the shipping container

erin 18+ she/her ao3: theshippingcontainer pfp by @.dr.feel_good.

[jusst-you-race]

I respect everyone being obsessed with the cunty pink helmet that lewis is rocking but I’m going to be petty and remind everyone that there is a driver on the grid with a cunty pink helmet EVERY week…. justice for liam lawson

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Bro if you didn’t like f1 why would you write rpf of it😭

Like your pfp is a driver, your reposts are drivers, you clearly know your shit of this sport from the detail in your fics

Common sense ppl, it’s just common sense

ANYWAY FRANO IN Q3

there’s actually more lore to be had that i only got into the rpf because i got my heart shattered by basketball

i didn’t know rpf existed until after The Incident occurred in may 2025, and then after that, i couldn’t read books, and when my heart stopped re:basketball, i gave up entirely on sports and threw myself so fully into f1 that i discovered rpf on ao3 and became a new man

twas a strange path, a strange journey. i just wanted to read about oscar tbh

[theroaringhedgefoxblog]

WELL NO WONDER THE CAR WAS ON FIRE 🔥🔥🔥

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I am just here to be mad at anyone talking shit at you and BEG for silver linings

For one, the fact that people are talking shit about you writing rpf is freaking crazy, everyone needs to learn to live and let live. Please do not let losers on the internet shame you into doing anything :(

on silver linings, when this fic was taken down me and my one f1 fan friend FREAKED OUT, it is the PEAK of any russtappen Ive read in recent history, both of their characterization is just so good its absolutely insane. I fangirl over it anytime something tangential is mentioned its awful

anyway dont do anything you dont wanna, just here to BEG bc you are just that good you have random ppl on the internet gagged

hello, i am interested in looking at your brain under a microscope someday please? 🙏

i promise i will put it back up. i have no intentions of keeping it away forever. it is not a punishment for it to be down. i wish to finish her restoration before i put her back.

i have been so tempted to reach out to individual people i see panicking to soothe them, or to send it to them or something because it was never my intention to cause distress. it was more like, mom put a really ugly drawing of mine on the fridge and i got really self conscious about it especially once people were messaging me about it all the time and some not so nicely, so i took the drawing off the fridge to fix it a little

idk, man. i see some strange things about it. it is bewildering how it has grown and how people have responded to it.

ALL I. WANT IS TO MAKE YOU HAPPY AND TO WRITE GOOD SHIT DUDE i want to make it good and i want it to be good and i want it to be a nice drawing up on the fridge that i can look at when i go to get milk and not cringe at

listen i’ll uh ill finish cleaning chapter 3 today. i’ve made serious progress on big bang proposal and i have faith that ill get that done on time. ill repost chapters 1-3 here on tumblr all nice and shiny and clean and we can at least have that to look at on the fridge

[theshippingcontainer]

love the new theme!

thank you very much! the new pfp was drawn by none other than The Squid Of The Lake. squid told me what colors would look good for background and accent as well. thank god for artsy ppl man

[theshippingcontainer]

Hey Ship I’m back (the one that didn’t know how to use asks lol) I was wondering how did you know about the f1? I, sadly, just begin to watch last year 🥲 but I’m trying to watch past races and I was wondering if you could recommend me some races that make you WOW at the race! Also thank you in advance!

WOW HI HELLO 👋

we are all here to learn and to share this is the point!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

0) my dad and i like to walk. at the arboretum or at parks or wherever. my dad liked to talk about racing while we walked. he got really into f1 several years ago. he liked to info-dump on me about the team principals and about max and lewis, and when abu dhabi 2021 happened, he was GLOWING with excitement. lando winning his first race in miami 2024 was what convinced me to actually watch a race, though!!!! montreal 2024 was the first full race i watched.

1) by the time i watched my first race, i knew some of the drivers by name, i knew max had had a season that he won damn near every race, i knew red bull had been dominant for a few years in a row, i knew lando had only just won his first race but that mclaren were competitive. i knew mercedes *once were* the dominant force, and that lewis was the most decorated driver of all time. i didnt know much about the cars themselves, and the rules were still new to me, but i had a good grasp on things day 1. i consider myself very lucky in this regard. many people do not start with this level of knowledge when they watch their first race.

2) i like cars in general! i know a good amount about ICEs, i do a lot of the basic repairs on my own car. i like driving other types of cars to see what they feel like. i remember hearing about an article when i was first learning to drive written in 1986 interviewing sir jackie stewart about his driving style and i was FASCINATED. f1 and i have been dancing around each other for a long time, anon. it was only a matter of time. there’s a funny story about that article and me being obsessive that i’ll tell at a later date

3) ANYWAY. cool races. i haven’t watched as many races as i would like. but i will recommend ones ive watched personally that i found entertaining.

- singapore gp 2023 is not the most exciting race, but considering 2023 had max winning every single race, and how this race ended, very exciting last few laps.

- british gp 2024 was super fun live. i had no clue what to expect at any point and it was excellent.

- german gp 2019!!!!!! this one i only watched this week because of an obsessive photo hunt BUT OMG what a race!!! wet and wild, wet and wild.

- sakhir gp 2020. FUCK this one’s neat.

- several of the races in brazil are very cool. max has a tendency to go super saiyan at interlagos. 2016, 2019, 2021, 2022, 2024, 2025. all fun races for different reasons (obviously max didn’t win all of these or anything)

- bahrain (max v charles) or silverstone 2022.

4) am i trustworthy? idk. the races from the past two seasons i feel incredibly biased about. monza 2024 was actually so hype i died. canada 2024 was wet and wild and so fun. baku 2024 had me rattling the bars of my cage. zandvoort 2025 was fan-fucking-tastic despite my precious lando not finishing.

i love you. thank you for writing. i hope to hear from you again soon. let me know what you like to see!!! or read. i would love to cater my answers better. have a wonderful weekend, anon.

[theshippingcontainer]

thank you for always replying so nicely, it’s amazing to get a glimpse of where the magic happens

it was only like six years late bro ur welcome love you BIG SMOOCHIES

i reserved the most magic for you because you reserved the most magic for me in your notes for the fic. i love you so much dude 😻

i keep thinking of other links i want to put in my answer lol

[theshippingcontainer]

My brethren in smut, miss papaya, what a joy to open my inbox to not one but TWO delicious new fics !!! And one of them featuring my beloved Oscar in that perfectly agonizingly hungry craving desperate way you write him SOOO excellent thank you thank you!!!

Xoxo Wren

THIS is wren THIS is wren

me, giving your name and likeness to another account in my mind because i have no braincells. HOW COULD I, TRULY

HELLO BELOVED

YOUR REREAD OF RHYTHM MADE ME SO HAPPY

your latest comments brought me joy on days when i was actually tweaking, worried that uploading *something that wasn’t silver linings* was going to make things bad again

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

you’ve been here since the beginning and i won’t ever let you go, some of these people think they know papaya but YOU KNOW EVERYTHJNG

fuck i made myself cry this is what happens when i go too long without posting. do you know i still have Gift For Wren on my list, still with the plan in mind for george and max during winter holidays.

if you liked dreams belong to days, maybe i will do them again, i really liked writing a tired wings one shot. i think tired wings readers deserve some fluff for their suffering

more oscar content hopefully coming. though, the lando and oscar thing i teased recently wanting to write, im thinking lando pov. but oscar content nonetheless. i miss our brown eyed princess dearly, my brother in smut.

hope you have an AMAZING weekend, wren. hopefully i’ll upload again shortly and you’ll have even more to read. who knows. i love you so much, so much, you have no idea.

[feastofsnakes]

similar topic but it's so funny to me when people are like "you can't ship these people one of them is the other's father figure!" as if wanting to fuck a father figure isn't the only joy left in this life

[feastofsnakes]

WHAT IS FORMULA ONE

[theshippingcontainer]

@averykat2006 u good

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— First things first: One minute of silence for my friend, G. W. R., for how hard it was to get his dick inside the most desperate bottom in the world, god only knows his strength and we all praise his determination and resilience. Fuck you, max, for making his life hard!!!! Jesus, what the fuck was that entire scene, why do I get involved in Erin’s mess, like I need to be punished for max being, actually there’s a word for it in Portuguese but like it’s not really something usual in my vocabulary but it’s perfect, anyway, i hope it will come up sometime, but let's just say max took his sweet ass time and everyone had to deal with it, such power in such a strong body, such impressive (i loved it so much i cried, pls dont judge)

— that said, I'd like to apologize for the language in the previous ask, I needed more softening up at the end there, even if i did expect something less than optimal given you said i'd hate it and the song and the general attachment to family. I don't hate it, but i am hurt (because SOMEONE wrote hurtful things.)

let me do the rest in kind of chronological order, sorry if some of it doesn't make sense

— So many parallels and they always get my chest tight, one thing that got to me from the start was Max feeling like an outsider and how he seemed to be projecting on lily, even though her parents are nothing like his, and how he wants her to be like him. I kept reading everything from the first few chapters as foreshadowing, and I'd like a second read to coment on it, but it always felt like a step forward for him to approach issues with himself rather than george from learning, i understand george's reactions in the way they are different but coming from the change in behavior from kp, does it make sense? i think no.......... hm

— George met and held his gaze. “I think you hate losing more than you like winning.” (Omg that’s actually so true, the first loser thing seems to bother him immensely) >>>> this turning out to be a ciclic thing...... your mind, save g from your mean fingers please

— Biblically accurate max is properly fucked in the head max im learning like i'm reading this thinking hmmmm its rhythm max but worse, i can blame jos + kp for fucking his self steem, this is very promising

— Max's entire reaction to g's overreacting to the kimi crash is diabolical, soooo fucking good

— George stared at him. “…Fuck,” he said quietly, releasing Max like it took effort. (George not resisting the minimal gives is like a drug to me, just right into my vein)

— The entire conversation starting with "I want to have sex with you" thrown away LIKE NOTHING makes me wanna punch max and laugh at his face in no particular order, pitiful, what do you mean you don’t bottom, darling boy, lying to George’s face like that, incredible things happening (I started a tally and ended up wanting to puch him in the face only 52 different times, max makes me stressed)

— He took what pill!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate men Jesus I have so much trauma with this I do hope my ex boyfriend tried bottoming to give himself a chance to be happy (the pill thing.......... i wish he had told george about it, it was stressing me so much)

— George teasing max about being subtle as if he didn’t take one look at max and kissed him with barely any invitation let’s not judge the cues you’re following here

— max cutely hinting at wanting more kisses >>>>>>>> my dreams do come true

— what do i say about rupert........ first, he is also to blame for this mess, two he is forgiven for ending up with the information of max's heart spykes, aleix on the other hand, is a saint

— Them making out saved my life (love that this was immediately followed by:)

— This might be the cruelest thing you’ve ever written and I think earth angel is hell, so

— Max hesitated. Every sensible part of him screamed don’t. (so like no particular part then?)

— G as usual doing a lot of heavy lifting for Maxie’s self esteem

— I died at the shower scene and hired Chico Xavier to psychograph my thoughts while I read the rest from after life

— OMG shut up about the shorts mate why make it illegal and punish me because you cannot control yourself be for real

— “It is barely a surprise,” Max said. “You can hardly shut up.” (And, are you doing much better? why is maxie so brave sometimes and such a p*ssy others!!!!!! (i love him with my entire heart)

— Should add one punch for each time max uses the word supposed

— There was a small moment there were I was freaking out over his ability to have sex with george without ciallis, but then he used it on the dubcon scene soooo

— Breaking the rules on their first encounter I cannot take them seriously

— Max leaned back against the pillows, considering him. “You of course didn’t take anything,” he said. “I gave it.” (I’m sorry why is he perfect? I want one for me)

— Turns out g really is therapy, I love him so much!!!!!!!!!!

— His wallet was all he was good for, apparently. (I hate this, he was so sure of his place in her life before, I loved how he talked about her not needing him, but wanting and then........ that was very mean, darling) (Maxie, you’re so smart and precious and lovely I love you)

— “I lost my home race” max says to George, like an asshole, when will silverstone stop hurting

— How are you kind of married and in a non contract and dating at the same time like are they blind or stupid

— If you wanted me to dislike kp, you got it, erin :D

— Jesus Christ, you don’t do things in halves, do you? Dubcon twice in as many chapters, Max is killing me here

— I’m sorry they are talking about kinks and darling boy is thinking about making George smile, he is too good for this world, don’t let him out the door, the world does not deserve him

— The request (for penetrativ sex) feels a bit transactional I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but it seems soooo in character, so deep from max core, that i cant be upset, it just reads genuine, fuck me i guess

— I love my dear Nespresso machine, thank you very much

— Sometimes life is just me and a huge hard on for max taking care of sick George, hate that it (g being sick) keeps happening but it is so fucking precious, so we get something useful from his Victorian child immune system (shoutout to looking ever up by TheSpireSleeps, the very first russtappen fic i read, somewhat to blame for me annoying erin on this lovely sunday)

— TIL the word akimbo

— Omg g is an awful person, you come, deny kitties food, steal p’s father, steal p’s ice cream

— Hypocritical of maxie to judge Georgie for chasing his scent he doesn’t know you do the same but I doooooo

— Two times did I read max having redbull for breakfast and two times did my cerebral arteries lock my brain out of blood flow as punishment for the simple idea of it happening

— No thoughts only prayers for them walking into an adult store together, god bless America (sea chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay

— Why is Lando catching strays????? He would look cute in a collar with those puppy eyes but that is beside the point

— For all that George postures, he is allergic to the word pretty. Omg. Maxie is adorable, cute, pretty, sweet, soft, and beautifulllllll, tell him for me.

