flopping onto his back. "Fine. Go save the pasta. But Iโm not done with you."
Lina scrambled off the bed, her legs still shaky, and grabbed Charlesโs shirt from the floor. She buttoned it quickly and it fell to her mid thigh.
"Li?"
She paused, looking back over her shoulder.
He was watching her with a smile that made her stomach flip. His body was sprawled across the rumpled sheets, still gloriously naked, and there was a satisfied look in his eyes that made her want to crawl right back into bed and forget about dinner entirely.
"Hurry back," he said. "Weโve got a whole two weeks to make up for."
Lina smiled and slipped out the door, her bare feet padding down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Behind her, she heard Charles call out one last thing.
"Oh, and Li?"
"Yeah?"
"That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me."
She was still smiling when she headed into the kitchen, her mind already racing ahead to the rest of the night, to the week stretched out before them, full of promise and pleasure and the kind of joy that only came from being with someone who knew you completely.
Carlos knew something was wrong the second he walked into the apartment.
Not bad wrong, just...weird wrong.
The front door wasn't even fully shut before he heard unfamiliar voices coming from deeper inside the penthouse.
He frowned. "Hello?"
A loud bang echoed from the bedroom, then another.
Carlos immediately dropped his bag near the door. "Charlotte?"
No answer.
His eyebrows pulled together. The last thing he expected after a long simulator day was to come home to what sounded like construction work.
He followed the noise down the hallway before stopping dead.
Two delivery men were carrying a metal object.
Carlos tensed. "What..."
One of the men looked up and his expression immediately shifted into a grin. "Oh."
The guy laughed. "Oh, you're him."
Carlos stared. "...I'm me?"
The second delivery man nearly dropped his side from laughing. "Yeah. You're definitely him."
Carlos looked between them, then looked at the metal item, then back at them.
"What exactly is happening in my house?"
The first delivery guy scratched the back of his neck. "You don't know?"
"No."
The two men exchanged a look, a look that instantly made Carlos suspicious.
Then both started grinning. "Oh, man."
Carlos narrowed his eyes. "What?"
The first guy set down his side of the equipment. "Your girlfriend is a legend."
The second one immediately nodded. "Absolute legend."
Carlos was even more confused now. "What did she buy?"
Neither man answered, instead they started laughing harder.
Carlos pointed dramatically. "No. Tell me."
The first guy shook his head. "Mate, if she didn't tell you, I'm definitely not telling you."
The second guy reached over and patted Carlos on the shoulder. "Just trust us."
Carlos groaned. "I hate everyone."
The delivery men finished setting everything up in the bedroom and a few minutes later they were heading back toward the front door.
Before leaving, the first guy shook Carlos's hand. "Congratulations."
Carlos stared. "For what?"
The man grinned. "For having excellent taste in women."
The second guy pointed down the hall.
"And enjoy."
Then both disappeared out the door as Carlos stood frozen in the hallway.
Silence filled the apartment.ย
"...Char?"
A voice immediately floated down. "Bedroom, my love!"
Oh...now he was definitely suspicious.
The second Carlos stepped into the bedroom suite, he stopped walking. His brain completely short circuited.
Right in the corner of the room...between the floor to ceiling windows and their sitting area, was a dancers pole.
A very expensive looking dance pole, a very definitely not accidental dance pole.
Carlos stared, then stared some more, then finally looked toward the source of a giggle.
Charlotte sat cross legged on the edge of their bed, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Her smile widened. "Surprise."
Carlos pointed, like that somehow explained everything.
Charlotte laughed. "Carlos."
He pointed harder. "The pole."
"Yes."
"The pole."
"Correct."
Carlos looked at her. Looked at the pole, then looked back at her. His realization finally hit.
"Oh my god."
Charlotte immediately started laughing.
His eyes widened. "Oh my god."
She buried her face in her hands. "Carlos."
"You bought a stripper pole."
"Maybe."
"You bought a stripper pole!"
"Carlos."
"You bought it!!"
She couldn't stop laughing now.
Carlos looked genuinely delighted. Like a kid who had just discovered Christmas happened twice a year.
