#charlos fluff

[ivesofmarch]

Ivy!!! “We should probably leave, before we start a scandal.” is so perfect for charlos! They are sooooooo close to kissing on camera 😍 The scandal is fast approching 🫣

i can fix him (no really i can)

{carlos sainz x charles leclerc}

loved this prompt, ant ✨💛 i made a tiny edit of the original words - hope that’s okay!

-

Charles is careful - so very careful. He pulls up his jacket collar to hide the mouth-shaped bruises that Carlos had left on him and made sure every single button and zip was done up before he left his driver’s room. He did not walk beside Carlos to their interview, and did not so much as glance his way so that, well, they looked exactly like normal, platonic teammates who were certainly not spending their free time kissing or touching or fucking.

Carlos, however, was careless.. stupidly careless. But as with everything he did - even his carelessness was kind of sexy.

He did not bother to hide that single, incriminating bite mark that hadn’t quite faded, imprinted on the base of his neck. Instead of closing his collar modestly, he left it almost obscenely open with buttons undone. Charles could almost see the peek of his chest that he definitely did not want to taste (maybe later). Not to mention that incredibly suspicious stain on his jeans… he did not want to think about that, either. And when they were taking turns to be asked questions, Carlos found every excuse to put a hand on his shoulder, to shove him more aggressively than the situation warranted - to brush their thighs together as he settled in closer to him on the couch. Even the interviewer was starting to grow a little uncomfortable - staring distractedly at their lack of personal space, at their ease and familiarity with touching each other.

Barely ten minutes in, their filmed interview is paused for a moment, as a director calls for an assistant to help adjust Charles’ mic on his shirt. Carlos just smiles and turns to him, his hands already drawn to the errant little black clip-on by his collar. “Let me.”

Charles hides his nervousness with a laugh. “Suddenly you’re an audio engineer.”

Carlos winks at him. “Only for you, darling.”

Charles is pretty sure he blushes. He does not know how to stop the swell of his heart, the rising heat of his cheeks. He wants to swear. He wants to smile. Fucking careless fucker.

Carlos’ hands linger, and Charles can see the moment Carlos’ eyes dip down to the hickeys he can definitely spot from his vantage view, peering down Charles’ shirt with an open survey that would be leery if it wasn’t so… hot.

The image that flashes in his mind is instinctive and erotic - it hits Charles that this is the same way Carlos was looking at him barely twenty minutes ago, with his mouth wrapped around his - 

“All fixed,” Charles says, a little too quickly, with something like panic filling his chest. He shoves away at his hands, resisting the urge to think about where they’d been on his body earlier that day. “Carlos. You can stop.”

Carlos lets his gaze drift lazily back up to his face. “Perhaps we should stop, before we start a scandal.” He wags his eyebrows, and Charles wants to punch him. Kiss him.

The word hangs in the air - stupid, ridiculous even. It’s rich, coming from the man who nearly stripped his shirt off when Charles was tasked to draw him, who called them a literal couple on more than one occasion, and had moved to unzip his jacket at a photoshoot when he knew Charles was not wearing anything underneath…

They’d done way worse things in the past - and surely this innocent little fixing of the mic was too far-fetched to be labelled a scandal.

Surely.

The interviewer laughs brightly, and Charles blinks at the shrill sound. The moment of hazy want snaps back into sheer normalcy (or as normal as it can feel with Carlos’ thigh against his). The facade that Charles is always so very careful to maintain settles back into its neatly-tucked in edges - smoothed out, perfectly wrinkle-free.

He darts a quick glance at Carlos, who gives him that smug grin and dreamy, bedroom eyes that make him squirm in his seat.

Well. Maybe just one, Spanish-shaped wrinkle he will never get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

-

send me one!

[ivesofmarch]

latching on to you

{carlos sainz x charles leclerc}

post-surgery, charles pays carlos a visit

inspired by this chili toy video and an absolutely beautiful fan art done by the wonderfully talented @moossings

-

The crochet, chili-red toy he holds soothes him somehow, despite the acrid smell of sanitiser and the chill of the hospital corridor that reaches his bones. He’s almost past visiting hours, but he found that the hospital was always willing to look the other way for their favourite driver pair (and, of course, a generous donation that he’ll write off as a tax break).