— I love that he doesn’t want to be a fuck toy during the Las Vegas mirror scene, I love that he wants the feel of being there and enjoying what he has with George

no comments after that, fuck you, erin, i love you.

extremely long tired wings lore below the cut. prepare thyself.

— First things first: One minute of silence for my friend, G. W. R., for how hard it was to get his dick inside the most desperate bottom in the world, god only knows his strength and we all praise his determination and resilience. Fuck you, max, for making his life hard!!!! Jesus, what the fuck was that entire scene, why do I get involved in Erin’s mess, like I need to be punished for max being, actually there’s a word for it in Portuguese but like it’s not really something usual in my vocabulary but it’s perfect, anyway, i hope it will come up sometime, but let's just say max took his sweet ass time and everyone had to deal with it, such power in such a strong body, such impressive (i loved it so much i cried, pls dont judge)

> It’s not like i could put in the tags “max is such a bottom he belongs at the bottom of the sea, but he’s completely fucking blind to it” because that defeats the whole purpose of the fic, so ppl just have to see the switching tags and fucking jump in. bro was not mentally prepared for this journey and it took him a while to get there 

— that said, I'd like to apologize for the language in the previous ask, I needed more softening up at the end there, even if i did expect something less than optimal given you said i'd hate it and the song and the general attachment to family. I don't hate it, but i am hurt (because SOMEONE wrote hurtful things.)

let me do the rest in kind of chronological order, sorry if some of it doesn't make sense

> anyone who finished tired wings is entitled to emotional compensation in the form of fic work that they enjoy, be it a chapter of an existing fic or a new request. I understand what havoc i have wreaked, i will pay my reparations. U need only tell me what u require and i shall provide. I can pay ur therapy bill? foot rub? i’ll peel ur oranges????

ur previous ask #0 - the first one, the aggressive one that i loved ur previous ask #1 - i reanswered these here  ur previous ask #2 ur previous ask #3

— So many parallels and they always get my chest tight, one thing that got to me from the start was Max feeling like an outsider and how he seemed to be projecting on lily, even though her parents are nothing like his, and how he wants her to be like him. I kept reading everything from the first few chapters as foreshadowing, and I'd like a second read to coment on it, but it always felt like a step forward for him to approach issues with himself rather than george from learning, i understand george's reactions in the way they are different but coming from the change in behavior from kp, does it make sense? i think no.......... hm

> this max is very people-pleaser oriented. sort of the total opposite of rhythm max in that regard. when something is awry, he feels it’s his responsibility to fix things somehow, because he’s usually the one with the power to do so. rhythm max didn’t feel he had control over his circumstances and therefore lashed out and was a freak. this max’s repression was just expressed differently :) 

— ch 1: planned

> first and fucking foremost. max cares about lily and P equally and is very clear about trying to be supportive and helpful to Penelope in addition to being a good dad to lily. his usage of “bonus dad” never fails to endear me. he seems incredibly respectful of daniil and p seems to adore max.

> this chapter includes my interpretation of the stress of trying to get pregnant as i’ve watched several women in my life try for years and struggle with infertility in various forms, miscarriages, (specifically because kelly said lily was a rainbow baby) and the lasting effects on their romantic relationships. my best friend specifically and her journey to/through/after her first pregnancy—i relied upon heavily for this fic. hers is whose perspective i wrote from when i wrote about learning a new language while waiting for someone else to start speaking it with her. 

> daniil being stuck in russia for a stint during covid was brutal, and his reunion with P is one of the sweetest photos. max’s perspective on being a bonus dad continues to amaze me and i wanted to include as much as i could on this subject when there’s very little to go off of, and i didn’t want to characterize daniil when he’s not really in the spotlight anymore (seemingly by choice)

> kelly being stressed by her ex despite what appears to be an amiable custody arrangement seemed very natural to me. she seems like the type to never speak to her exes again, and being forced to speak to daniil regularly seems like it would be deeply uncomfortable to her and i could clearly imagine it driving her to taking her stress out on others in small ways. 

— ch 2: barcelona

> used all the radio transcripts for all the races, george is such an opportunistic fuck. max lwk insane. i liked a version of george who bit back but mostly just thought max was insane 

— ch 3: co-sleeping

> some mothers are more on board with co-sleeping than others. but dutch mothers are more likely to not. mama max and his data do not like the numbers of positional asphyxiation. 

max checking the baby monitor obsessively like a good mother 

sleeping separately makes sense for lots of couples. including professional athletes who get up at odd times or who have really strict sleep schedules. i don’t sleep in the same bedroom as my husband. he gets the main bedroom and bathroom, i get the guest room. a couple years into us living together when he started getting up hella early to run, i was grateful to not be woken up by it 

— ch 4: montreal

— George met and held his gaze. “I think you hate losing more than you like winning.” (Omg that’s actually so true, the first loser thing seems to bother him immensely) >>>> this turning out to be a ciclic thing...... your mind, save g from your mean fingers please

> the pain he seems to inflict on himself when he deems it his fault……. aughhhhhhhh. actually highkey this is something he and george have in common, headcanon. 

I give george all kinds of nice stuff. I give him bottom max, and…uh… bottom max…. and.. um….. Bottom max

— Biblically accurate max is properly fucked in the head max im learning like i'm reading this thinking hmmmm its rhythm max but worse, i can blame jos + kp for fucking his self steem, this is very promising

> what self esteem? I didn’t put no self esteem in this man? where did u see any of that 

— ch 5: spielberg 

> radios are accurate again. I fucking love how max freaks out before he realizes it’s kimi lol 

— Max's entire reaction to g's overreacting to the kimi crash is diabolical, soooo fucking good

> “What the fuck did you do to kimi” “hot” “WHAT” “u gonna fuck me about it” 

lwk just had that art in my mind’s eye of russtappen like george holding his jaw like don’t save him that’s his boyfriend and he’s exactly where he wants to be rn 

— George stared at him. “…Fuck,” he said quietly, releasing Max like it took effort. (George not resisting the minimal gives is like a drug to me, just right into my vein)

> you would have to drag me away from sucking the man’s toes so i mean, can we blame george, can we, truly, no we cannot. no

austria and spa being max’s worst races by far and also the only two races with no GP feels like a sign from the universe lwk 

always loved max with rico. couldn’t help myself stitching in just a teeny gay awakening with him back in holland for funsies. additionally. i wanted to emphasize that max didn’t like kissing, not really, beforehand, that it had lost excitement for him, and that kissing george was expected to feel wrong, to feel bad, to make him feel shitty because that’s what kissing has become for him now, with everything negative entangled with his physically relationship with kelly. when kissing george doesn’t carry all of that, it kind of breaks his brain. just a little. 

— ch 6: maintenance

> almost entirely my own personal experience of meeting my husband who is 9 years older than i am, when i was 20. max’s thoughts about kelly were what i thought when i met my husband: 

e.g. “...strikingly beautiful. She was older and polished in a way that made rooms settle around her.” stupid husband was so beautiful to my eyes the first time i saw him

“She hadn’t been clingy like Roos—” {quick shout out to the maintainer of the kelly piquet master timeline for identifying that max was likely seeing roos at the time of The Magical Night and for the sources that suggest heavily that max and kelly went home together that night anyway} “—calling him love, making demands of him they both knew he couldn’t fulfill. Kelly didn’t need anything from him, not his attention, not his validation, not his future.” stupid husband could do his own laundry, file his taxes, owned his own house, had a job and prospects and hobbies and didn’t NEED anything from me–-hella attractive to me when i was dating this guy who needed my help with goddamn EVERYTHING

“That had mattered more to him than he’d understood at the time. She was independent in the way he’d always wanted to be, self-sufficient, composed, untouched by the chaos that followed him everywhere. With her, he didn’t feel hunted or used or managed.”

even down to the first night we hung out when i got insanely drunk and he was terrified i was going to get sick. like, that chapter is my story, verbatim. except nelson piquet jr is there.

— ch 7: silverstone

> sex that has become transactional, procedural, for couples trying to get pregnant is a common struggle. i wanted that to muddy max’s waters because that’s super fucking normal, but him not liking sex with his partner at all before that isn’t, but he doesn’t know the difference gahhhhhh

— The entire conversation starting with "I want to have sex with you" thrown away LIKE NOTHING makes me wanna punch max and laugh at his face in no particular order, pitiful, what do you mean you don’t bottom, darling boy, lying to George’s face like that, incredible things happening (I started a tally and ended up wanting to puch him in the face only 52 different times, max makes me stressed)

> blunt dutch FREAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

ur so right though that this entire convo should’ve clued george in immediately wow so interesting that his freak dutch behavior and also being max verstappen didn’t weird george out it’s almost as if something intrigued him enough to say yes wow interesting 

— He took what pill!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate men Jesus I have so much trauma with this I do hope my ex boyfriend tried bottoming to give himself a chance to be happy (the pill thing.......... i wish he had told george about it, it was stressing me so much)

> pill content in the gutters of my extra stuff i wanted to add to…………….. stuff i didn’t get to emphasize in time before posting……………. pill max my beloved 

— George teasing max about being subtle as if he didn’t take one look at max and kissed him with barely any invitation let’s not judge the cues you’re following here

> george is nothing if not a grade-A hypocrite we love him for it kiss that boy please he needs it desperately 

— max cutely hinting at wanting more kisses >>>>>>>> my dreams do come true

> HE NEEDS THEM DESPERATELY 

also, max expecting george to put a towel down bc kelly always requires there to be one bc they always fuck in her bed on her terms and she doesn’t want her anything on her sheets bc gross was just fun added seasoning 

george’s hands going *wiggly* is what i call my hands going easy. @choneysuns can relate. 

max debriefing after sex fucking lmfao i never tire of that man 

— ch 8: loyalty

> promised The Squid Of The Lake i would put in max&checo content to this fic for her day of birth. max canonically mentions at spa that he can’t wait to see checo next year so i decided to kill birds with stones and have max talk to checo about christian leaving AND about checo’s new gig with cadillac in the same phone call. i love them together. 

> also decided to put in the toto sardinia content alongside because this is when it all went down. these things clashing at the same time in max’s head while he was struggling with his own ideas of loyalty seemed like the perfect juxtaposition

— ch 9: sardinia

> the idea that max wouldn’t like merc because of toto’s simping made sense to me. max liked kelly because she acted above him. toto simping is exactly what he doesn’t want. mistreating george to boot, acting like he’s disposable, is just disrespectful. it made sense that max would just let sleeping dogs lie after all that upheaval 

— ch 10: correlation 

— what do i say about rupert........ first, he is also to blame for this mess, two he is forgiven for ending up with the information of max's heart spykes, aleix on the other hand, is a saint

> the physios man, they are the glue holding this fic together lwk. we need to see their gc really to understand the other side of this tale tbh 

— ch 11: spa

> another race without gp. another bad time for max. shocking.

> max and kelly’s pics in belgium with max’s mom and sister and fam with lily…. they look so tired, man. new baby, kinda bad race weekend, P’s birthday… shit had to be immense. 

— ch 14: budapest 

— Them making out saved my life  (love that this was immediately followed by:)

> sometimes i worry that i write too much kissing. one comment a year saves a life 

— This might be the cruelest thing you’ve ever written and I think earth angel is hell, so

> buuuuuuuuuut it turns out ok because george is nice and caring and sweet and also we love them 

also, the original microwave, the first one ever for tired wings included george eating max out until he cried so that was a concept but i changed it to be a bit more than that. cuz i like to do this. i cry when i come. just for fun. 

— Max hesitated. Every sensible part of him screamed don’t. (so like no particular part then?)

