Archive of Our Own

"Carlos, how did your teammate Lando Norris react to the news that you’ll be continuing your journey with Ferrari next season?"

"You know, I posted a farewell video for McLaren on my Twitter," Carlos replied. "And Lando left a comment under it: 'soy lago.' Literally from Spanish, that’s 'I am a river.' At first, I didn't understand why he was responding to such an emotional post with something so silly, but then we spoke on the phone and Lando explained that 'I am a river' meant 'I am a river of tears.' He was trying to say he was crying".

"Do you think he was actually crying?"

"Haha, of course not, definitely not".

Carlos knew him well, maybe even better than Lando knew himself. It had been that way since the moment they became teammates. Oh, Lando cherished those memories—the way he first saw Carlos, who had stunned him from the very first second.

He was bright, so bright that at times you wanted to squint to keep from being blinded, though Lando never did. Instead, he absorbed the other man’s light like a solar panel and released it back. They were something of a perpetual motion machine in that sense. It was amazing how unrestrained and powerful human energy could be.

Lando, raised in a society of British snobs where he never truly fit in, felt for the first time that he was in the right place. Joining the Formula 1 grid, he expected to be required to throw all his emotionality into the trash; he was even prepared for it. But then he saw Carlos in the office for the first time and realized that all of that was complete bullshit.

Because, God, Carlos was so good in his naturalness. He knew his worth, wasn't afraid of extra words, demanded much, but gave back even more. He was a good driver, a wonderful colleague, and all these qualities simply rolled into a massive snowball that almost immediately pinned Lando to the ground.

The fact that Carlos was older was simultaneously unnoticeable and evident in absolutely everything. Sometimes Lando caught himself having to force himself to listen to what his teammate was saying instead of just enjoying the low tone of his voice vibrating pleasantly in his ears. Carlos often did things Lando couldn't allow himself to do, said things Lando couldn't say, wasn't afraid to take responsibility and speak out against things he disagreed with.

To some extent, Lando even envied him—the way Carlos stood out, how sharp and clear the boundaries of his character and personality were. Because against him, Lando looked to himself like a pale smudge of an indefinite shape that couldn't figure out if it wanted to be a square or a circle.

Perhaps Lando realized it all after their first race, or maybe during the filming of their first challenge where he couldn't stop laughing, or perhaps when Carlos first walked into his driver's room in the middle of the day and started a conversation that wasn't about work, offering Lando a cup of tea from the machine in the hallway.

Because Lando hated coffee and had only mentioned it once during a recording of one of their joint videos. Because Carlos remembered.

To be honest, Lando didn’t need much more to fall in love. After all, if measured by Carlos's coordinate line, receiving "a lot" was the norm. He was always shifting the line of what was ordinary for them, and Lando always allowed it. On one hand, out of interest in how far they could go while hiding behind being teammates, and on the other… he just damn well liked it.

Lando had long begun to realize that Carlos also felt the change in the atmosphere between them, the way the air literally became electrified after every unnecessary compliment and risky phrase. Otherwise, he wouldn't keep doing what he was doing, right?

However, Lando had a nasty habit of doubting everything: himself, the future, what other people thought of him. Doubts and anxiety washed over him even when he was absolutely sure of his judgments, resetting all the conclusions he had made and all the successes he had achieved.

It was the same then. Even if all the signs pointed to the obvious, Lando couldn't bring himself to make the first move and shift the weight of their interactions from the "teammates and friends" scale to the "something more" scale.

Naturally, it wasn't just the cup of tea. There was the sudden hand on his thigh while they were both sitting at a table—ostensibly just a playful gesture of support, but the fingers squeezed the skin slightly, lingering longer than necessary. There was the casually tossed praise for how well Lando had worked out in the gym while the other’s gaze slid over his wiry calves.

There was the joint scrolling through Instagram posts when they sat so close that Lando could feel Carlos’s breath on his neck whenever he turned his face toward him. Too many coincidences to be written off as his own misinterpretation, but still not enough to form a clear opinion.

For a while, they truly balanced on the edge, constantly dropping jokes with a blatant amount of flirting, catching each other’s elbows as if by accident and spending almost all their free time together.