He knocks softly outside of the room that houses his teammate, recovering from surgery. Charles hears a tiny grunt, and allows himself to step in, gingerly, as if not wanting to scare Carlos or disturb him.

Carlos’ eyes are closed, but Charles sees the half-smile that lifts when he enters, as if he knows Charles’ very presence without even needing to look.

“Cahlos.” His mouth feels dry - he squeezes the chilli in hopes his worry will dissipate. “It’s me.”

“What are you doing here,” he says, voice hoarser than Charles is used to. 

The way it goes deep stirs up something in him, but he’s not going to allow himself to be distracted by his hormones when his teammate is still so fragile, post surgery. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Told you to focus on the race,” Carlos scolds, and although his voice is raspier than usual, it’s no less chastising than all the times he’s told Charles off. “Don’t waste your time here.”

“I needed to see you, to see how you are doing,” Charles protests, coming to sit in the chair that hugs the edge of Carlos’ bed. Carlos looks… alive, but with the way his chest rises and falls, with the tubes that crisscross over him, Charles swallows and feels a peculiar kind of helplessness. “How was the surgery?”

“Good,” Carlos says, “but too early to tell.” His lips look cracked, and Charles spies the mug of water by his bedside table. 

“You need water?” He doesn’t wait for the reply - already holding out the cup and straw to his lips, and Carlos sips gratefully. Slow. He opens his pretty eyes, and Charles almost fumbles with the cup.

“Thanks,” he says, and Charles hums. The drop of water that clings to his bottom lip haunts him, and he turns away.

“We’re all hoping you recover quick,” he says, “we miss you on track.”

Carlos lets the smile stretch a little. “I hear Ollie’s doing a good job.”

Charles smiles at the thought of the tall, lanky boy who’s driving Carlos’ car this weekend. “He’s confident, for sure.”

Carlos snorts good-naturedly. “Tell him not to get too comfortable. I’ll be back before he knows it.”

Charles shakes his head, growing worried at the determination in Carlos’ eyes. He’s seen that look before - and it never ends up good for anyone’s health. “You need to rest. In this bed.”

Instead, Carlos gestures to the little chilli toy in his lap. “This is cute. Like you.”

Charles brushes the compliment away, sure that it’s there to distract him. “Promise me, Carlos. You will stay here and not do anything stupid. You need to heal.”

Carlos just smiles, and Charles sighs as his wayward teammate reaches weakly for the crochet. “Did you hear me, Carlos?”

“Give me the chilli first,” he says, eyes pleading, and it’s that irresistible charm he turns on at will that gets Charles to relent.

Charles tucks the toy into the curve of Carlos’ side, far from the white bandage that adorns his surgical wounds. Carlos cradles it like it’s precious, and Charles feels his heart squeeze unexpectedly. 

“Now you’ll promise, right?” He pulls up a chair beside Carlos and sits. “I want you only to rest and recover. And for god’s sake, stop pestering the doctors and nurses to discharge you early.”

“I will rest and recover,” he says, and Charles doesn’t like the stubbornness he hears in his voice. “You must stop worrying. It makes your pretty face all sad.”

Charles scoffs at him, resisting the urge to jostle him. “You will not leave this room unless a doctor says you are ok. Promise me.”

Carlos opens his mouth, as if wanting to retort, but then his face contracts, and he sinks back into the pillow with a little hiss of pain. Charles stands up and over him, immediately alert to his discomfort. “Carlos? What is it? Do you need the nurse? More painkillers?”

He shakes his head, the furrow in his brow not leaving. “Just… hurts a little. I’m fine. I’m trying not to have too much medicine. I want to be alert.”

If he wasn’t still so vulnerable from the surgery, Charles would have liked to throttle him, or wring his neck from being so stubborn and difficult, bearing the pain like this. 

But then, the man he loves winces, face twisting into unimaginable shapes of agony, and Charles finds his pity for him far outstrips his anger and exasperation. 

