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.