"Char."
"What?"
His grin was ridiculous.
"What?"
"You bought a stripper pole."
Charlotte threw a pillow at him and he caught it effortlessly, still grinning...cearly having the best day of his life.
She shook her head. "You are unbelievable."
"I'm in love."
"You were already in love."
"I'm more in love."
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but the grin never left her face.
Carlos walked over slowly looking at the pole again.
"You know."
She already knew that tone. "Carlos."
"Just saying."
"Carlos."
"This might be the greatest investment you've ever made."
She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed, but he immediately caught her, pulling her against him.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck...smiling.
Carlos kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then he looked down at her.
"Question."
"Oh no."
His eyes sparkled. "Is there a reason for this?"
Charlotte bit her lip. "Maybe I wanted to surprise you."
Carlos nodded thoughtfully. "I support this."
"I figured."
"I support this very much."
Charlotte laughed, then slowly stepped backward. A mischievous look appeared on her face.
One Carlos knew very well, the dangerous look. The look that usually ended with him losing every coherent thought in his head.
His smile faded slightly, mostly because he suddenly realized something.
"Wait."
Charlotte tilted her head. "What?"
Carlos pointed toward the pole again. The man truly had one operating brain cell left.
Charlotte folded her arms. "Carlos."
"Are you..."
He swallowed. "...planning to use it?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
Carlos nearly choked. The poor man looked like he needed medical attention.
She walked closer, stopping directly in front of him, then reached up...running her hands down his shirt.
"I have a question now."
Carlos nodded immediately.
"Do you want me to dance for you, baby?"
Silence, complete silence.
Carlos stared.
Charlotte waited, then waited some more.
Finally...
"Is that even a real question?"
Charlotte burst out laughing.
Carlos was already nodding. "Yes."
"Very enthusiastic."
"Very."
She shook her head. "You are ridiculous."
"And yet."
He spread his arms dramatically. "You continue choosing me."
Charlotte rolled her eyes, then kissed him quickly.
"Sit on the couch."
Carlos immediately sat. No hesitation, no dignity, no shame. Just instant compliance.
Charlotte laughed as she disappeared into their closet.
The second she vanished from sight, Carlos ran both hands over his face.
"Madre mia."
A few minutes later, the bedroom lights dimmed.
The familiar opening of Rihanna's "Pour It Up" filled the room.
Carlos immediately started laughing...of course, of course it was this song...their song.
The inside joke that had somehow survived years of dating. The lyric that sounded suspiciously close to his last name.
Finally Charlotte stepped back into the room and Carlos forgot every single thought he'd ever had.
Red, of course she chose red...his favorite color. The color that somehow looked unfairly good on her.
Charlotte looked nervous for exactly two seconds, then their eyes met and the confidence returned instantly.
Carlos leaned back into the couch, completely captivated.
The music filled the roo and Charlotte smiled, the playful smile he loved...the one that always got him.
The dance started slowly. Confident, teasing, more playful than serious at first.
Which somehow made it worse for him...because she kept looking directly at him.
Every smile, every look, every little smirk...it was all aimed at him.
Carlos shook his head, muttering something in Spanish under his breath.
Charlotte laughed. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
Carlos groaned. "You are so fucking beautiful."
Carlos pointed at her. "See?"
"See what?"
"This is unfair."
She laughed. "What's unfair?"
He gestured dramatically. "All of this."
Carlos couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was.
Not because of the dance, or the dress. Because it was Charlotte, his Charlotte.
The woman who made him laugh every day, the woman who stole his hoodies, the woman who somehow managed to surprise him after all these years, the woman who knew him well enough to buy a dance pole and make it an entire thing.
Carlos leaned back against the couch watching her, grinning like an idiot. Completely enchanted, completely in love.
And judging by the smug look Charlotte sent his way, she knew what was happening next.
โฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟโฟ
A new song thumped through the floors, a slow, filthy beat that Charlotte had picked specifically to take it to the next level.. She'd spent an hour curating the playlist before Carlos came home. Something that started sultry and built into something that made her hips want to roll without her brain's permission.