> none. none sensibility contained in the max

— G as usual doing a lot of heavy lifting for Maxie’s self esteem

> AS PER FUCKING USUAL

— I died at the shower scene and hired Chico Xavier to psychograph my thoughts while I read the rest from after life

> fun fact i wrote the shower scene to occur after silverstone (part of it anyway) and later decided it was too Relationship-y and moved it out further

— ch 15: running 

— OMG shut up about the shorts mate why make it illegal and punish me because you cannot control yourself be for real

> he is physically incapable of controlling himself, we have established this, nod nod 

— ch 16: terms and conditions 

— “It is barely a surprise,” Max said. “You can hardly shut up.” (And, are you doing much better? why is maxie so brave sometimes and such a p*ssy others!!!!!! (i love him with my entire heart)

> his sass is so funny and also inconsistent. he can be such a little shit but also such a sweetie and i like to imagine that he is just trying to avoid blushing in this moment because he wants george to talk dirty to him all the time, he loves george’s words and how they affect him

— Should add one punch for each time max uses the word supposed

> that’s a lot of punching, my dude. maxie is already getting a lot of hits 

— There was a small moment there were I was freaking out over his ability to have sex with george without ciallis, but then he used it on the dubcon scene soooo

> WELP

— Breaking the rules on their first encounter I cannot take them seriously

> these fucking freaks i cannot write them seriously either they just get their mouths on each other and their brains go right out the fucking window man

— ch 17: therapy 

previous ask where i talk about being a bonus parent

previous ask where i tell a funny story about overfeeding

max aligning red bull cans that made me put his personality into P

— ch 18: allowed 

— Max leaned back against the pillows, considering him. “You of course didn’t take anything,” he said. “I gave it.” (I’m sorry why is he perfect? I want one for me)

> gagging crying screaming every time i read this scene, at how max is tangled up inside but he’s not upset with george, i wanted to portray this so delicately 

— ch 19: weakness 

— Turns out g really is therapy, I love him so much!!!!!!!!!!

> I tried to balance this one out better than i did rhythm, i know george in rhythm is kinda……… too well adjusted and like, perfect boyfie material without ever asking much of max. I tried to include more content 

— His wallet was all he was good for, apparently. (I hate this, he was so sure of his place in her life before, I loved how he talked about her not needing him, but wanting and then........ that was very mean, darling)

(Maxie, you’re so smart and precious and lovely I love you

> the worst takes come out when he drinks, headcanon. he doesn’t think like that 99% of the time. he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to confront what is plainly spelled out, but when he’s raw and split open like this it’s impossible not to

— ch 20: zandvoort 

> wanted very much to include the most heartbreaking radio message i’d heard of max’s during the season (before abu dhabi ofc)… asking about lance’s wrists just killed me. either because he worried about lance because of his continued issues with his injury or because of daniel’s injury in the same place, or because he’s just familiar with how dangerous the banks are at zandvoort, who’s to say. but it killed me and i had to write just a smidge of max/lance because they’ve known each other forever and they have that unique thing in common where they both were overshadowed by their fathers before they made names for themselves.  

also shoutout to no door. fucking iconic

also shoutout to charles on the dunes. fucking iconic

— “I lost my home race” max says to George, like an asshole, when will silverstone stop hurting

> he IS an asshole, too used to winning to see what’s right in front of his face. poor georgie. pls let george win silverstone 2026. my heart can’t take another year of him spinning out or dnfing. it’s his year. I stg if kimi wins it i’m going to—

— How are you kind of married and in a non contract and dating at the same time like are they blind or stupid

> this is why he has a raymond to manage his contracts. aint no way that boy knows how the fuck to manage himself or his life 

— ch 21: monza

> oh how sweet monza felt. real radio transcripts again. listening to the hope returning in max’s voice, the elation, GP actually sounding excited…. augh it’s contagious 

small shout-out to max’s watching the screens here.

no, really, he’s watching the race as much as we are. 

loser. 

small line from tommy boy, a very funny movie, here too. 

— ch 22: devotion

— If you wanted me to dislike kp, you got it, erin :D

> she made this worse for herself by posting all that fucking shit while i was writing tbh. the new years dump where she talked about when they first met and how he told her the day after that she was the love of his life?????? as a teenager? i wish you could’ve seen the rage. the microwave was angry that day, my friends. 

— Jesus Christ, you don’t do things in halves, do you? Dubcon twice in as many chapters, Max is killing me here

> OH BOY OH BOY 

yes ppl pay attention to tags, read them, imprint them into your brains bc when i say dub con i mean it i am not kidding this was real and also exceedingly uncomfortable to write 

— ch 23: used

> I really wanted to walk the line here showing how fucking awful max feels about using people but that he absolutely is doing that at all times and that he’s going to extreme lengths to compartmentalize his emotions to avoid thinking about it directly because the guilt would eat him alive. admitting to himself that he needs anything would kill him, admitting he treats people like things would kill him. but both are true. he knows it, underneath it all, and it hurts. and george knows too, but he loves max anyway. 

— ch 24: safe

max visiting the factory before baku

— I’m sorry they are talking about kinks and darling boy is thinking about making George smile, he is too good for this world, don’t let him out the door, the world does not deserve him

> maybe george should just trap him and keep him and maybe all these problems will go away. maybe that’s how we solve tired wings on the whole 

wanted to mention max’s favorite color being royal blue so that i could have a stupid joke contrasting it with george’s sky blue. 

— The request (for penetrativ sex) feels a bit transactional I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but it seems soooo in character, so deep from max core, that i cant be upset, it just reads genuine, fuck me i guess

> max only knows how to be good for partners :( he’s spent his entire childhood trying to please his father, and the majority of his adult life trying to fit his partner, and he wants love and acceptance like anyone else but he really only knows how to provide, how to do things. and he expects he’s only going to get love and affection if he offers things first.

— ch 25: baku 

— I love my dear Nespresso machine, thank you very much

> it was a keurig, thank you very much. ur nespresso is perfectly acceptable

— Sometimes life is just me and a huge hard on for max taking care of sick George, hate that it (g being sick) keeps happening but it is so fucking precious, so we get something useful from his Victorian child immune system (shoutout to looking ever up by TheSpireSleeps, the very first russtappen fic i read, somewhat to blame for me annoying erin on this lovely sunday)

> love thespiresleeps, haven’t read that fic!!! i will go read it. this was my first time writing something like a sickfic and i couldn’t tell if this was how it was supposed to be done. spire knows how to do sickfics

the original anon who requested a proper sickfic 

— ch 27: singapore

singapore radio

— ch 28: trainers 

> collected a massive amount of photos of max working out to show to husband. asked him to help me identify what shoes max was wearing to get an idea of what max’s workout shoe taste was like. husband loses his shit laughing. “what’s so funny?” i ask. he’s wearing vaporflys, he says. “so?” i know that they are nikes. I know they’re nice shoes, relatively expensive. So what? 

they’re really nice running shoes. it’s ludicrous to weightlift in them. he’s exclusively weightlifting in really fancy running shoes, probably because he gets them for free, to his own detriment. it would be like running in heeled lifting shoes. it’s just not meant for that and it’s a lot easier to get hurt that way 

ok so max is silly about shoes. got it. “if he were buying his boyfriend fancy adidas running shoes, he would get the strungs, right?” no, it would be the evo pros. “but those aren’t even for training. those wouldn’t last him more than a month.” exactly. and when they wear out he’ll just buy another pair. “oh my god.”

<edit: the evo pro 3s, released right before the 2026 london marathon, are the shoes worn by the two men who broke the two hour barrier in the marathon which has never before been done in a road race.>

— ch 29: austin 

previous ask where i talk about fucking up the timing of kelly brazil trip

lily dressed up for austin 

kelly’s story about flying straight to brazil after

— ch 30: tonight 

previous ask where i tell of how i learned about max’s waxplay 

max being into waxplay 

— TIL the word akimbo

> akimbo is too fun a word. we have to learn lots of fun words

— Omg g is an awful person, you come, deny kitties food, steal p’s father, steal p’s ice cream

> kitties get soft dutch attention bc of george, though. And we needed george teasing max about the kitties bc george doesn’t have pets. he doesn’t understand the slavery of typical cat owner to cats. george and max both deserve the guillotine for stealing p’s ice cream though.

— Hypocritical of maxie to judge Georgie for chasing his scent he doesn’t know you do the same but I doooooo

> they’re both scent freaks. max is an unreliable narrator and a hypocrite to boot. he deserves nothing but the whole entire world and george’s love and affection right this second. Tired wings abo fic confirmed

— Two times did I read max having redbull for breakfast and two times did my cerebral arteries lock my brain out of blood flow as punishment for the simple idea of it happening

> i will continue writing max drinking red bull for breakfast, idc how implausible it is. it’s funny to me. i love the white peach flavor

— ch 31 las vegas  

— No thoughts only prayers for them walking into an adult store together, god bless America (sea chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay

> god bless america. 🫡

— Why is Lando catching strays????? He would look cute in a collar with those puppy eyes but that is beside the point

> lando bout to catch more strays. <note, he did catch more, with the edits to las vegas> i adore him. gax needs to make fun of people bc they are petty bitches. and i have to add a joke about the disqualifications.

— For all that George postures, he is allergic to the word pretty. Omg. Maxie is adorable, cute, pretty, sweet, soft, and beautifulllllll, tell him for me.

> george should say pretty. i concur. ill add that. <edit: i did. I added that.>

— I love that he doesn’t want to be a fuck toy during the Las Vegas mirror scene, I love that he wants the feel of being there and enjoying what he has with George

> vegas smut needs additions. i will be adding to this for smut reasons. i really wanted it to feel like oh filthy fun and then to devolve into max being bared open, held to look at what he was doing and who he was doing it with and that he actually fucking loved it. self-actualized max best max <edit: I ENDED UP DOING THIS>

the post that inspired mirror sex

the anon who requested mirror sex specifically 

shoutout to @choneysuns for contributing nipple clamps specifically for vegas. we would not have them if not for this request.

— no comments after that, fuck you, erin, i love you.

> wrong. I love you. I held onto this massive fucking comment for ages because i love you and i wanted to respond to all of it and i finally did so, ten years later. Thank you for reading, for taking notes while you did so. I always enjoy how affected you are by things, and how much you want to punch max. I do actually want the best for them despite how much i put them through. In this particular case, you can equally blame @spoilofwar for the pain and suffering, not just me. 

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Liking RPF and enjoying watching this sport are not mutually exclusive at all. Seeing the comments you received made me feel both angry and sad. Over the years when I watched football and F1 matches, people have always said similar things. In fact, most authors, in order to write good fics, would delve deeper into various knowledge and the history of this sport. I hope you won't take these people's words to heart. This is an absolute prejudice. I have always told such people to fuck off. Happy race week and enjoy what you like! LOVE YOU

i love sports regardless of the rpf. i didn’t know rpf existed until 2025 so, i guess the 30 years of my sports fandom until that point no longer count! twas all for the rpf!

love you very much. and a HAPPY race week to YOU anon!

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ate an orange today and thought of george

sighhhhh here’s hoping your hands didn’t go all

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Yes I absolutely agree. The max you wrote is the best version I've ever read.

In your writing max has an aggressive and tough side, but at the same time, he appears soft and confused, needing guidance and care. I can tell that you have conducted in-depth research on him, because to be honest, many people's descriptions of Max in fan fic actually seem more like they are writing about his father. Sorry.😖 And George in your writing has his own struggles and fears. I really like your description of his complex emotions. fascinating.

I'm like a damned fanatic who checks your AO3 homepage every few days, even though the rational part of my brain tells me that I'll receive an email. So yes, Professor Erin, I will be one of your most punctual students. I truly hope you understand how OUTSTANDING YOU ARE.

check ur email? i love you? i love you so much?

edit: i realized i wanted to answer this ask more thoroughly.

i read a lot of max fic. a LOT of max fic. with basically any partner, at any time in his career, pretty much any circumstances. i read top max, bottom max, sub max, dom max, max getting wrecked by the entire red bull garage, max fucking the car, anything. ANYTHING

and all of it is useful in some way to paint a picture of how people see him, but so much of it is written about a character that i don’t know, that im not familiar with. i find most characterizations of max to be lacking in some way. it’s difficult for me to even picture my own writing as max most of the time.

i agree with your assessment that too frequently he is portrayed overly aggressive or angry, and it isn’t a kind or fair painting of his personality, in my opinion. and for those of us who love him, it isn’t what we love about him at all. his kindness, his silliness, his honesty, those traits get lost in the process when people oversimplify because of these perceptions.

i actually think i have a better idea of max’s inner voice than george’s, but i feel more comfortable insisting myself as george because i think people are more likely to believe my assumptions about george. when i write max to feel this swooping anxiety, this gut-churning guilt, temporary rage that burns out and leaves him hollow inside, i don’t know if people trust me. i don’t know if it feels real to readers the way it feels in my own mind.

to hear that you like my voice and my thoughts, and that you appreciate my research, makes me want to SHOUT from the rooftops. what would i say? maybe something silly. but shout, i would.

posting the report about my research for tired wings was a huge burden off my shoulders. i wanted very much to show you how i approached it, and i am actively skimming through the work to find other things i sourced so i can add more links. i want to make a more… comprehensive-style doc that isn’t chaotic and weird like a tumblr ask, because i have another ask that is sort of wanting a max bible, and i would love to provide that for other authors who want resources for why i characterize him the way i do.

your messages have made my day. i hope you liked 2 emails in 2 days.

wouldn’t it be insane to get a third?