Instead of leaving, he puts a hand gently to Carlos’ forehead to brush away the hair that falls over his eyes, whispering to him in soothing tone until the pain becomes manageable again. He watches Carlos breathe out, composing himself, and eventually the tension on his face subsides. 

“Better?” 

Carlos nods, and relief floods him instantly at that little assurance. 

Carlos’ eyes are shut now, and his breathing eventually slows into a deep, even rhythm. He brushes back the unruly hair one last time, exposing just enough forehead so he can lean down and kiss it, gently. Carlos’ lips tug up a little in a smile, and Charles feels like his heart could burst.

“Go to sleep, Carlos,” he implores, softly.

Carlos doesn’t say anything - just lets his left palm move from where it was clutching his wounded side so he can reach up to touch Charles’ hand, and Charles immediately knows exactly what he needs. 

An hour later, when the nurse comes to do her rounds - she opens the door to find the two of them huddled together, asleep - Charles’ face tucked into one of Carlos’ extra pillows, Carlos cradling the chilli toy in his palm. Even in sleep they sync up, snoring quietly - Charles’ hand in Carlos’, fingers interlocked as if they’ll never, ever let each other go.

[ivesofmarch]

scraps

{carlos sainz x charles leclerc}

in which memory is a persistent thing. a love story in two halves.

-

Carlos buries his nose in the hood of the cream hoodie that Charles leaves behind, inhaling the scent of laundry soap and something unmistakably Charles.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend Charles is here instead of thousands of miles away. Instead, the softness he wants to burrow into is hollow - empty - a poor replacement for the man he wants to touch, to taste.

He’s long realised he can’t rid himself of this yearning, and so instead of fighting it, he gives in freely - letting his hands wander over Charles whenever he can, to tease him with words and suggestive looks even when there are cameras around. He doesn’t care if anyone knows - his love demands expression.

He clutches the hoodie and wonders what other little scraps of Charles exist in his apartment, in his heart.

-

On the other side of the world, Charles stares out into the busy street, the spread of data sheets in front of him long forgotten, his coffee turning cold. Instead of the name he’s grown familiar with, one so close to his own, the papers are now scrawled with Lewis’ name, his numbers.

He feels sick.

Carlos isn’t even gone yet, but they’re already packing all memory of him into boxes.

Charles absently reaches for the little crochet toy in his lap - more carrot-shaped than chilli, and strokes a familiar line down the threading - now worn from his repeated, self-soothing movements.

Carlos once told him, teasingly, that he’d forget that toy that he’d handed to him. Like he’d be careless about it - leave it in the car, at the paddock, or in a hotel. They receive hundreds of gifts every race weekend - but this one, this time, is different.

He didn’t think Carlos heard him - but his whole face had grown serious even before he could play it cool for the cameras. “I won’t,” he’d said, almost stubbornly, more to himself than anything.

He won’t forget Carlos - no matter how many times the headlines remind him that it’s his last fucking year, no matter how many jokes Carlos makes or how casually he refers to their impending separation. He won’t forget their podiums and their losses, the taste of champagne that is especially sweet when Carlos sprays it right against his face - the taste of Carlos himself, when they’re alone behind closed doors, and he can finally summon the courage to let his hands and lips linger, possess. He won’t forget the way Carlos looks up at him from between his spread thighs, how his mouth can go from deliciously filthy to whispered tenderness that threatens to fracture him in seconds.

He has never been good with goodbyes. He was nearly inconsolable with Seb.

Now, with Carlos - it’s unthinkable.

His idly stroking finger catches on a loose thread in the crochet, and he swears when he sees the way his strokes have frayed the string, wearing it out with his carelessness. He needs to be more careful - the chili in his lap is already starting to unravel.

“You’re going to forget about it,” Carlos had said. A joke, mere weeks ago. He’ll bet Carlos has forgotten about it already.

Charles still hasn’t.

Won’t.