Carlos was a mess on the couch, like a king watching his queen. His knees were spread wide, his arms draped over the armrests, his jaw already tight. She'd told him to keep his hands to himself.ย
No touching, not yet.
"You're staring," she purred, her back to him as she let her fingers trail up the pole she'd been leaning against.
"Hard not to, mi vida."
She turned her head just enough to catch his face...the sharp line of his nose, the way his throat worked when he swallowed. He was wearing those gray sweatpants she loved, the ones that hid absolutely nothing.
Charlotte started walking toward him, her hips swaying with the beat. Her red dress was long gone and now all she had on was a black lace set. A pretty bra that pushed her breasts up and together in a way that always made Carlos's eyes trail. The matching thong sat high on her hips, sheer enough that she knew he could see the shadow of her core if he looked closely...and he was looking.
"You like this?" She let her voice drop, teasing. One hand slid up her stomach, fingers grazing the underwire of her bra.
Carlos didn't answer right away. His knuckles had gone white where he gripped the armrests.
"Baby," she prompted, stopping two feet from him. "I asked you a question."
"Yes." The word came out rough, scraped from somewhere deep in his chest. "I like it."
She smiled, slow and satisfied, and let her body start to move again. She rolled her hips in a figure eight, watching Carlos watch her, and when she turned around to give him the view of her back, she arched deep, looking at him over her shoulder. Her hair spilled down her spine and she let her hands travel the length of her own body...waist, hips, the curve of her ass.
Carlos shifted in the chair. The movement was small, but she caught it. The way his hips adjusted, the way his fingers flexed against the fabric.
"Lower your sweatpants," she said.
His head snapped up. "What?"
"You heard me." She kept dancing, kept rolling, let her hands come up to tangle in her own hair. "I want to see you touch yourself while I dance for you, baby."
The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a prayer. His hands moved to his waistband, but they were clumsy, uncoordinated in a way that made something excited bloom in her chest. Carlos was always so composed, so calm. Watching him come undone for her was its own kind of high.
He pushed the sweats and his boxer down his muscular hips, just enough, and his cock sprang free...already hard, already flushed, the tip slightly wet.
Charlotte's mouth went dry.
"Good boy," she whimpered, and she didn't miss the way his cock twitched at the words. "Now touch yourself for me. Nice and slow."
His hand wrapped around the base, and he stroked upward in a long, dragging pull that made his head fall back against the chair. A vein in his forearm stood out. His thick thighs tensed under the gray fabric still bunched around them.
"Look at you," Charlotte coaxed, still moving, still swaying. Her own body was starting to respond...the lace between her legs growing damp, the air in the room suddenly too warm. "You're so fucking sexy like this, Carlos. Stroking your big cock for me while I dance. Are you thinking about what comes next?"
His eyes met hers...dark and hungry. "I'm thinking about you."
"Tell me."
"Your tits in that bra. The way you move. How wet you're getting while I touch myself for you."
She laughed and hooked her thumbs into the band of her thong. His stroking stopped for half a second.
"Keep going," she demanded. "Don't stop."
He obeyed. God, he obeyed so beautifully. His hand worked his length in a steady rhythm now, not too fast, the way she liked. The way he knew she liked. Precum beaded at the tip, and she watched it gather, watched the way his thumb swiped through it on the next upward stroke, slicking the glide.
Charlotte turned again, facing away, and bent at the waist. Her panties came down inch by inch, peeling away from the swell of her ass, her thighs, the backs of her knees. She stepped out of them with grace and straightened, turning back to face him, and the way he looked at her made her feel like the most powerful woman alive.
"You're doing so well for me," she said, stepping closer. Her pussy was level with his eyeline now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "Look how hard you are. Look how good you are for me. I love your cock, baby. I love how it looks right now, so thick and wet at the tip."
Carlos's breath was coming in short exhales. His strokes were still controlled, but barely. She could see the strain in his forearm, the way his hips wanted to thrust up into his own grip.