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ship, If we were to establish an academy to teach ppl how to portray Max in fan fic, you would have been appointed as a lifetime honorary professor. I swear, before I read rhythm is a dancer and silver linings last year, I didn't pay much attention to Gax. As for Max and Nico? never even thought about them! Now I'm just rereading your works in midnight and screaming in the blanket.

!!!!!!!!!! how wonderful. prepare your course load. i am an intense professor

what a fabulous compliment. i could serve up a george/max oneshot i have ready if you need something to soothe after screaming into your blanket. would that help?

or maybe i could upload the third chapter of clouding up my mind, finally.

OR I COULD UNLEASH A LECTURE AND FORCE YOU ALL TO LEARN HOW MUCH I RESEARCHED FOR TIRED WINGS >:)

i hope you’re having a wonderful week so far. i’m so honored and thrilled you enjoy multiple of my works. i hope you like the next ones, too.

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Erin wrote a carcar!  I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the email. I have become very fond of reading carcar over the past two months. So this is truly a beautiful surprise. How I wish I would keep receiving more emails from you this June! Summer has begun! 

then it is more emails you shall receive. will they coincide with requests? will they make sense? who knows!! but i am so happy you like carcar too. i read a lot of them, more than i read of russtappen. it was a fun challenge to write a couple that i find so interesting.

thank you for this message. it brightened my morning immensely and i really needed it. i love you. 💕

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Carcar or Geoscar with jealous Oscar 🥺

ain't real cherry oscar piastri/carlos sainz jr jealous!oscar rating: EXPLICIT length: ~11.7k ao3 link

When Oscar arrived at his flat carrying a brown paper bag from the bakery down the street, he only smirked a little at the man slouched against the wall outside his door.

Carlos still wore yesterday’s clothes. His hair was a mess, anxious fingers had been run through the shiny locks too many times to count. He looked exhausted enough to be human again.

His head tipped back at Oscar’s approach. “Hi,” he said, looking up at him through dark lashes.

“Reckon y’could let me through?” Oscar asked.

Carlos shifted sideways with a tired scrape of trainers against tile while Oscar unlocked the door. Oscar ignored the hand that caught it before it could swing shut again.

He unloaded the bakery bag onto the counter, already halfway through a croissant by the time Carlos stumbled in after him. The door slammed behind them.

“You were asleep before ten?” Carlos asked, sounding genuinely suspicious.

“Nope,” Oscar said around a mouthful of pastry.

Carlos wandered slowly toward the kitchen bench, glancing around the flat like he hadn’t been here three days ago.

“Then you could’ve answered my calls, no?” Carlos drifted around the kitchen island instead of looking at him directly. Like if he moved slowly enough, Oscar wouldn’t bolt.

“Mm,” Oscar hummed. “Guess so.”

Carlos exhaled quietly through his nose.

Oscar drank some water, refusing to look at him directly. He didn’t have the patience for this conversation after the twelve-hour social media campaign documenting Carlos Sainz’s romantic road trip through Italy with Charles Leclerc.

He had spent most of last night trying to shrug Baku off in pieces. He unpacked, stuffing sandy team kits into his hamper with the heat he imagined still clinging to the papaya mocking him from his suitcase. He showered off the adrenaline, scrubbing until he couldn’t feel the hollowed-out feeling that came with a race ending almost before it began. 

Last year, he had proudly stood on the top step, thrilled to have won at a street circuit so unforgiving. This year, he binned it in quali and the race like a bloody rookie. Impressive turnaround, really. 

The universe, naturally, had to rub it in his face in the most dramatic way possible. Carlos ended up on the podium and therefore invited to tag along with Charles’s post-race travel arrangements almost immediately. Oscar shouldn’t have been so shocked, honestly. Carlos jumped as soon as Charles indicated how high.

Carlos called during their descent into French airspace to ask whether the McLaren flight was safe. 

Lando leaned halfway across the aisle when he figured out who Oscar was talking to. “What’s he want?”

Oscar put him on speaker. 

Apparently, some dodgy weather report had Charles convinced landing in Nice constituted an unacceptable brush with death, more so than their standard race weekend threshold. They were diverting to Italy and driving the rest of the way home instead. Oscar rolled his eyes so hard it genuinely hurt. 

By the time he landed back in Nice a few hours later, all Oscar wanted was to be alone for ten to twelve business days. He got back to his flat exhausted, annoyed, carbon fibre still scattered across the back of his eyelids. He dropped his bag by the door and reached automatically for his phone before seeing Carlos’s last text telling him not to wait up. 

Oscar stared at it, exhaling through his nose. Then he sent back some generic safe travels message and sent it before he could think too much about the way the flat felt suddenly, unmistakably empty.

He went to bed alone while aggressively informing himself it didn’t matter. Unfortunately, the internet disagreed. There it was, in beautiful 4K, on TikTok and Instagram, and—Jesus Christ—Charles had even uploaded to YouTube Shorts. 

Oscar didn’t mean to open TikTok. His thumb simply lacked strength of character. 

The first shaky clip was filmed from the passenger seat of a rental van. Charles complained about Baku—mhm, Oscar could relate—before turning the camera towards the driver.

“Where are we, Carlos?”

Carlos glanced over briefly, smiling despite the hour, hands on the wheel, hair a mess from travel. He looked bright-eyed and comfortable in that way Oscar knew by heart. 

“The middle of Italy,” he said. 

Both of them started laughing, overtired enough to find the situation funny instead of inconvenient. The caption showed under the video. Best chauffeur in town. 

Yeah. Oscar bet he was. 

The next video loaded automatically. Carlos at the rental car park, gesturing at the van they had just filmed in. Charles had tagged him, comments already piling in.

are they lovers?

Charlos forever ❤️❤️

when you’re in an ‘i ❤️carlos sainz’ competition but charles leclerc shows up 🥀

Instagram was worse. Charles had uploaded a race weekend photo dump featuring three separate entries from their little Italian roadtrip alongside the caption: 10/10 chauffeur to go back home though. Oscar set his phone facedown on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

Interesting, he thought bitterly. Very cool and normal emotions happening here. 

Oscar slept badly after races all the time, usually because his brain insisted on replaying every decision and mistake until sunrise. It seemed only natural to blame the result in Baku for the tight feeling in his chest when he couldn’t seem to clear the images of Carlos smiling at the camera from his mind after he had put away his phone. 

Charles and Carlos had always been like this. Carlos collected people everywhere he went—teammates, engineers, random airport staff. He was pathologically incapable of not stepping in to help if someone looked mildly inconvenienced within a fifteen metre radius. None of this was new.

The irritating part was that Oscar wasn’t actually worried about Charles, or Carlos, or anything concrete enough to justify behaving this irrationally. It was more self-pitying than that. 

While Oscar had been busy excavating himself from the psychological crater formerly known as his race weekend, the internet had gotten a very good look at Carlos being charming in somebody else’s passenger seat. 

Everyone had just seemed so bloody thrilled about it.

Carlos called eventually, presumably back in Monaco by then. Oscar ignored it out of principle.

A few hours later, Lando sent him three consecutive messages about pastries from the bakery down the street, which Oscar interpreted as emotional support from someone equally traumatised by the weekend.

That was how he ended up standing barefoot in his kitchen the next morning eating croissants while Carlos stared at him from the other side of the bench like a man attempting hostage negotiation.

“I wanted to be here last night,” Carlos said finally, voice tighter than usual. “Charles panicked about the weather and decided Italy was safer.”

Oscar snorted quietly, pressing his thumb into the edge of the bench, grounding himself in the pressure. “Think safer is an ambitious word in that situation.”

Carlos huffed a laugh. “He wanted to drive the van,” he said darkly. “I told him absolutely not. This was already his fault.”

That dragged a reluctant noise out of Oscar that almost qualified as amusement.

The flat was washed in pale morning light, the kind that made everything feel too exposed. Oscar still felt vaguely scattered across the Baku runoff area with the rest of the debris from his race.

He hated title fights for this. Every bad weekend felt catastrophic. Every mistake replayed itself in high definition. He had come home exhausted and hollow and wanting nothing more than to scream until the world would shut up for one evening. Instead he got TikTok edits of Carlos smiling softly at Charles in tunnel lighting.

Brilliant.

The kettle clicked off behind him. Oscar blinked at it. Right. 

Apparently some part of him had still automatically started the kettle for Carlos’s coffee despite actively refusing to look at him.

Embarrassing behaviour, honestly.

“But you are still mad at me,” Carlos observed.

“Didn’t have the best weekend, mate,” Oscar corrected, opening the fridge.

Carlos climbed onto one of the barstools, clicking his tongue softly. “Tough weekend,” he agreed, watching Oscar a little too carefully. “Usually after a bad race you want me closer, not further away, no?”

Oscar grabbed a protein shake and twisted the cap off. “You were busy,” he muttered, like that explained everything. “I survived the night somehow.”

Carlos rested his chin on one hand. “You know,” he murmured thoughtfully, “this is actually quite flattering.” 

“Yeah?”

Carlos nodded, chin rocking against his hand. “I thought, how nice it would be finally to be home,” he said with the sigh of a deeply persecuted man. “Oscar will be happy for my podium.”

“Congratulations,” Oscar said flatly, folding his arms over his chest. 

Carlos ignored his sass. “I think you were so happy,” he said, sounding deeply entertained by the discovery, “that you wanted me all to yourself.”

Oscar rolled his eyes hard. “Yeah, mate. Desperate to lock you in a tower.” 

Carlos grinned. “I knew the Williams pace would scare people eventually.”

“Mm,” Oscar hummed, leaning against the bench. “Whole paddock’s trembling.” 

Carlos didn’t even blink. His dark eyes glittered, amused. “Yeah, so many struggled in Baku,” he nodded. “Very strange. But it has always been a strength for me.”

Oscar scoffed, pushing off. “Bit easier when half the grid eliminated themselves, mate.”

Carlos slid off the stool and stepped into his space without hesitation. “Lucky me, then,” he said, voice low. 

“That makes one of us,” Oscar said, holding his gaze. It helped that he had a few centimetres on the Spaniard, looking slightly down to meet his gaze. 

Carlos braced against the cabinet, flexing his arm next to Oscar’s head. “Yeah,” he breathed, his jaw sliding sideways as he considered all of Oscar. “At least I finished the race, mate.”

Well, the kitty had claws. 

Oscar’s lips pressed in a thin line. “At least I’m not someone’s fucking lap dog,” he said icily. 

Carlos went still for a second, blinking. “Lap dog?” he repeated, tilting his head, not unlike a fucking dog. “You’re not actually annoyed about the race, are you?”

Oscar didn’t look at him. “Drop it,” he said, already on the move. “It’s nothing.”

He ducked under Carlos’s arm before he could get any closer, slipping out of the corner of the kitchen, heading for the hallway like the conversation had ended.

Carlos caught his wrist before he made it two steps. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

Oscar tugged once at his grip. “Away from this conversation,” he said. 

“Oscar,” Carlos said, stepping in until leaving meant pushing past him. “Hey.”

Oscar tried to twist free. “Don’t hey me. Just—let go,” he said. “I don’t care.”

Carlos drew him closer, voice dropping. “That’s not what this looks like,” he said.

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “Right,” he said. “Because you’re suddenly an expert on what I’m thinking.”

He could feel the warmth of him now, the pressure of his grip around his narrow wrist. Heat climbed up his neck despite himself, and he hated that Carlos was close enough to see the flush he had no doubt was climbing his neck.

Carlos’s mouth twitched. “You are not so hard to read, you know,” he said. “I know you.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snapped. “You don’t. You say that like you do, but you don’t, all right?”

He yanked harder, but it only dragged Carlos fully into his personal space, refusing to let go of his wrist. Carlos’s hips were pinning him against the counter now, one arm caging him in. Oscar tried to ignore the heat he could feel through his shirt where they touched, even barely. 

Carlos huffed a quiet laugh. “Is this about Charles?”

Oscar made a strangled sound and tried again to pull free.

Carlos shook his head. “All this,” he said, chuckling to himself “Because you’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Oscar said, too fast, heat still high in his cheeks. “It’s not—just let go—”

Carlos slid his other hand to Oscar’s waist, not rough, but firm enough that leaving would take effort. “No,” he said, almost under his breath. “You don’t get to run now.”

Oscar’s pulse jumped, Carlos’s fingers strong and warm against his ribs. His skin prickled under the familiar touch, despite how mad he still felt. 

“Don’t,” he said, turning his shoulder, trying to slip past him. “Don’t start—”

Carlos leaned in, just enough that his voice dropped, that the words felt closer than they should. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Oscar huffed, frustrated, his shoulders tightening. “Carlos,” he warned, low, but it lacked bite.