But like any string of coincidences, this had to end with something. And so it did at the McLaren New Year's party at the end of 2019, when, exhausted by a difficult season and a mountain of media events, they allowed themselves to lose their heads.

Though, for the sake of fairness, Lando had lost his head over Carlos some time before that.

Lando vaguely remembered the events of that evening; without extra effort, the only thing that surfaced in his head was how he knocked back shots one after another, watching Carlos cut loose on the dance floor. Lando was drinking something chemically sweet that smelled of vanilla, alcohol, and a headache the next morning.

But he simply couldn't watch his teammate sober—Carlos had pulled off his sweater and was now dancing in just a white shirt with three buttons undone. Three. Fucking. Buttons.

Lando bit his lip and groaned something profane into his palm, closing his eyes. How he envied that girl who was currently wrapping her arms around Carlos’s shoulders and whispering something in his ear. She was stunningly beautiful, dark ringlets of hair cascading down to her waist, large eyes sparkling in the flashing lights. Carlos held her lightly, his hand resting on her ass.

And it was possible that tonight she would end up in his room, where Carlos would pin her against the wall, kiss her fast and hot, maybe leave a few hickeys on her fragile neck. And then in a low voice, he’d tell her to get on her knees, grab her hair, winding it around his fist, and roughly shove his cock into her mouth…

"Fuck". Lando slapped himself hard, ignoring the bartender who was now looking at him sideways. He urgently needed another drink. In reality, he should have gone home and slept it off, but Lando couldn't force himself to unstick from the bar stool that overlooked the dance floor. And Carlos.

A couple of shots later, Carlos suddenly appeared nearby. His hair, which had been styled earlier, was now disheveled and slightly damp, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and there was a red lipstick mark on his cheek. Well, at least someone here was having a good time instead of drooling over what they couldn't have… or in Lando's case, over the one who couldn't have him.

"Landito," Carlos exhaled contentedly, sitting down next to him. "Having fun?"

"Not as much as you," Lando spat out, propping his fist under his chin. He was finding it quite difficult to remain indifferent and stifle his jealousy in the state he was currently in.

"I thought you’d join in," Carlos said, casually draping an arm over Lando's shoulders. "I would have liked you to join," he whispered, the words burning Lando’s ear.

Lando swallowed hard and bit his tongue, trying to distract himself from how close the other man's body—heated from dancing—was to his own.

"It seems to me you were already provided with excellent company," Lando muttered irritably, poking a finger at the spot on Carlos’s cheek where the lipstick mark flaunted. "Red doesn't suit you. Just saying".

"You think so?" His face became somewhat too serious and thoughtful for a few seconds, as if the words had stung him.

Back then, a few years ago, Lando hadn't paid attention to his teammate's strange reaction; honestly, he was far more interested in the tanned chest visible through the opening of the shirt. But a year later, when Carlos would be standing on the podium in a bright red suit, shouting "Forza Ferrari," everything would finally fall into place.

Remembering that time, Lando envied his past self, who could see Carlos that often and everywhere without effort. He was angry that he hadn't appreciated the moment he was in, hadn't said the words that seemed too sincere. Because maybe, had Lando decided to be honest—the way Carlos always was—they would have had a different outcome.

But he didn't do it. Instead, later that night, Lando kissed Carlos for the first time. Well, maybe he didn't just kiss him…

They moved further away from the dance floor to a table surrounded by sofas. Almost all the seats were taken by members of their team, and only one armchair remained free, which Carlos took. Lando could have grabbed a chair, maybe asked one of the guys to move over, but instead, he sat on the armrest next to Carlos, snatching a lime wedge from the table intended for those drinking tequila.

Carlos only smirked at this and joined the conversation at the table as if nothing had happened. Lando was frankly drifting in the clouds; he wasn't very interested in the discussion about the next set of COVID restrictions for the coming season, which was being held for the hundredth time and always led to the conclusion that 2020 would be terrible.

Lando was relaxedly chewing on the lime, staring into space, when a hand landed on his thigh. He almost jumped, but realized just in time it was Carlos.