"Do you want me?" She asked it softly, almost a whisper, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she leaned in.
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I want you. Fuck, Char, please. I need to be inside you."
Charlotte pulled back, tsking, though her own heart was racing so hard she could feel it in her throat. "Please isn't begging. You can do better than that, Carlos."
Something flickered in his eyes...a flash of heat, of challenge, but it was swallowed quickly by the raw need she'd been stoking for the past ten minutes. He swallowed hard, his hand still moving, still working that rhythm, and his voice cracked when he spoke.
"Please, mi vida. I need you. I've been sitting here, watching you, and I can't...I can't think straight. Your body is driving me insane. The way you dance, the way you smell, the way you look at me like you know exactly what you're doing to me. Please touch me. Please. I'll do anything. I'll be so good for you."
Charlotte's knees nearly buckled.
"That's my good boy," she whispered, and she meant it with every fiber of her being. "That's my perfect, perfect Carlos."
She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. The clasp gave way with a little sound, and she let the straps slide down her shoulders one at a time, holding the cups in place with her forearm for a long, teasing moment before letting the whole thing fall to the floor.
Carlos made a sound like he'd been punched.
His hand had stopped moving. He was staring at her chest, at the way they swayed as she stepped out of the fallen lace, at her nipples that were already tight and aching from the cold air and the wanting. She closed the distance between them and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, her knees bracketing his hips.
His cock pressed against her belly, hot and insistent. She could feel it twitch against her skin.
"Hands on my waist," she said. "You can touch me now."
His palms settled just above her hipbones, warm and shaking faintly. She rocked forward, just a little, and felt the slick slide of her own wetness against the fabric of his sweats still bunched at his thighs.ย
Carlos hissed through his teeth.
Charlotte leaned down and pressed her lips to the side of his neck.
The skin there was warm and she kissed him open mouthed, dragging her lips down the muscle, to the hollow of his throat. His pulse hammered against her tongue. She licked there, sucked gently, and felt his whole body tighten under her.
His hips bucked up.
"So responsive," she said against his skin. "I love how you react to me. I love how much you want this. You've been so patient, Carlos. So good. You let me dance, you let me tease, you touched yourself exactly like I asked."
His fingers dug into the soft skin of her hips. "Charlotte."
"Shh." She kissed lower, down to his collarbone, biting there. "I'm in control, remember? You gave me this. Let me enjoy it."
She rolled her hips in a slow grind, letting her slick pussy drag against the ridge of his cock. Not taking him in. Just friction, just torture. He was so hard it looked painful. The head of his cock, the shaft thick and veined and twitching every time her clit bumped against him.
His hands slid up from her waist, skating over her ribs, and she caught his wrists.
"Ah, ah. I didn't say you could do that."
Carlos let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a growl. "You're going to kill me."
"Good," she said, and leaned in to kiss him.
His mouth opened under hers instantly, hungrily, and the kiss was all tongue and desperation. She could taste the restraint in him, the coiled tension, the way he was holding himself back because she'd asked him to. Because he wanted to be good for her. The thought made her moan into his mouth, and she ground down harder, the base of his cock slipping between her folds, her own wetness making everything slick, obscene and perfect.
Then something shifted.
It was subtle at first...the way his hands broke her grip on his wrists, the way his shoulders squared under her touch. But then it wasn't subtle at all. His palms slid down to her thighs, and before she could process what was happening, he was standing, lifting her, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct alone.
"Carlos!"
"Shh," he said, and the single syllable was wrecked, raw, completely undone. "I know. I know you wanted to be in control, mi vida. I know."
He was walking, carrying her, her back hitting the mattress before she could protest again. He hovered over her, still mostly dressed, his cock jutting. The lamplight carved shadows into the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his jaw.
"Next time," he said, his voice dropping. "Next time you can have all the control you want. But right now-"
He yanked the sweats the rest of the way off, kicked them aside, and lowered himself over her. The weight of him was grounding, electric, and her hips rose to meet him without her permission.
"Right now," he continued, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "I need to fuck my sexy girlfriend until she can't walk or think."