Carlos ignored him entirely. “This is incredible,” he went on, voice quieter now, words landing just shy of Oscar’s ear. “You, jealous. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I don’t,” Oscar said, but his voice wavered slightly.

Carlos’s thumb traced idly along his wrist, and then his mouth brushed against the line of Oscar’s neck, enough to make Oscar’s breath catch.

“You do,” Carlos said, annoyingly smug about it. “I can feel it.”

Carlos smelled like travel and sleep and something faintly citrusy. He didn’t smell like the cologne Oscar had come to recognize, or the woodsy soap Carlos’s skin usually smelled of, which only served to make Oscar want to thrash harder. 

Oscar huffed, looking away again. “That doesn’t even mean anything.”

Carlos hummed in disagreement, brushing a light press of his lips just below Oscar’s ear. “You missed me,” he taunted, lips moving against his skin. 

Oscar’s breath caught, the kiss sending sparks all the way down one arm. He turned his head just enough to pull away from the Spaniard’s traitorous mouth. “I didn’t miss you,” he said, voice dropping against his will. 

Carlos didn’t let him get far. He followed immediately, mouth dragging back to his jaw, his neck, refusing the distance like it hadn’t been offered. “No?” he asked, nuzzling under his jaw and pressing his hips into Oscar’s. “Mm, I think you’re lying.”

Oscar made a frustrated sound and let his head tip back again despite his annoyance.

Carlos took advantage of it immediately. “Tell me again,” he said, his stubble rasping against Oscar’s neck, “maybe this time I will believe you.” Carlos’s dick pressing into his hip reminded Oscar how much he—how much they both—got off on this.

Oscar swallowed, the motion catching against Carlos’s mouth. His throat felt tight, like Carlos had reached into his ribs and pulled something humiliating out into the open just by not coming home when Oscar wanted him to. Oscar didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to admit to the bitterness, the pain leaking out around the edges of the carefully constructed barriers he had put up between them. It was a little like trying to down a chaser after drinking poison, knowing the burn couldn’t be soothed. 

Oscar had spent the night trying to swallow down every thought that Carlos belonged to him even a little bit. By morning it had spread through him completely, mean and feverish and embarrassing, until Carlos touching him felt like pressing on a bruise. And Carlos always had to push him, had to egg him on, had to make him even crazier with that fucking mouth of his, in more ways than one. 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Carlos did drive him crazy. He hadn’t meant to be exclusive to Carlos; honestly, he had never meant for things with Carlos to become things at all.

It had started the way these situations always seemed to start in Formula One, with proximity, exhaustion, loneliness dressed up as convenience. They were simply two people constantly crossing paths in airports and paddocks and hotel bars, understanding each other instinctively because they were both trapped inside the same strange life.

They had tried to stop, tried to leave it as a one-time fluke after they fell into bed together the first time. The second had been labelled an honest mistake. After the fifth, they had stopped trying to make excuses.

Neither of them had the time or energy for anything heavier than casual. Between training and travel and media obligations and the relentless pressure of racing every other weekend, even maintaining friendships sometimes felt impossible. Dating outside the sport sounded exhausting in ways Oscar couldn’t even articulate properly anymore. There was too much explaining, too much apologising for cancelled plans and jet lag and disappearing emotionally after bad races.

Carlos understood all of it without needing anything translated. He understood why Oscar sometimes went silent after difficult weekends. He understood the exhaustion, the obsession, the strange emotional volatility that came with building an entire life around hundredths of seconds and public humiliation. He knew how to soothe Oscar back down from bad races without demanding explanations Oscar didn’t know how to give. 

Hell, Carlos even understood McLaren specifically. He knew the strange politics of the team, the constant balancing act beside Lando. Sometimes Oscar only had to repeat a phrase from debrief for Carlos to immediately grimace in recognition before Oscar even explained why it had annoyed him.

And Oscar, in return, understood Carlos too. He knew intimately the particular helplessness of arriving somewhere he hadn’t fully chosen and trying to wrestle back control anyway through sheer force of competence. He understood what it felt like to line up beside a teammate the team already loved before he had even arrived.

Carlos rarely complained about it directly, but Oscar knew him well enough to hear the frustration underneath the jokes sometimes. Carlos brought experience and technical understanding and consistency everywhere he went, yet somehow still kept ending up beside drivers who fit more neatly into the team’s long-term plans than he did.

The podium in Baku mattered so much, emotionally, politically. A result like that in a Williams changed things. It bought Carlos breathing room, garnered him leverage. It reminded the team exactly what he could drag out of a car when things finally came together around him for once.

They all knew momentum mattered almost as much as outright pace sometimes. One podium could shift the entire mood around a driver overnight. Suddenly engineers listened more attentively. Team principals spoke a little differently. Futures that had looked uncertain started looking valuable again. Carlos had needed that result desperately.

Which made Oscar feel even worse about spending the night irrationally wishing he wanted anyone else as much as he wanted Carlos. 

It sounded pathetic in the dark of his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. Oscar could fuck whoever he wanted. They both could. Nobody had asked for exclusivity. Nobody had promised anything at all. It had simply become easier to keep coming back to Carlos than to bother looking elsewhere.

Their needs fit together neatly enough. Carlos scratched an itch nobody else really could anymore. It wasn’t romantic.

At least that was what Oscar had been telling himself right up until watching Carlos smile at somebody else had made him feel vaguely sick. Thinking about how easily Carlos fit somewhere else with someone else spread through Oscar like a crack spreading through glass under pressure already there.

“You always do whatever he wants,” Oscar bit out, poisoned words spilling out of him like a gutted fish. “All he has to do is bat his eyelashes and you’re—”

Carlos cut him off by pinching the fuck out of his side. Oscar yelped, Carlos’s mouth already attaching just under his jaw as if in apology. 

“I wanted to be here,” Carlos went on, voice softer, almost coaxing now. “I was tired and annoyed at him.” 

Carlos’s hand slid over his ribs, and Oscar arched into the touch against his will to stay mad. 

“Wouldn’t have known the difference,” Oscar shot back, breath a little thinner now. “You looked pretty happy.”

Carlos pulled back just enough to look at him, something bright and dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Oscar held his gaze, defiant even as his pulse kicked. “Yeah.”

Carlos’s mouth twitched. “And what if I bat my eyelashes?” he asked. “You forgive me then?”

Oscar snorted automatically. “No.”

Carlos’s fingers hooked into his shirt without warning.

Oscar caught his wrist immediately. “No—” he said, trying to plant his feet.

But before Oscar could brace for it, Carlos kissed him firmly enough to steal the rest of his protest. Oscar went still for a second, caught off guard, and Carlos took the opportunity to pull the hem of his shirt up over his head, quick and decisive, before Oscar could complain. 

Carlos’s mouth was back on his in a hurry, his fingers splaying across his exposed ribs, drawing him in. Oscar made a frustrated sound into it, hands finally coming up, hovering uselessly before pressing against Carlos’s stupid chest. 

Carlos finally released his wrist, both hands sliding down Oscar’s waist to his ass, pulling their hips together. Oscar turned his head slightly to kiss a little harder, a little deeper, tonguing into the Spaniard’s mouth as if he could lick out the indiscretions hiding behind his teeth. 

Oscar’s patience snapped somewhere between one breath and the next. “God, you’re—” he started, then gave up on the sentence entirely, grabbing a fistful of Carlos’s shirt and hauling him forward.

Carlos made a soft, surprised sound that turned into a grin almost immediately. 

“Don’t—” Oscar tried, already pulling at the hem, shoving it upward with more force than necessary.

Carlos went with it easily, arms coming up without hesitation, leaning into him instead of away. “You could just ask,” he murmured, ducking his head to make it easier.

“Not happening,” Oscar shot back, even as he dragged the shirt over his shoulders.

Carlos took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to his jaw, then another, like punctuation between movements. “Thought you didn’t care,” he added lightly.

Oscar scoffed, finally getting the shirt off and tossing it aside. “I don’t,” he said automatically.

Carlos’s hands slid around to his back, warm and rough in a pleasant way. “Right,” he said, clearly unconvinced. He nosed across Oscar’s jaw, his tongue darting out over his pulse point, and Oscar inhaled sharply, the feeling jolting down his neck. 

His hand flew up to Carlos’s hair automatically, threading through the Spaniard’s thick locks, holding his head in place as Carlos licked and sucked at the sensitive spot just under the sharp line of his jaw. 

When pain seared across his neck suddenly, Oscar yanked back on the thick hair, hard. “Fucking—ow, dickhead,” he cursed, rubbing at his neck, knowing Carlos’s apparent bloodlust would likely leave yet another mark on his neck that he would have to stay indoors for a day or two to hide. “Not so high, I said.”

Carlos looked at him hungrily through dark lashes, pupils blown. “Sorry,” he mumbled unconvincingly. “I forget.”

“No, you fucking didn’t,” Oscar muttered, bringing his head back anyway, sighing into the scrape of stubble against his own, Carlos’s arms wrapped firmly around him in the way that made him feel narrow and wanted. “You’re just a prick.”

Carlos nodded, brushing one more lingering kiss over his mouth like punctuation. “Yeah,” he agreed easily. “But I’m your prick, no?” 

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose. “Dunno,” he mumbled into the dark hair between his fingers. “Are you?” 

For a moment, it felt like everything paused with him—the air, the warmth between them, even Oscar’s own breath as it caught somewhere in his chest. He had said too much, felt too bare, as if he had ripped his own heart out and offered it to Carlos, ugly and fragile and stupid. 

His grip tightened reflexively on Carlos’s side, like he could take the words back, shove them down, pretend they hadn’t slipped out at all. 

Carlos went still, his breath warm against Oscar’s throat. The silence stretched, sudden and heavy, and Oscar’s stomach dropped with it. He shouldn’t have asked that. He knew better. His jaw tightened, already bracing for deflection and laughter. 

“That depends,” Carlos huffed softly. “Are you going to fuck me?” he asked, like it was obvious, like Oscar had asked something far less serious than he had.

The tension snapped clean through Oscar’s chest. “Fuck you,” he muttered, but it came out breathless.

Carlos smiled against his mouth. “That’s the idea.”

He didn’t give Oscar time to think about it. He caught Oscar’s hand and tugged him forward, already moving.

“Carlos—” Oscar started, stumbling over his own feet as he was pulled out of the kitchen.

“Come on,” Carlos said, not even looking back, like it was a foregone conclusion.

The hallway passed in a blur, sunlight giving way to the dimmer quiet of the bedroom. 

Carlos let go only long enough to kick the door shut behind them before turning back, already stripping off his own jeans, quick and distracted, shoving them down his hips, like it barely mattered compared to the fact that Oscar was still there.

He stepped out of them, then fell into Oscar’s bed like he belonged there, settling back against the pillows with a familiarity that made something in Oscar’s chest twist.

Carlos looked at him expectantly. “Don’t act shy now,” he teased, eyes dancing. “Too late for that.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was already moving, slipping off his own shorts, climbing onto the foot of his bed. 

Carlos reached out the second he got close, one hand sliding around his waist, the other braced at the back of his neck, and then Carlos was tugging him down and in, the mattress dipping under their combined weight.

Carlos always ran hot, radiating warmth through his bare thighs and hairy stomach, fitting their bodies together with strong hands in a way that felt absurdly natural. 

Oscar knew exactly how Carlos touched when he was tired like this—slower, clingier, more inclined to pull Oscar fully against him instead of keeping up the teasing distance. He knew the weight of Carlos’s arm across his back, knew the roughness of his fingertips from steering wheels and gym equipment, knew the taste of his morning breath before his first coffee, the scrape of his stubble before he had shaved. 

Knowing Carlos wasn’t the same thing as having him, though. Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem interested in the distinction. It didn’t matter how many nights Carlos lay like a borrowed book in his bed, on his sofa, Oscar’s fingers feeling every knob of his spine. Oscar’s name still wasn’t written inside, no matter how much familiarity blurred with something permanent. 

It felt good, kissing Carlos, losing the sharp edges of his thoughts in the heat between their mouths. Like this, Carlos looked almost unreal in white briefs against bronzed skin, all warm gold and dark lashes and sleepy eyes. Faint tan lines crossed his thighs where his cycling shorts always ended, but even the palest skin there looked brown against the cool ivory of Oscar’s legs.

“Come on,” Carlos murmured against his mouth, his fingers digging into Oscar’s waist with little restless movements that felt impatient. “Thinking too much.”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose as Carlos bit his lower lip, pulling him closer. Carlos shifted beneath him, rolling their hips together just enough to make heat spark low in Oscar’s belly. He made a quiet sound against his mouth before he could stop it. He could feel Carlos smirking in response, smug as anything. 