Carlos’s hand was hot and felt through the thin fabric of his trousers like red-hot metal. It was as if Lando were a traitor to the state and was now being mercilessly branded. He took a deep breath and turned his head so no one at the table could see his cheeks starting to flush.

God, why now? Why did Carlos decide to play their usual game of "who will retreat and move their hand first" when Lando was already barely holding himself together?

Fingers slowly slid a bit further, squeezing the skin on the inner side of his thigh while Carlos participated in the conversation with an effortless smile on his face. Fuck, he’s doing this on purpose. He sees how much Lando is struggling, and he’s mocking him. He’s not even looking in his direction! It was as if he was pointedly ignoring him.

Lando frowned and began thinking about how to respond. Generally, their team had already gotten used to the fact that their two drivers never unglued from one another and were always doing something weird, so….

Lando put his arm around Carlos’s shoulders and ran his palm up his broad back, slightly catching the fabric of the shirt so that it lifted a bit, exposing a patch of tanned skin. His fingers thoroughly traced the bare area, and Carlos coughed in the middle of a sentence, leading a few mechanics to ask if he was getting sick. Lando felt a wave of satisfaction hit his head at the realization that he was making Carlos slowly lose control, just like himself.

His palm moved a little higher, stopping at the back of the neck. Fingers pressed slightly into the skin at the base of the skull, massaging the tense muscles with smooth movements. Carlos exhaled heavily and squeezed Lando’s thigh harder, almost to the point of pain, while still trying to maintain a full dialogue.

Stars almost danced before Lando’s eyes, and he struggled to keep from moaning, pressing his lips into a thin line. In desperation, he grabbed another piece of lime from the table and began chewing it intensely, just so an indecent sound wouldn't accidentally escape his mouth.

Carlos, even noticing his state, didn't stop there and moved his hand higher up the thigh until it was barely five centimeters from his groin. He paused for a moment, sipping from a glass of champagne as if nothing were wrong, and then dug his fingers into the skin with new force.

Holy shit. Lando covered his face with his hand and clenched his teeth, feeling the pull of arousal in his lower belly. He probably should have felt ashamed in front of the people he was with, but honestly, there wasn't a single coherent thought left in his head.

All he could think about now was that if he and Carlos were alone here, this damn table would be a perfectly acceptable surface to sit on. Carlos would grab him by the ass, sit him down across from him, and kiss him behind the ear, and on the neck, and on the lips…

Lando suddenly bolted upright, nearly knocking over one of the bottles standing close to the edge. Everyone at the table turned sharply toward him and fell silent, not understanding what had happened. Carlos also looked at him, his gaze was somewhat glazed, his eyes looking as if they were clouded by fog.

Lando cleared his throat nervously and, trying to breathe steadily, said: "I’ll be right back". His hand gripped the other man's shoulder as he tried to keep his balance. He tried very hard to sound like a calm person who was just going about his perfectly calm business, but it didn't work well. Regardless, Lando coughed nervously once more and hurried away without looking at Carlos’s reaction.

A silence lingered at the table for a few more seconds. What had happened was quite strange, but on the other hand, the drivers of this team almost always behaved in less-than-ordinary ways, so eventually, the group just waved it off and continued their lively dialogue.

The banquet hall the team had booked was gigantic. They had two floors and several balconies at their disposal. Lando had been impressed by the scale when he first entered the room at the start of the evening, but now the volume of the open space was starting to feel unsettling.

He wanted to hide somewhere, to escape from prying eyes and be alone with his thoughts for a bit. Naturally, the program also included a session of self-pity, because poor Lando was so hopelessly in love with the beautiful-incredible-fucking-idiot Carlos, who did nothing but tease him.

Lando thought that since almost all the guests were gathered downstairs on the dance floor toward the end of the evening, the restroom on the second floor shouldn't be very crowded. He climbed the stairs as fast as his condition allowed. Lando was a clumsy disaster on a normal day, and after this many shots, even more so.

He wasn't wrong; the only people who wandered up to the second floor were those who needed to step out onto the balcony to smoke or retrieve items left at a table. Lando exhaled with relief, moved toward the restroom door visible at the end of the hall, and almost stumbled inside, clinging to the door handle to keep from falling.