-

said video that eviscerated me

[ivesofmarch]

Hi!! This is for the verb prompts

11 & 40 where charles sees the negative comments about carlos on the internet and gets mad and tries to defend him but carlos just wants him to let it be so charles gets mad at carlos and accidentally yells out that he loves him when he's asked why he cares so much🤍❤️

defend

{charles leclerc x carlos sainz}

in which social media is an upsetting place to be, as a self-proclaimed carlos-defender

warnings: pwp, bottom!carlos, rimming (if you squint!)

a/n: didn’t go exactly how the prompt wanted but I hope that’s ok

“I don’t like the way they’re talking about you,” Charles says, frowning at the screen. All evening he’s been glued to his phone, having made the terrible decision to go on social media after the horrors of Baku. He’s seen so many videos of Carlos’ crash - the unfair hatred laid on him, and feels the simmering heat of anger start to build.

In contrast, Carlos laughs, reaching for the phone so he can keep the offending tweets out of Charles’ line of sight. “Is this your first year in F1? Come on, Charles. Bad things are always going to be said about us. You shouldn’t look at that shit.”

Charles reaches for the phone but Carlos shoves him playfully away. “It’s not fair,” he huffs, “it’s like - they think it’s so easy to be us. That somehow it’s our fault if things don’t go the way we want it. As if we are to blame for every problem.”

Carlos arches a brow at him, and Charles wants to scowl at how handsome he looks. “I know you are upset…” he says, and Charles hates how patronising he sounds, “but you know it’s part of the job.”

Charles huffs - he can’t help it. “Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.” He plucks the phone from Carlos’ hand and heads to the far corner of the hotel room, a look of grim determination on his face as he settles on a sofa. “Maybe I need to fight some of these guys.”

Carlos laughs, and follows him there. “Come on, Charles. These people talk shit all day. You’re just falling into their trap if you reply. That’s what they want, and you’re giving it to them.”

“I don’t care,” he declares, starting to type now, with emojis and swear words aplenty. “I won’t let them get away with saying all these horrible, fucked up things.”

Carlos sizes up the look in his eyes (slightly crazed, hell-bent on justice) - and decides he could very much change the trajectory of their afternoon. After all, what better way to combat anonymous hatred on the internet than with love - freely and sweetly given.

“Charles…” Carlos whispers, gathering Charles who is still frowning, still upset on his behalf, and puts a gentle hand on his wrist, pulling away the hand holding his phone so he can pin it against the sofa. Charles tries to protest, but Carlos presses his mouth with the side of his neck, kissing softly until Charles is sighing and melting into his touch.

“Carlos… you must let me…” he tries to shift away, but Carlos grabs him by the waist and drags him closer, their bodies pressed so tight that Charles is breathless from the heat, the proximity. Carlos sees the sincerity in Charles’ eyes - that damning need to protect him, to cherish what little he has left of their partnership (seven races, but who’s counting?). He sees what Charles is afraid to tell him, and so he will be the brave one this time (as he is, every time).

“I know,” he says to Charles, “but I don’t need you to do that for me.” He smiles, gives him a kiss on the nose. “It’s enough to know that you want to defend me.”

He lets his mouth brush against Charles’, and it’s enough temptation to let him give in - dropping the phone so that his hand can cup Carlos’ face, so they can kiss with renewed hunger. Into the kiss, he feels Charles’ righteous anger melting away into yearning, desire for him. They tug away clothes and emotional defenses and soon there’s nothing stopping them from being pressed, sweaty and panting, to each other -cheeks flushed, eyes wild, hair mussed.

He lets Charles do anything he wants - lets him be the one in charge, to kiss down his body and use his mouth to tease him, taste him everywhere. Carlos grunts at the intrusion of his tongue inside him, and begs for more - can barely keep his eyes open because it feels indecently good. He needs to touch himself - he’s close, so close already. But Charles is getting up and leaving him wet with spit, coming back with a condom and lube and he feels drugged by the image of it - how hard Charles is for him, how sexy it is to see him struggle with the condom, with the slippery mess of lube, how beautiful he looks when he climbs over him and tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s going to fuck him.

“Please,” he begs, sliding his arms across Charles’ broad back, and Charles seems so pleased by the neediness. All thought of injustice, of needing to defend Carlos seems to fly out of the window when he fucks into him - their twin, synchronised groans, Carlos leaning up to kiss him. He’s so full of Charles he could explode, not even needing to jerk himself off, he’s already dripping everywhere. Pleasure builds at the base of his spine, and he clenches around Charles, over and over and over until he practically chokes out a sob, comes against the flat of his stomach, and that spurs Charles on, too, making him come inside Carlos with a low whine, with the barest, desperate whisper that he cannot help but finally let loose the words he’s always been too afraid to say - I love you, Carlos.