“Fuck off,” Oscar muttered automatically, though it lost most of its impact when he felt how hard Carlos was, jabbing against his stomach.

Carlos only laughed softly and kissed him harder. It felt unfair, honestly, how badly Oscar still wanted him.

He was still annoyed and carrying around the ugly, sour feeling from the night before. Some bitter part of Oscar still wanted to pick a fight, wanted to say something mean enough to wound. But instead he was sprawled over Carlos in his own bed, kissing him like he had been starving for it.

He had been starving for it, was the thing. While he had felt hollow except for the disappointment of watching a race continue without him, lying in bed alone and frustrated, he hadn’t wanted reassurance, or advice, or words at all, really. He wanted to lose himself in strong hands dragging him back into his body instead of leaving him stranded inside his own head with the replay of barriers and carbon fibre and disappointing radio messages looping endlessly behind his eyes.

Because the second Oscar had realised Carlos wasn’t coming over that night, it had hurt far worse than it should have, too much for what they were. 

His stomach tensed automatically under Carlos’s hand, easing down his torso with the heel of his palm. Oscar couldn’t help moaning as Carlos stroked at his desire, fingers feather-light over his shaft through his boxers. 

The annoying part was that Carlos knew exactly how Oscar would melt after a few more minutes of this. He knew exactly where to lick to make Oscar shiver, which words to say, or sometimes not to say, that dissolved his icy exterior, how to grind his thigh just so until the fight leaked harmlessly out of him. Oscar knew it too. That was the entire fucking issue.

Oscar could kiss the stubble under his jaw, could graze his teeth against his throat, could lave his tongue across Carlos’s collarbone, but none of it left Carlos breathless or without sense the way it did Oscar’s. Carlos would simply angle their lips and their tongues for a better slide, would pull his own thigh back for a better fuck. He never lost sight of the goal despite his wanting, and all Carlos wanted was to be fucked. 

Oscar wanted him so badly it overrode common sense. It erased pride, irritation, jealousy. Carlos definitely didn’t need in the same way as Oscar. He would’ve survived last night just fine without all this clawing want in his chest, without lying awake replaying videos until sunrise because the wrong person had been sitting in Oscar’s passenger seat instead of him. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed. 

Carlos nudged his nose against Oscar’s jaw, mouth finding the sensitive spot below his ear, and everything complicated in Oscar’s chest melted down into something simpler and infinitely more dangerous. His dick throbbed in Carlos’s lazy grip, with a degree of irony about the dangers of being held the right way for too long, with too much familiarity. 

He grunted, shoving his forehead against the Spaniard’s. Carlos huffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, voice raspy with lack of sleep. “You are so needy.”

Oscar hated when Carlos said shit like that, when he knew they both craved it more than sleep or training or anything remotely productive. Carlos raised up on one arm, twisting to reach in the bedside table drawer for the bottle they both knew had a permanent residence inside. 

Oscar caught him around the waist and shoved his hips hard enough to send him sprawling forward onto the mattress with a startled huff of laughter, bottle in hand. 

Carlos blinked once into the pillow before twisting his head slightly to look back over his shoulder, more amused than genuinely surprised.

“Oh?” he drawled. “You’re taking initiative suddenly?”

Oscar ignored the immediate rush of heat that went through him at the sight of Carlos stretched out beneath him lazily, barely even resisting where Oscar pinned him down against the mattress. Like he found the whole thing entertaining more than threatening.

Oscar kissed down Carlos’s spine, thumbs stroking his sides. His legs pushed outwards, spreading Carlos’s knees, one hand feeling up his strong thigh. 

Oscar’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Carlos’s briefs then, easing them down slowly over his hips. He kissed down the back of his shoulder, shoving them lower, while Carlos lifted helpfully off the sheets. They settled back on the bed, Oscar’s still-clothed hardness pressing between Carlos’s bare cheeks in a way that made him want to abandon plans of fucking entirely. 

He kissed his way up the line of Carlos’s spine. Carlos tipped his head forward automatically to give him more room. Oscar bit lightly at the warm skin beneath his hairline just to hear the pleased little noise it dragged out of him.

Carlos opened the bottle, propping up on his elbows, and Oscar moved to take it from him, indignant. But when his fingers wrapped around the bottle in Carlos’s grasp, knees already spreading his legs apart, Carlos caught his wrist immediately and shoved it firmly back without even looking.

Carlos twisted just enough to glance back over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. 

“Eh, eh,” he murmured, firmly holding Oscar’s wrist. “This is important work.”

The indignation flared hot and immediate, ridiculous in how deeply it offended him to be physically repositioned like an over-friendly dog. Especially by Carlos, who was shorter than him and somehow still always managed to manhandle him. 

“Let me,” Oscar said, genuinely affronted.

“Mm, no, I have to,” Carlos murmured, sounding deeply put upon about it. “Your hands are too small, guapo, you can barely even reach.”

Like that was fucking necessary. 

Oscar glared at him, realising with a warming face that from down here, he had an up close and personal view of Carlos’s hand spreading lube over his taint.

Carlos had pulled his knees up, spreading his legs wider for better access, but his lazy swirling, head tipping forward into the pillow, sighing loudly at the pleasure of it—that was just to tease. 

Oscar’s gaze dragged downward helplessly to Carlos’s thighs, thick with strength, calves flexing under bronzed skin, lean and hard from cycling, dark hair catching warmth in the morning light. His hips and shoulders were broad where Oscar was slim against the sheets. 

Carlos’s hands were unfair too, broader than Oscar’s, rough through the palms, fingers thick where Oscar’s were fine-boned. Carlos’s fingers dripped shiny and wet between his spread legs. Oscar was only a little jealous of what those hands were allowed to touch. 

When just the tip of one finger breached his entrance, Carlos sighed, tilting his hips down, his eyes fluttering shut. Oscar just barely bit back his own gasp in time, eyes locked on the finger disappearing into tight heat, one hand squeezing Carlos’s hip with bruising pressure. His other hand apparently had its own agenda, reaching for smooth skin across Carlos’s thigh, just to feel, just to be near what was happening. 

Oscar rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt when Carlos caught his wrist again with another smug little no, no under his breath, guiding his hand away like Oscar was incapable of following basic instructions. Arrogant prick.

In retaliation, he pressed his palm flat between Carlos’s shoulder blades, pushing his chest more firmly into the pillows beneath him. Carlos only groaned softly at the positioning, eyes fluttering shut as his finger sank deeper with the new angle. 

With his hips canted more acutely, Oscar could see Carlos’s flushed dick resting heavy against his taut abdomen. His was shorter than Oscar’s but thick and dark, bobbing with every thrust of Carlos’s fingers. Familiarity with Carlos’s body had ruined Oscar a little bit, his eyes greedily tracing the curve of the Spaniard’s cock, the way his arms pressed his pecs together like tits, as if he didn’t know exactly how delicious he looked. 

Carlos’s back was warm under his palm, lean muscle twitching when he flexed in surprise. Oscar pressed harder with the heel of his palm, earning another groan muffled in the sheets. It was a ridiculous compromise, sulking while holding Carlos down like a disgruntled cat. Carlos’s mouth twitched.

“Mm, good,” Carlos hummed, cracking one eye open to look at him through dark lashes. “Make yourself useful and maybe I’ll forgive your attitude.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes at the smug curve of Carlos’s mouth before pinching sharply with his other hand at his side. Carlos jolted instantly.

“Ah—!” His stomach twitched hard under Oscar’s hand, surprise and annoyance flashing openly across his face before it dissolved into incredulous laughter. “Oscar!”

Oscar schooled his face to look deeply unimpressed by the whole thing. “That’s what you get,” he muttered.

Carlos stared at him for a second longer, still grinning in disbelief, hips lifting with a soft laugh as he settled back against the pillows again. “You little shit,” he accused fondly.

Oscar shrugged one shoulder, entirely unapologetic, though his fingers splayed wider on Carlos’s back afterward, thumb dragging idly over the skin there. 

Carlos’s eyes flicked down at the hand that had pinched him and laughed quietly through his nose. “So violent,” he sighed dramatically. “No gratitude.”

Before Oscar could brace himself, Carlos pushed his finger deeper, groaning softly with the slick noise of too much lube squeezed from too tight a space, which made Oscar’s ears go hot and his head feel heavy. Carlos seemed in no hurry to prep himself, finger pushing in at a leisurely pace, face pressing into the pillows with a sigh. 

Oscar’s eyes couldn’t stray from where his thick finger disappeared inside, how his skin folded in on itself with each thrust in and pulled on his knuckle on each drag out. Carlos was making these noises, little breaths when he clenched around his finger just to drive Oscar insane, he was pretty sure. 

Something restless and possessive unfurled under his ribs. Before he could think too hard about it, he tipped his head down and kissed Carlos’s back between his fingers. Oscar waited for the inevitable smug comment, for Carlos to laugh and twist away and make this into another thing Oscar regretted revealing too openly.

Instead, Carlos only exhaled softly through his nose, his fingers swirling around his hole without hesitation. He hummed distractedly, lost entirely in the lewd slide of his hand between his legs—two fingers now entering slowly, stretching himself before Oscar’s eyes. 

Oscar kissed higher on his neck, lips trailing up while his fingers dug into Carlos’s skin. Lean muscle twitched under tanned skin when Carlos flexed unconsciously at the touch. Carlos’s soft moaning was making him dizzy, making him so hard in his boxers it hurt. 

Carlos only arched beneath him into the stretch of his fingers, biting his plush lower lip as if he weren’t the one doing it to himself. 

“Ah,” he moaned, both fingers reaching their limit, Oscar only allowed to imagine how Carlos was curling his fingertips deep inside, if he was scissoring himself open or just enjoying the push deeper. His jealousy reared up meanly at that, too. Anyone could kiss their way up his neck right now, and Carlos wouldn’t even notice, too lost in his own pleasure, warm and smug about it. 

The thought made Oscar bite at the side of his throat before he could stop himself. Carlos’s breath caught softly, his shoulder twitching under Oscar’s grip before a grin spread slowly across his face.

Carlos looked unfairly good like this, spread out against white sheets with pleasure playing across his features as he toyed with Oscar’s sanity under the guise of prepping himself, two fingers fucking in faster now. 

Oscar hated that his body reacted instantly to the louder squelch, every ragged breath Carlos made, every little twitch under his mouth. Oscar’s hips unconsciously hitched when Carlos groaned, seeking friction against Carlos’s ass presented so perfectly for him, still unavailable to fuck. 

Oscar leaned back, letting his lips trail haphazardly over the curve of Carlos’s ass, flattening closer to the mattress. 

Carlos’s thigh was warmer under his lips, stronger beneath his hands, thick muscle jumping subtly when Oscar pressed an open-mouthed kiss there. 

Carlos’s free hand reached back and grabbed at his hair, moaning at the kiss, thrusting his fingers harder, deeper. 

Heat rushed low through Oscar’s stomach, somehow worse than just hearing and feeling Carlos’s hand working between his legs right next to Oscar’s face. He loved Carlos’s hand in his hair, loved the possessiveness of it, the absent-minded way Carlos kept him there. 

Oscar let it consume him, sucking on the inside of his thigh, biting where his flesh was most tender. Carlos groaned above him, hips canting towards his mouth. Oscar watched the faint bruise darken slowly under his mouth and felt something ugly in him quiet for the first time all morning.

He couldn’t have ownership, but he could leave proof that Carlos had come back here, that he had been warm under Oscar’s hands, letting Oscar touch him like this instead of anyone else.

Oscar dragged his mouth around, kissing over golden skin that still smelled faintly like clean sweat and citrus and sleep. Carlos’s hip tightened subtly under Oscar’s mouth. Above him, Carlos inhaled sharply, groaning something that sounded suspiciously like his name. Oscar tried very hard not to pay attention to that.

Carlos gasped when he sucked another bruise into Carlos’s side, skin no one else would be likely to see, feeling Carlos’s heartbeat jump faintly beneath his lips. They weren’t ashamed, not exactly, just careful. They both had to contend with sponsors and cameras and the internet’s endless appetite for narratives. 

They both had teammates who noticed too much, or so they told themselves. They wordlessly agreed to kissing and marking only in approved areas on each other, as if that was the rule between them, despite their never having established rules at all. They were most careful with themselves, maybe, holding each other at a careful distance. It was becoming difficult to think around it.

Oscar’s tongue danced between Carlos’s ribs, letting his hips fall enough that the back of Carlos’s hand rubbed against him on the upstroke. 

“Mm, I’ve spoiled you,” Carlos murmured into the pillow, low and rough. “Should never have let you touch, before.”

Oscar’s stomach twisted pleasantly, sucking another bruise high on his ribs. When a moan punched out of the Spaniard’s chest beneath him, Oscar helplessly moaned in echo, his dick twitching as he felt Carlos’s fingers thrusting faster, the lewd sound of him being fucked open making Oscar dizzy. 