The giggle that escaped her was half mad, half turned on. "That's so not fair. I had you exactly where I wanted you."
"You did." He pulled back to look at her, and there was something in his eyes that stole her breath...adoration, hunger and something possessive. "You're so fucking beautiful, Char. Watching you dance for me? Touching myself while you moved? I almost came right there in the chair like a teenager. You have no idea what you do to me."
Her pussy clenched around nothing. She could feel how wet she was, could feel it slicking the inside of her thighs, and from the way Carlos's nostrils flared, he could see it too.
"I have some idea," she managed.
"Yeah? Then you know I'm not going to last. I'm not going to be gentle."
"I don't want gentle."
"Good girl."
The words sent a bolt of heat straight to her clit. She whimpered and Carlos's smile turned sharp.
"You like that, don't you? Being my good girl now?" He settled between her thighs, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance, but not pushing in. Just pressing there, just teasing. "You spent all that time telling me how good I was, but look at you now. Spread out under me, dripping, begging."
"I'm not begging."
"Not yet."
His hips flexed, and the first inch of him pressed inside her.
Charlotte's back arched off the bed. Her mouth fell open. He was so thick, stretching her in a way that burned sweet and perfect, and she could feel every ridge and vein as he sank deeper, inch by torturous inch.
He stopped halfway, and she wanted to scream.
"Carlos," she gasped.
"What do you want, amor?"
"All of it. Please. Please, I need all of it."
He pushed in to the hilt in one smooth thrust.
The moan that tore out of her throat was guttural. Her legs wrapped higher around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. He filled her completely, perfectly, and for a moment neither of them moved.
Then his hips started to roll.
It wasn't a thrust, not yet. It was a slow, devastating grind that rubbed the base of his cock against her clit and the tip against something deep inside her that made stars bloom behind her eyelids. Her nails ran down his back, and he hissed in approval, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"So tight," he groaned against her skin. "So wet. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"
All she could do was nod, her voice gone, her thoughts gone, everything reduced to the place where their bodies met.
He pulled out suddenly, completely...and she cried out at the loss. But before the sound had finished leaving her lips, he flipped her onto her stomach.
"Up," he demanded, his hand sliding under her hips to lift them. "On your knees."
She scrambled to obey, her body moving before her brain caught up. Her face pressed into the pillows, her ass raised high, and the position made her feel exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
His palm came down on her ass, hard enough to make her gasp. The sting bloomed warm and bright.
"Look at you. Bent over for me like this. Your pretty pussy all spread open. You wanted control, but this is what you really need, isn't it? Someone to take you, to use you, to make you feel so good you can't think."
She tried to answer but she couldn't.
He pushed inside her again, and this angle was different...deeper, fuller, hitting places that made her vision white out at the edges. She gripped the sheets so hard she felt the threads strain.
Carlos set a punishing pounding. Every thrust drove the air from her lungs, every withdrawal left her empty and aching for the next. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her back onto his cock with each stroke, and the sound of their bodies fucking was the hottest thing she'd ever heard.
"Who do you belong to?" His voice was strained.
"You," she moaned. "You, Carlos, you."
"That's right." One hand left her hip and tangled in her hair, wrapping a fistful of it around his knuckles. He pulled, hard enough to tip her head back, enough to arch her spine into a bow. "You're mine. This pussy is mine. You danced for me. You made me stroke my cock for you. And now I'm going to fill you up until you can't hold any more of me."
The possession in his voice, the complete and utter ownership, was doing something devastating to her. Her orgasm was building low in her belly, a pressure that was too big for her body to contain. Her moans had turned into continuous cries, muffled by the pillow but still audible.
He let go of her hair and reached around, his fingers finding her clit.
His hips didn't stop. His cock drove into her without mercy, hitting that spot inside her with a precision that bordered on devastating, and his thumb circled her clit in tight, perfect spirals. She was babbling...she could hear herself, words that might have been his name, might have been prayers, might have been nonsense syllables strung together by desperation.