[ivesofmarch]

Hello, could you please write something with these two prompts “I know I should care about the reason why you’re naked in my bed, but I will just enjoy it for a moment.” and “Get back down here, we’re not done yet.”

For charlos and if you can please bottom carlos!!

Thank you :))

restitution

{charles leclerc x carlos sainz}

in which charles has much to apologise for, post Spanish gp

warnings: bdsm undertones, begging, roughness, unprotected sex, tenderness + aftercare

read here (archive-locked)

[ivesofmarch]

honeybee

{carlos sainz x charles leclerc}

suzuka ’23 fluff and pining

-

He falls in love in the span of a single afternoon - with the sun bronzing over his face, and the tufts of hay that scratch him as they’re shoving them into the bee hotel that Seb has them build together. Charles has to shove away the thought of nesting with Carlos, because that isn’t a future that’s in store for him - since he’s pretty sure Carlos doesn’t swing that way at all.  

He keeps himself in check for as long as he can, paint splattering when he tries to decorate the wood with a stripe of yellow, and swearing not to lose his mind when Carlos brushes by him, impatiently edging in his own smear of black paint and messing up his careful placement. He doesn’t even think to get angry - because Carlos’ scent is almost drug-like, and he grins with so much goofy, light-hearted energy that Charles just can’t bear to be annoyed with him at all. And when Carlos touches him and gets way too close in his personal space - Charles has to remind himself to breathe - to not lose his head. There are cameras everywhere. He has to be careful.

He ought to get a prize, really, for how he manages to keep it together, even when Carlos puts his face near his and they take a photo for promo… and it’s all he can do not to lean just a fraction of an inch to his right to brush his cheek against Carlos’ enticing stubble.

But he falters, once, when Carlos teases him, “you’re doing great, honey,” and he has to laugh awkwardly and wave it off as smoothly as he can, when really his heart is beating a thousand miles per second and all he wants to do is to hear Carlos say those words to him when they’re in the privacy of their own room, away from other people, or when they’re sharing a podium together and there’s champagne fizzing all over his face… or when he’s on his knees, perched between those thighs, begging Carlos for a taste.

He hopes Carlos doesn’t notice the blush that surfaces on his cheeks - but of course he does. 

When the cameras are turned away, Carlos leans in and brushes his mouth against the delicate shell of his ear and whispers, “I think we have a visitor.”

Charles blinks up into Carlos’ beautiful eyes, dumbfounded and ready to burst into an awkward giggle, when Carlos gestures to a little stray bee that has landed on the edge of a wooden panel, crawling towards the little stack of hay that they’d earlier put in.

“It’s all alone,” he says, noticing the occasional flutter of its glassy wings, the yellow pollen dusted all over its tiny body. 

Carlos tuts. “No - look.” And just in time, another bee flits in, taking its place beside the first one and brushing gently against it - much like how Carlos is pressing against him now. He looks up into pretty, glossy eyes, so full of mirth and mischief and tenderness (for him, maybe?). Carlos beams at him proudly. “Our first couple in our bee hotel.”

Charles giggles - he can’t help it. “How cute.”

They watch as the two bees crawl all over their newfound space, wings aflutter, buzzing in sync. They sip at the little droplets of nectar on offer, and shiver against each other when their wings touch, but the sensing is clear - they like each other, and they’re happy to share this space equally.

Carlos shifts closer to him, his arm brushing his, and Charles does not have the strength or will in him to pull away from the warmth that radiates off Carlos.

It must be his imagination - they’re not near any of the hives that Seb’s set up, but there’s the sticky-sweet scent of honey that hangs faintly in the air - a smell that Charles will forever associate with love, love, love.