Soon, Carlos was gasping again, hips lifting and hand indirectly rubbing against Oscar’s clothed arousal, making him want to do something entirely embarrassing. It wouldn’t be the first time Oscar had humped his hand until he came, but it would certainly be the most shameful. He could tell Carlos was attempting three fingers, working himself open without holding anything back just to make Oscar miserable.

Oscar’s hand found its way down, down, down his torso, slender fingers desperately vying for a share, a feel of what Carlos was doing, stubbornly working into dripping flesh alongside Carlos’s thicker digits.

Carlos keened at the extra stretch, letting Oscar fuck in his index finger alongside three of his own, hips rocking back into their combined hands, panting into the sheets.

If Oscar said anything, tried to convince him to let him take over, Carlos would shut him down again. Oscar firmly wrapped around Carlos’s wrist instead, pulling the thrusting fingers out, insisting wordlessly.

Carlos resisted at first before relenting, sliding out slowly, groaning softly at the loss. Oscar felt his face go redder at the way his hole clenched around his finger without the rest of Carlos’s fingers.

Three of Oscar’s slid in relatively easily, not nearly as thick, but the slick slide against the smooth pressure of Carlos’s walls made him groan automatically, pressing his forehead into the sweaty skin of Carlos’s back.

Oscar should’ve been embarrassed by the way his hips twitched against Carlos without permission, but he couldn’t make himself care. He was lost in the motions, fucking his fingers in deep, unable to stop his hips from mirroring the pace. He rutted against Carlos’s ass, his cockhead smearing over where he had soaked through the fabric of his boxers.

Carlos was flushed and breathing unevenly under him, face buried in the pillows, and suddenly the idea of leaving him untouched felt unbearable. Fuck it. Carlos didn’t care to leave marks on him; why shouldn’t he return the favour?

Oscar’s mouth drifted higher, kissing over his shoulder blade, the side of his throat. He sucked at the skin beneath his jaw before he could think better of it. Carlos jolted beneath him.

“Ah—hey,” he protested immediately, hips pushing down into his hand. “Oscar—”

The complaint dissolved halfway through into a breathier sound that sent heat flooding through Oscar’s chest. Carlos tilted his head sideways, exposing more of his throat in direct contradiction to every weak protest leaving his mouth.

“Oscar,” he tried again, sounding increasingly distracted now. “That’s not fair.”

Oscar pressed one more slow kiss against the blooming bruise beneath his jaw, lingering just long enough to feel Carlos shiver underneath him. He slowed his fingering to push hard and deep, just to hear the helpless noises Carlos made so close to his ear.

“Fuck,” Carlos muttered softly under his breath, sounding helplessly gone for a second.

Oscar’s stomach tightened hard enough to make him curl instinctively closer, breath catching somewhere embarrassingly high in his chest. It wasn’t enough to kiss Carlos, to scissor him open, to leave him flushed and breathless beneath him. Oscar felt every one of Carlos’s reactions echo straight back through his own body like a pulled wire. Carlos shivered, and Oscar’s pulse jumped with him. Carlos breathed harder, and suddenly Oscar couldn’t think properly either.

He wanted to hear more of those breathless little sounds dragged out of him. He wanted to be the only person in the audience of Carlos melting and ruined specifically because of Oscar’s hands, Oscar’s mouth, because of Oscar. He wanted, irrationally, to keep going until Carlos forgot every other person in the world existed.

His stomach twisted with something sour every time he imagined someone else privy to those sounds, even though they hadn’t claimed each other in that way, hadn’t given this thing between them a name. It was difficult to imagine Carlos, who was warm to everyone in any room, in any car, with anyone, giving him any kind of special treatment. Carlos performed tenderness as naturally as breathing.

Carlos’s dark lashes lowered, mouth parted slightly, broad back rising unevenly beneath Oscar’s hands. All that easy confidence from earlier had softened around the edges into something hungrier and a little helpless, too.

“Don’t make me beg,” Carlos muttered, sounding like he absolutely would.

Oscar made a frustrated sound low in his throat, somewhere between a groan and surrender, and then everything in him seemed to give way at once. He pulled his fingers out, probably a little too quickly, Carlos hissing at the hasty removal.

He scrambled clumsily to shove his boxers down, half-tangled in the sheets in his haste, too desperate now to care about dignity or maintaining whatever scraps of control he had left. Carlos’s grin widened immediately at the sight of his dick, flushed pink and shiny at the tip from how much he had already dripped into his boxers. Carlos looked smug and dark-eyed and entirely too pleased by how thoroughly Oscar had unraveled.

The second Oscar managed to free himself from the fabric, he climbed back over Carlos, fisting his aching arousal, squeezing himself tightly at the base, if only to keep from coming on the first thrust. It always surprised him a little how obscene it looked, wrapped with his pale, narrow fingers. He grabbed a condom from his bedside table, shaking hands not so clever with the packaging.

Eventually, he slid it over his thick length, throbbing steadily in both hands, practically panting. Oscar could hear the same desire that coursed through his own veins in Carlos’s ragged breathing, the occasional soft groan, but even affected, Carlos stayed even-keeled in a way he never could.

“Mm, no more thinking,” Carlos murmured. “Just come here.”

Carlos reached backwards for him with eager hands. He liked touching Oscar, liked being the one to guide him to his own entrance, to push Oscar’s head past his own rim. He loved how thick Oscar looked in his hand, eyes roving hungrily as he stroked his member from base to tip. Oscar could only grip his hips tightly as Carlos guided himself back onto him, a little bit at a time.

Oscar buried his face against Carlos’s neck almost helplessly, breathing him in deep. Carlos’s hips arched against him, one hand holding himself open, tantalizing in the most devastating way, like even that remaining inch of space between them offended him.

Oscar’s thighs trembled as Carlos’s hole sucked in his cock in short bursts. He tried to breathe through the need boiling low in his pelvis, hot and swirling. By the time he bottomed out, hips pressed flush against the Spaniard’s, moving seemed an impossibility. Desire and affection and leftover possessiveness tangled horribly together in his stomach, his composure weakened further by every spike of want at even the smallest reaction from the man beneath him.

Carlos pushed back against him slowly, not enough to push him away, but enough to pull Oscar just that little bit deeper, enough to get his rim around that last bit of cock that was somehow not already engulfed in impossibly tight heat. A desperate ache tightened low in his stomach hard enough to make him curl instinctively closer. He pressed his face harder into Carlos’s neck like that might somehow help contain the overwhelming rush of want surging through him.

“Fuck,” Oscar whispered helplessly.

He already felt frighteningly close to tipping over the edge, nerves lit up beneath his skin from the sheer wet pressure around his cock. Carlos was just too much for him sometimes. Oscar was suddenly, profoundly grateful Carlos couldn’t see his face from this angle.

Carlos reached back with one hand, grabbing at Oscar’s thigh, still pushing against him slowly. “Please,” he said, voice gone rough with want. “Move for me, just a little. I need more than this, or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Oscar swallowed hard, cheeks burning hotter because Carlos sounded just as affected as he felt despite somehow still holding himself together better.

“I can’t,” Oscar admitted, voice tight, almost angry about how close he was. “You’re—fuck, Carlos—”

His hands tightened with a bruising pressure at the Spaniard’s hips, slightly-too-long fingernails digging into golden skin as if he could stop his impending orgasm that way. But Carlos kept that maddening rhythm, fucking himself back onto Oscar despite his frozen form, desperately trying to pin Carlos’s hips to stillness.

"Oscar," Carlos breathed helplessly, laughing at how rigid Oscar had gone against him. "I know you want to."

Oscar’s knees dug into the mattress as his hips pushed in, unable to resist the intensity of feeling at every point of contact between him and the man pushing back against him.

“Can barely breathe right now, mate,” Oscar grunted, shifting to grip at Carlos’s shoulder, warm skin sticking lightly where sweat had started gathering between them.

Carlos’s back was damp against his chest now, warm and slick where their bodies pressed together without room to breathe properly. Every inhale dragged Oscar tighter against him; every exhale softened them together again. Carlos’s hand stayed hooked firmly around Oscar’s thigh, pulling him deeper with every thrust with insistence.

“Yeah?” Carlos teased breathlessly. “Going to come already? Make me do all the work?”

Oscar whined softly, biting his lip. Carlos was always so hot, so tight, so fucking bossy, telling him how to move and how to fuck him and to—not to come yet—fuck—

Oscar was draped over him like this, chest pressed against the sweaty ridge of his spine. He licked up the line of Carlos’s throat, hot and wet, dragging his lips over the stubble to keep his mind off the pleasure building hot between his legs. He bit harshly at the junction between Carlos’s neck and shoulder, letting it fill his mouth, pressing against his tongue. Maybe if he bit down hard enough, he could keep hold of his sanity alongside the thick, corded muscle between his teeth.

He fucked in faster, slim hips rabbiting opposite Carlos’s staccato “Ah, ah, ah,” as he drove into him, lust spiraling in his head, his stomach, his groin, out of his control.

Oscar’s head tipped forward suddenly, the last scraps of posture leaving him as he sagged over Carlos’s shoulder with a shaky exhale. Heat surged through him in relentless waves, too big for his body to contain neatly anymore. Every nerve felt bright and oversensitive beneath his skin.

He felt insane, helplessly consumed by wanting. Carlos slipped under his skin so thoroughly that Oscar stopped feeling like a coherent person and started feeling like one long exposed nerve ending reacting helplessly to every touch and breath and word. His pulse hammered hot and fast through his whole body.

He froze, tense and rigid in that way Carlos had to be familiar with by now, where Oscar’s whole body locked down because he could feel himself slipping too far too fast. His breathing stayed ragged against Carlos’s shoulder, but he stopped moving entirely, holding them both in place, hands gripping tightly at Carlos’s sides.

Oscar shook his head once against his neck, cheeks burning hot. “Don’t,” he muttered weakly. “Don’t move.”

Carlos exhaled a soft laugh. “You think I’m done with you already, guapo?”

Oscar made another small, overwhelmed sound at that, thighs trembling with the force of holding perfectly still.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Carlos soothed lightly, still teasing underneath it. “I know you want more.”

He started that—that bloody rocking again, pushing his hips back against Oscar, and Oscar squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to see colour behind them. Carlos’s heartbeat pounded against his mouth, under his palms, through the heat of his back every time Carlos breathed. He could feel the pulse of it around his cock. His own face felt unbearably hot. 

“Carlos, I can’t—fuck, no,” Oscar panted. “Stop—stop, seriously, or I’m gonna—” 

Carlos moaned, an obscene noise given how dangerously close Oscar was to losing his ever-loving mind. Almost as if he wanted to snap the final thread himself, Carlos clenched around him deliciously tighter, making them gasp in unison at the sensation. 

“Wanted this all night,” Carlos rumbled, voice gravely with lust. “Needed, ah—needed you so much…”

For a terrifying moment, Oscar felt like he was in free fall, unrestrained, only able to feel Carlos clenching tight around him, skin dragging slick together where Oscar pressed against him. His cock throbbed hot and thick, deep inside Carlos, filling up the thin layer of latex separating them with a broken, choked off sound. 

Shame and embarrassment surged low and vicious through Oscar’s stomach as his body shuddered with release. He clung to Carlos almost desperately, trying to pull himself together fast enough to retreat before Carlos could say something, could do something—fuck, anything. He didn’t want Carlos to even look at him. 

Oscar pushed himself back abruptly, breath uneven. “Fuck’s sake, Carlos,” he muttered, voice rough already. “I told you—”

He pulled out of Carlos jerkily, hands shaking, legs unsteady. His cock was already softening, condom partially pulling off, filled with milky white evidence of his own failure. Carlos groaned softly, clenching around nothing, reaching back with one hand. 

“Oscar,” he grumbled. “Wait—”

Oscar refused to look at him. Heat still burned visibly up his neck and across his cheeks, made worse by how badly his body had betrayed him. He rolled halfway to the other side of the bed, propping up against the pillows. He tugged off the incriminating wrapper and tied it off before throwing it dejectedly at the bin. 

Carlos rolled carefully onto one side to look at him properly then, expression softening almost immediately at the sight of Oscar glaring furiously at absolutely nothing.

“Hey,” Carlos murmured. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Oscar huffed. “No, you—” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Dunno what you want from me.”

The stupid part was that Carlos had never once made him feel ashamed about this, not the first time it happened, not any of the times afterward when Oscar came too soon, hips stuttering, fucking too deep, lost in the pleasure between Carlos’s thighs. Carlos had simply always been kind about it. 

All their careful distance clearly meant absolutely nothing if Carlos could talk him into pieces until he was possessive and shaking against Carlos’s back, vulnerability clawing up his throat. With a quiet groan of frustration, Oscar slung an arm across his face to block out Carlos’s dark eyes, unwilling to deal with the way Carlos was probably looking at him now.