"You're going to cum for me," he said, and it wasn't a question. "You're going to cum on my cock, and I'm going to feel you, and then I'm going to fill you up. I'm not wearing a condom. I'm going to cum inside you, Char. I'm going to watch it drip out of you when we're done. Would you like that?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Then cum. Now. Be a good girl and cum on my cock, mi amor."
Charlotte's whole body convulsed, her pussy clamping down around him. Her vision went white, then black, then white again, and the sounds coming out of her mouth weren't normal. She was shaking, jerking, her hips grinding back against him even as she came, desperate for more, deeper, harder.
Carlos didn't stop. He fucked her through it, his thrusting never slowing, his thumb still working her clit until the pleasure tipped from ecstasy into something almost unbearable. She could feel her pussy clenching around nothing when he pulled out again, empty and spasming, chasing a fullness that wasn't there.
"Turn over," he whimpered. "I want to see your face when I cum and fill you up."
She didn't have the strength to move, but he helped her, rolling her onto her back like she weighed nothing. Her legs fell open, and he was there, pushing back inside her while her inner walls were still fluttering with aftershocks.
The sensitivity made her gasp, her hips jerking up to meet him.
"Too much?" He stilled, his forehead pressed to hers.
"No." She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back. "Don't stop, never stop."
He started moving again, and this time it was different...less frantic, more sensual. His eyes stayed on hers, dark and intense, and she could see the orgasm building in him. She could feel it...in the way his thrusting started to change, in the way his breathing changed, in the way his cock seemed to swell even larger inside her.
"Where do you want it?"ย
"Inside." She cupped his face with both hands, thumbing away the sweat at his forehead. "Fill me up. I want to feel it. I want to feel you."
He groaned, his whole body shuddering. "Say it again."
"Cum inside me, Carlos. Please. I want to feel your cum. I want to be so full of you. I want to walk around with it dripping down my thighs and know that I'm always ours."
That was what broke him.
His hips slammed into her one last time, holding deep, and she felt it...the hot pulse of his cum flooding her insides. His cock jerked and throbbed, and she could feel every spurt, every twitch, every helpless grind as he emptied himself into her. The sound he made was guttural, almost pained, his face buried in her neck, his hands fisted in the sheets on either side of her head.
She held him through it, her fingers combing through his damp luscious hair, whispering things she wouldn't remember later...how good he was, how perfect, how much she loved him.
When the shaking finally stopped, he collapsed on top of her, heavy and warm and still buried inside.ย
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The music was still playing somewhere in the background, a slow, throbbing beat that felt like a heartbeat.
Then Carlos lifted his head, his eyes hazy, and kissed her...soft this time, sweet, the complete opposite of everything they'd just done.
"I love you," he whispered against her lips. "I love you so much, mi vida."
She smiled, lazy and spent. "I love you too. Even though you stole my thunder."
"That was not stealing. That was a strategic reallocation of resources."
"Did you just call me a resource?"
"A very sexy resource."
She smacked his shoulder, and they both laughed.
After a while, he pulled out and they both watched the thick white drip of his cum slide down her thigh and onto the sheets. He made a sound low in his throat, something possessive and hungry.
"Look at that," he whispered, his thumb tracing through the mess, spreading it. "So pretty. You look so pretty with my cum inside you."
She squirmed, still sensitive. "Carlos."
"I know. I'm just-" He swallowed, and when his eyes met hers, there was something almost vulnerable there. "I meant what I said. You're mine. And I'm yours. Completely."
Her heart squeezed. "I know."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her nose, each of her cheeks. And then his lips were at her ear, his voice dropping to something that made her spent body spark with renewed interest.
"Don't think you're off the hook. You wanted to be in control? Next time you get your way. You can tie me down, edge me for hours, make me beg. But right now..."
His hand slid between her thighs, two fingers pressing her clit, she was still wet and sensitive.
"Right now, I'm going to make good on my promise. You're not walking out of this bedroom tonight."
Charlotte's breath caught. Her hips rocked up into his hand without her permission. "Carlos, I just came so hard I saw sounds."
"I know." He grinned. It was wicked and full of promise. "And you're going to do it again."
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