Charles has never once caught a whiff of Carlos’s scent. Not in the brief moments they crossed paths in the lower series; not before Carlos made it into a top team, when the stakes of his life were lower; not now, after three years spent living practically on top of each other for days and weeks at a time. Carlos has been an omega for that whole time, and Charles never knew.
written for an @f1-omegaverse-fest prompt: "carlos gets outed as an omega during the lewis to ferrari chaos..."
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Lup says. Taako gives her a wane smile, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“And miss my favorite sister’s funeral? Not a chance.”
Your only sister, she doesn’t say despite the obvious bait. He probably hears it anyway, by the way his shoulders tense ever so slightly.
“It’s not real. You know that.”
“Yeah. It’s not real.” This time, he doesn’t say, but she hears it anyway. He lifts his free hand and fiddles with his crow skull earring absently, the nervous motion clearly born of years of habit yet somehow unfamiliar to her.
Lup is struck, then, as she has been many times in the past few months, with the realization that her twin has gone and changed on her, has become a different person these past years alone. A stranger with her brother’s face.
happy wip wfriday i have at least three other things i should've been writing instead but lucky everyone it's explicit carcar time 💖
Over the course of this—well, whatever it is they're doing, Oscar has learned that Carlos Sainz is not even a little bit normal. About anything, really; about fucking specifically. Fucking men, to get even more exact.
He rubs his fingers over Carlos’s lips, dragging the lower lip down to see the wet pink inside, the hint of crooked teeth. Carlos is pliant under his hands, malleable; he looks up at Oscar with his huge brown eyes and waits. He’s breathing a little harder now. The muscles in his neck are tense. Oscar takes his fingers away from Carlos’s mouth, trails a faint line of spit down Carlos’s chin to his collarbone. Carlos’s hand lingers on Oscar’s hip.
Oscar pushes up a little, one hand on Carlos’s chest; rocks backward to settle into Carlos’s lap. He can feel Carlos’s cock, hard, pressing into his asscheek. He grinds down for the purpose of watching Carlos’s ridiculous eyelashes flutter shut. His own cock, still clothed in briefs, leaves a damp trace of precum on Carlos’s stomach. He’s not even fully hard yet, just most of the way there. His McLaren polo is still on.
"You’ve done this before, hey," he says.
Carlos’s eyes snap open, focusing on Oscar. His brow furrows. He stops tugging on the hem of Oscar’s polo. He glowers. It would be more effective, Oscar thinks, without the flush in his cheeks. He can see Carlos thinking about answering but then he doesn’t, sealing his lips shut instead, challenging Oscar with his stare. He’s a little annoyed, a little aggrieved, and unfortunately Oscar is wild for it, has been since the start. He’s all the way hard now, his cock straining to escape his briefs. He runs a thumb over Carlos’s nipple and feels the core of him flinch, jerking against Oscar’s thighs. Carlos’s mouth is, as always, tempting. Goaded on by the sheer stubbornness in Carlos’s expression, Oscar reaches for his lips again.
charles leclerc/carlos sainz, 1.2k, explicit. follow-up to @ofeliaxoxo's delightful work this is a trip!
Carlos is normal afterwards, because Carlos is always capable of being normal afterwards. Last year after the news, after their fights, Carlos was always so normal about it. Charles matches his energy like he always has, because it's easy. They chat. Charles corners him at the driver's parade in Japan and forces him to listen to the complaints about the car. Carlos waxed in the week off and his skin is smooth, different from when Charles occupied it. In Bahrain a week later, Carlos wears shorts in the press conference. Charles watches the clip of him saying "shit happens" and it loops twice, three times.
In the pre-session briefing, after Bryan refilled his water bottle, Charles had drained it again, still trying to chase away whatever uneasiness had rooted in his body. When Bryan stood up and reached a hand out for the bottle again, Charles had tried to protest—"It’s fine, I don’t need it, please"—but Bryan had taken it out of his hand. Charles had sucked down all that water, too.
wip wednesdayyyyy and i have a DIFFERENT wip today. not one of the other five wips i should be working on. this is fine sometimes one must succumb to the visions. enjoy the opening to omegaverse charpierlos
-🌊-
They're out on Charles's boat—just the three of them, a rarity these days. Carlos can navigate so it works out. This isn't something any of them want others to see.
Pierre suns himself on the deck, feeling the boat rock gently beneath him. It’s a new yacht. Charles bought it with the money from his new contract. All the surfaces are still blindingly white, dazzling, unreal. He’s lying on the bow, on the oasis of cushions situated there, a blue-striped cotton sheet tossed over the leather. A seagull cries out, high above in the dome of the sky. Wind gusts across the surface of the murmuring water, bringing him the smell of the sea, strong and vivid. Something else alongside it, mixed in, sweet and creamy—
A shadow passes over his closed eyes and stays there.
Not the smell of the sea, then. Charles.
Pierre squints up at Charles, propping himself up on one elbow. The sun is directly behind Charles’s back; shadow obscures his face. Pierre can’t quite read his expression. "Ai," he says, keeping it light, "I was beginning to think you do not enjoy your new boat, you were spending so much time below—"
"Where is he?"
Ah. "He took the tender to get a few things. He’ll be back soon."
Charles tsks, turning away.
The sunlight is back in Pierre’s eyes. He squints, raises an arm to block it out. "He’ll be fine, Charles."
A muscle jumps in Charles’s jaw once, twice. "I don’t understand how you can be so blasé. If it starts while he’s out, I’ll—"
"It won’t," Pierre says. "Come on, he knows not to take risks. He never has. Charles—" he tugs on Charles’s arm. The saltwater scent swirls around him. He still can’t get Charles at an angle where he can see his face, but Charles does at least sit down. "Trust us. This won’t work if you don’t. Yes?"
Charles flicks a look at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, yes, of course."
Pierre lets it go. Charles is not telling the truth but that’s fine, he and Charles don’t need to be truthful to each other. They’ve earned the right to lie. Anyway, Pierre can usually tell. He looks away for a moment, across the dazzling crests of the waves. A little black dot detaches itself from the harbor traffic, begins to make its way across the open sea. "Look," Pierre says, pointing it out. "No need to worry."
"No one’s worrying, mate," scoffs Charles, eyes fixed on the form growing steadily nearer.
Pierre nudges Charles with his knee and lies back down, flinging an arm over his eyes. In the dark of the crook of his own elbow, Pierre can almost taste him, salt and sweet together. They’re both still, aside from the light rock of the waves. Time stretches, contracts; he’s not sure if it’s ten minutes or an hour later that he hears a familiar but distant voice, shouting.
When he dares open his eyes into the blinding brilliance of the sunlight, Charles is already gone.
it's wip wednesday somewhere and i am still chipping away at rose of all roses chapter TWO i simply have also done a road trip with cats, among other things.
"Carlos," he says. There's a faint trace of roses in the air, the type of thing that previously he would've dismissed, assumed it was the result of Carlos meeting a fan with too-strong perfume. More fool him. He'd smelled roses on the bathroom towels on the plane to Shanghai and thought it was soap.
wip wmonday if i dont finish this thing TODAY its all over for me. the fic i was writing for the omegaverse fest and then didnt finish in time, rip to it--
"I don’t dislike that you're an omega," says Charles, ignoring this. He can be the reasonable one here. "I don’t like it either. I have no strong feelings about it one way or the other."
"Ah, yes, no strong feelings," Carlos says, still sarcastic. "This is why you smell like cat piss half the time when I’m around. More than that. I don’t know how no one has noticed, maybe we are lucky."