“Oscar,” Carlos murmured, prying lightly at his wrist, “quit hiding.”

Oscar tried tugging once against his grip. “Leave me alone,” he muttered. “‘m not exactly useful anymore.”

Carlos went quiet before the mattress shifted gently beneath them as he moved closer. “I think,” he murmured softly. “I want you exactly like this.”

Oscar kept his arm stubbornly over his eyes.

Carlos ignored the barricade entirely. One warm hand slid slowly up Oscar’s side instead, broad palm smoothing over his ribs with lazy affection while Carlos kissed against the line of his jaw.

“You think I am disappointed because you wanted me too much?” he asked, teasing.

Oscar’s throat tightened immediately.

Carlos kissed him again, not waiting for an answer, mouth brushing slowly along his jaw while his hand continued stroking lightly up and down Oscar’s side like he was calming something frightened.

“You think too much, pequeño,” he murmured against his skin, fond and a little exasperated all at once. “So much better when you feel instead.”

The bed shifted again, and suddenly Carlos was half over him, warm weight settling carefully between Oscar’s thighs while Oscar still hid behind his forearm like that was accomplishing anything now.

Carlos’s hair brushed softly against Oscar’s chest as he ducked lower, kissing slowly, open-mouthed along his sternum. 

Oscar’s breathing hitched despite himself when Carlos kissed lower, his tongue tracing his happy trail, down the soft warmth of his stomach.

“You don’t know how hot it is,” Carlos murmured quietly against his skin. “Seeing you lose control a little…”

He kissed right where Oscar’s waistband would sit if he were wearing anything. His stubble prickled against Oscar’s stomach, and Oscar found it difficult to keep completely silent in response. 

“You sounded so sweet for me, eh,” Carlos rumbled, his voice dropping lower, his strong forearms wrapping around his thighs, settling across them. One of Carlos’s hands slid absently along the outside of his leg, slow and grounding.

Oscar swallowed hard while Carlos stayed draped warmly over him, entirely unconcerned with whether Oscar was useful or composed or capable of anything besides lying there flushed and overwhelmed beneath his hands.

A warm mouth suddenly enveloped the head of his soft cock, and Oscar almost died. 

What the fuck. 

He was still soft, still covered in come and the lube of the condom, and—and, Jesus, Carlos was sucking him down like it was his job. 

“Carlos,” Oscar breathed weakly behind his arm.

Carlos only hummed around his dick in response, the vibration dragging another helpless shiver from him. Oscar felt his tongue around his length, licking slowly like Oscar was worth tasting, and Oscar flushed deeper. 

Heat flashed through him hard enough to make his stomach tense despite the embarrassment and sensitivity. His thighs twitched under the weight of Carlos’s arms, his dick filling in the hot suction all around him. 

It was humiliating how much he loved the overwhelming too-muchness of Carlos’s wet mouth when he had lost his grip earlier, coming like an overexcited teenager. But Carlos’s head bobbing between his thighs, holding him down, taking what he wanted when Oscar was helpless to do more than moan and convulse under his tongue and lips and throat, was more than enough to make him throb painfully in the Spaniard’s mouth. 

His free hand found its way into Carlos’s hair, holding on for dear life as the man sucked every last bit of sanity from his aching length. 

“Christ, Carlos,” Oscar gasped when he felt the tip of his cock touch the entrance of his throat before pulling off with a wet pop. 

Oscar’s arm finally slipped away from his eyes, and light flooded back in all at once.

Carlos looked up immediately from where he was sprawled between Oscar’s thighs, hair a mess, mouth pink and damp from sucking Oscar’s cock. Oscar could only see bottomless pools of want when his eyes met Carlos’s dark gaze. There was no smugness left in them now, no teasing. 

Oscar felt another wave of heat climb straight into his face. 

Carlos pushed off the mattress, climbing over him, straddling his lap, bracketing his thighs with thick muscle, strong from cycling. Oscar stared up at him for a second after they settled, chest still heaving unevenly from the sudden shift.

Carlos looked devastating. His hair was wrecked now, dark locks shoved messily out of place from Oscar’s hand, sticking up slightly at the crown. His mouth was flushed pink and swollen, lower lip still damp and shiny. Red marks bloomed across the golden skin beneath his jaw, half hidden by the angle of his body. And somehow, despite all that visible evidence of Oscar all over him, Carlos still looked like the one winning here.

Actually, no. He looked like he had conquered something, like he was deeply pleased with himself for making Oscar like this.

Carlos’s hand slid into place at his waist, lifting up on his knees while his other hand stroked Oscar firmly, positioning him—

Oscar jolted faintly and grabbed for him on instinct, something nervous and hot twisting through his stomach.

“Oi—” His voice cracked slightly. “What’re you doing?”

Carlos, entirely unbothered by the panic creeping into Oscar’s voice, merely continued torturing Oscar’s cockhead against his rim, letting it catch before swirling him around like a toy. 

“What does it look like?” he murmured.

Oscar’s grip tightened around the man’s hips automatically. “Carlos,” he said weakly, almost pleading. 

They were both clean. They had established that early on, both too practical to be stupid about this. But this—they had never fucked like this. 

Carlos kissed him, one hand leaving his waist to cup his jaw. He left Oscar’s cockhead precariously just inside his rim, still slick with lube from before, bringing his hand to the other side of Oscar’s face. He licked into Oscar’s mouth slowly, hips rolling every so slightly, letting Oscar feel the pressure, the potential, if he just pushed, if he just wanted it enough—

Oscar’s hips twitched without his permission, bucking up against the tight heat teasing his tip as Carlos licked into his mouth. A groan punched out of his chest as wet warmth engulfed him. Even only halfway inside, Oscar couldn’t imagine anything worse had ever happened to him, anything more ruinous than feeling something so heavenly wrapped around the bare skin of his dick. 

Carlos hummed softly into the kiss like he could feel it happening already, Oscar disintegrating into his hands, his mouth, the tight furl of him sucking him in, in, in. 

Oscar’s hands gripped Carlos’s waist, and he tried to breathe before he did something stupid like thrust his entire throbbing cock into him in one go, as much as he wanted to. He moaned into Carlos’s mouth with every little twitch instead, slowly burying himself and his dignity a centimetre at a time. 

Carlos gasped when he finally sat fully against his thighs, eyes fluttering shut, Oscar finally buried inside. Oscar’s ears were ringing, the whole of him dizzy and hot as he tried to remember what came next, blinking hazily at the beautiful expanse of bronze muscle in front of him. 

Carlos’s fingers wound in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, the other hand firm on his shoulder. “Oscar,” he croaked. “Please.”

Oscar couldn’t think, but his hands lifted the man in his lap almost on instinct before lowering him once again, impaling him on his thick shaft. They moaned simultaneously when he bottomed out, Carlos’s fingers tightening in his hair. 

Oscar tilted up, pressing fully against Carlos’s chest, trapping his erection between their slick stomachs. Slowly, they lifted Carlos’s hips together, Oscar meeting him on the thrust and forcing a broken sound out of him that made Oscar’s dick pulse threateningly. 

They built up a rhythm, Carlos’s strong thighs picking him up enough to fuck down hard and deep, riding Oscar with tight strokes. They couldn’t keep their mouths off each other, sometimes kissing, licking, sometimes panting into each other’s skin. 

Oscar clawed into his lower back when Carlos rolled his hips while yanking his hair hard, pain spreading across the back of his head in a way that made him mewl with pleasure. 

Carlos lost his English when Oscar’s mouth wrapped around his nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a bright red hickey. He would’ve stopped there, but Oscar gave him a matching one on the other side just to hear Carlos swear in Spanish, totally wrecked. 

Oscar pressed into the crease of his throat, groaning into the clammy skin as Carlos rode him faster. Before he knew what he was doing, Oscar’s teeth had latched low on his neck, biting the Spaniard hard, a broken cry slipping out of Carlos. 

When he released his neck, deep red with faint indentations marked where he had bitten Carlos like a brand, Oscar groaned at the sight, fucking up into him faster but losing the rhythm of it quickly. “Carlos, ah—‘m not gonna last,” he gritted out.

Carlos was letting out little “ah, ah, ah”s with each thrust, eyes hazy with pleasure. “Come for me,” he pushed. “Want to feel you—inside.”

Oscar’s brain disconnected at the mere notion, and instinct said he needed to focus on his partner’s pleasure. His narrow fingers wrapped around Carlos’s weeping cock, slick with precome and sweat from their stomachs, and it only took a few strokes before Carlos was coming over his chest, painting him with white strokes, groaning and twitching in his hand. 

“Fuck—madre mía, fuck,” Carlos groaned, hips stuttering with the force of his release. 

Oscar followed almost immediately after, pumping Carlos full of his second orgasm, primal instincts filling his head with several single-syllable words. Pulsing deep inside without the barrier to which they had both been so accustomed made his brain melt out of his ears a little. 

Carlos exhaled shakily against Oscar’s temple, still panting a little as he tucked his face there without embarrassment, arms wrapping tight around Oscar’s shoulders almost greedily. Oscar could feel the lingering tremor still running faintly through Carlos’s body every few breaths, could feel how warm and sweaty they both were where their skin stuck together.

“You’re heavy,” Oscar muttered automatically, though his own arms had already circled Carlos’s waist.

“Mm,” Carlos hummed, making absolutely no effort to move.

Oscar could feel Carlos’s heartbeat slowing gradually against his chest now, steady and familiar after all the earlier chaos. The room smelled like sweat and sex and Carlos again instead of airports and Italy and somebody else’s road trip.

Carlos kissed along Oscar’s jaw, then settled again with a soft sigh like he was finally somewhere he wanted to be.

Oscar peeked down at the flushed line of his neck, at the red marks that couldn’t be hidden from the public eye. He saw Carlos’s cheeks flushed deep from heat, mouth swollen pink from kissing.

Oscar tightened his hold slightly before he could think too hard about why. He had spent the entire night aching for Carlos’s hands on him. But judging by the way Carlos clung to him now, sweaty and boneless and reluctant to let go, perhaps he hadn’t been the only one.

Eventually, Oscar nudged Carlos upright with reluctant hands at his waist.

Carlos made an immediate wounded sound at the movement, face twisting as he climbed awkwardly off Oscar’s lap, shoving a hand between his legs to not leak come all down his thighs. “Ay,” he complained under his breath, voice roughened by exhaustion and kissing alike.

Oscar laughed breathlessly until Carlos glared at him. 

“It was your idea!” he squeaked. 

“Be nice to me,” Carlos muttered, shamelessly dramatic as he walked to the bathroom. 

Oscar rolled his eyes and escaped to the bathroom long enough to grab paper towels for them both, cleaning himself of the frankly impressive spread of sweat and lube and come over his hips. Leaving Carlos to the en suite, he pulled on a pair of shorts and flopped sideways across the mattress. Eventually, Carlos joined him, sliding in half under the sheets. 

Oscar found Carlos’s shorts tangled somewhere near the edge of the bed and tossed them over before climbing back onto the mattress. The second he settled, Carlos reached for him automatically, hooking an arm around Oscar’s waist to drag him close again without even looking first. Clingy bastard. 

Oscar let himself be pulled down anyway, warm skin slotting against warm skin as Carlos tucked himself against Oscar’s chest with another quiet sigh. For a minute, neither of them said anything.

Then Oscar asked, “When d’you have to leave?”

Carlos looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “No meeting today,” he said, sounding smug again now that he’d found enough energy for it. “Perks of getting a podium.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “Right,” he murmured.

Carlos had come here after a damn near sleepless night and could have gone home afterward. He could have showered and slept in his own bed and escaped Oscar’s miserable mood entirely. Instead, he was still here, warm and sleepy in Oscar’s arms, pressing lazy kisses into Oscar’s shoulder whenever silence stretched too long.

Carlos had kissed him despite the jealousy and embarrassment anyway. His arms had lain heavily across Oscar’s thighs while Oscar spiralled. Oscar remembered the softness in his voice making him come, wrapping up Oscar’s shame, swallowing every drop. He had held Oscar like there had never been anywhere else he wanted to be.

Oscar ducked his face into Carlos’s neck before he could think himself out of it, hiding there for a second in warm skin and the lingering smell of him.

“You can stay,” he murmured against his throat. “If y’want.”

Carlos sounded a little surprised around the edges somehow, “Yeah?”

Oscar tightened his arm around his waist and hummed against his skin. “Mhm.”

Carlos slotted their legs together, wiggling as if settling in further to stay. “Good,” he sighed contentedly. “Don’t want to be anywhere else.” 

~~~ Thank you to @choneysuns for beta reading!!!

And to @dilawphy, hope you can now mark off one more step of your evil plan :) Thank you for all your love and support through writing this, it wouldn't exist without you <3

[sosashawtyy]

I lowkey do be having obsessions and compulsions