-

inspired by:

you’re doing great, honey

[ivesofmarch]

Hi, could you please write something with the 14&29 prompts, like Charles has been pinning on Carlos for a while and decides to make a move after he sees Carlos’ Sochi '15 crash for the first time

past, present, future

{charles leclerc x carlos sainz}

“when was the most scared you’d been while driving?”

charles bites his inner cheek when he asks the question, over dinner one evening when they finish testing, and carlos tells him to come over because it’s late, and he has enough leftovers for the two of them.

carlos chews thoughtfully, but the reply after is almost instantaneous. “sochi. 2015.”

he wants to ask about the details, because he hadn’t known carlos then, but carlos pulls up the video for him, and he feels dread like no other pool in his stomach. he’d known of the crash, of course, but he hadn’t felt the same weightiness then. seeing it now hurts like pain he’s never felt - for the way he’d seen the car’s front wheel blister apart against an errant wall, causing the car to careen recklessly into the barriers. he barely breathes when he counts the harrowingly few seconds that pass between the first hit and the final crash.

he remembers now how his heart had been in his mouth back then, praying for any god that would hear for the driver to be safe.

now he recasts the memory with the man sitting in front of him - and the image is so much more haunting - making him sick at the thought of carlos being flung across violently, the crushing force of gravity and the weight of the car… the way his body would have certainly froze in fear… how he might have had to have made peace with death in those microseconds before impact.

his eyes grow glassy - he cannot help it. carlos just looks at him with soft eyes (as if charles were the one in danger) and reaches a palm over to cup his face - a tenderness he does not usually show. “charles. it was nothing, i promise.”

but he cannot let go of the thought of losing carlos. because there’s nothing that can prepare him for the gaping emptiness that a loss like that would bring. no more warm, muscled arms to hold him in the middle of their c2 challenges - no more beautiful brown eyes to gaze at him with what he hopes is more than just friendly affection - no more of his raspy, low voice whispering encouragement in his ear after a bad race.

and worst of all - no chance for charles to tell carlos what he really feels.

his heart is pounding - anxious. desperate. a whimsical thought - so stupid he wants to shut it down immediately:

you should tell him before-

“are you okay?” carlos asks, eyes darting across his face, “you’re not usually so-”

he blinks away the tears. “I’m fine.”

carlos persists. “you can tell me… I’ve upset you, haven’t i?”

“no,” but his vision’s blurry again, and this time carlos leans in close, and god he smells good…

“then what is it?”

the worry he hears in carlos’ voice makes his cock twitch.

charles lets his eyes wander of their own accord, down to his lush bottom lip, biting his own in contemplation. his eyes flash up to meet carlos’ - and he gathers the courage to do what he’s been wanting to for longer than he’s cared to admit.

he leans in, his eyes open and wanting, and he sees the way carlos’ own eyes grow bigger and more beautiful, if possible.

he doesn’t know who moves first, but one second he’s wondering what Carlos’ mouth tastes like, and the next, he’s floored by the reality of it - the softest, most delicate press of his lips, a kiss that feels at once too tender and powerful, sweeping him away in an all-consuming tide.

his knees go weak, but Carlos has his arms around him in a second, holding him close as the kiss between them spirals into madness like his heartbeat. he threads his fingers through Carlos’ hair and can’t get enough of the slide of his tongue against his.

I love you, he wants to say, with his words, but it’s too dangerous, like smashing into barriers, unsure if he’ll come out alive.

Instead he says the words with the way he tears off Carlos’ clothes and his own, his hands raking eager paths along his taut muscles, the movements of his body under Carlos as he grows warm and pliant in Carlos’ bed, tangled in sheets and each other, and by the end he’s gasping in tune to Carlos’ groans, trembling at the way Carlos mouths at his skin, chasing the mottled pink blush that spreads across him freely.

He grips the bunched up muscles along Carlos’ back, and tightens up against him, feeling the achingly delicious way Carlos fills him, floods him - so full, so hot.

They hold each other, dazed, silent except for their harsh breaths against each other. Carlos kisses his forehead, and he closes his eyes and tucks his face into his chest.

If he was afraid to lose Carlos before… he doesn’t know how to face the impossible notion of giving him up, now that he knows what Carlos tastes like, how good their bodies feel together.

He curls up against him and hopes against hope that he never has to let go of Carlos - ever.

-

send me a verb prompt if you want!