After waiting out a brief dizzy spell, Lando walked to the mirror and leaned his hands on the cold marble of the sink. His reflection showed that his face was entirely flushed: either from the alcohol or for other reasons. His hair was messy, a few curls had escaped the main mass and were falling over his forehead.

Lando squeezed his fingers onto the surface of the sink as hard as he could, bringing himself back to normal. He just needed to feel something other than the heat consuming him from the inside with its flares. Lando turned the tap and, cupping his palms, filled them with water. He looked at himself in the mirror again and bit his cheek before splashing the cold water onto his face.

The icy wave passed over his skin, but in the end, it still didn't extinguish the fire raging inside. Lando ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back, and groaned exhaustedly under his breath.

Carlos, damn him, Sainz. Sitting there, probably, still cooing with the team. Didn't even blink! God, no shame, no conscience. As if it wasn't his hand nearly touching someone’s cock five minutes ago. Sure, whatever, just a regular Tuesday.

Another heavy sigh escaped his lips. Maybe it was time for Lando to accept that Carlos just liked to wind him up, and there was nothing more to it. He didn't have much of a chance from the start anyway, and besides…

The restroom door slammed loudly against the wall. Lando turned at the sound and saw a person in the doorway. It was Carlos, breathing heavily and disheveled. He jerked the door shut and moved toward Lando with quick steps.

"Refreshed?" he asked distractedly.

Lando didn't know what to say. I mean, the question probably didn't expect an answer, right? But silence would be strange. God, why was his head such a mess?

"Yeah, a bit," Lando spat out nervously. While he was thinking about the answer, Carlos for some reason walked to the furthest stall and looked into the gap between the floor and the door. Then he repeated this with the next stall… and another one after that.

Lando watched him in bewilderment, starting to think that perhaps his teammate had drunk too much and was now going a bit mad.

"Good evening, isn't it?" Carlos spoke up briskly, turning back to his companion. "The guys did a great job".

"Yeah… I guess so," Lando replied vaguely, staring unabashedly at him in an attempt to catch the connection between the words and the actions. It wasn't even awkward; it was just that he had expected something else from Carlos, who had burst into the restroom looking like James Bond about to kick someone’s ass. Especially after what happened at the table… And what, exactly, had happened that was so important?

In essence, it likely meant nothing to Carlos. A sharp pang hit his chest and Lando winced, irritated by yet another round of unpleasant thoughts.

Silence didn't help clear the air. Except for the music thumping muffledly behind the door and the rhythmic dripping of the tap, the restroom was absolutely silent. Worn out by the tension, Lando grumbled: "You know you can just jiggle the door handles?"

He looked at his teammate again, who, by all appearances, saw nothing strange in his actions. Carlos stopped, slapped his forehead, and followed the advice, checking the last stall. It was a pity Lando hadn't thought to say that a bit sooner.

Great, and what was that for? Lando ran his hand over his face forcefully, as if it could help, but in the end, he couldn't hold back and asked anyway: "Carlos, what the hell are you doin—"

But he wasn't allowed to finish. Carlos’s hot lips touched his own. Insistently and fast. So much so that from the surprise, Lando made a sound that was something between a squeak and a moan.

He didn't have time to react properly; he just pressed his back into the sink, leaning his hands on it so as not to fall. Carlos, preventing this, put one hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer. Lando sobered up instantly. It was as if a switch had flipped in his head; all the indignation and questions dissolved as rapidly as they usually appeared.

That was the whole charm of Carlos—entering any room, he captured the entire space with his presence, just as he now occupied all of Lando’s thoughts. Honestly, how could you think of anything else when he was whispering words in Spanish between kisses, words he had taught Lando once himself.

"Bien…"

It took a few seconds to process what was happening, but God, those few seconds brought him more happiness than the entire past season combined. Carlos is kissing him. And judging by what happened before, Carlos wants him.

This wasn't a fantasy, not a figment of his young, frantic brain. Maybe he’d been unlucky in races all year because he’d spent all his luck on this moment. Carlos kissed him with such need, as if they were in a desert and Lando was the only source of water for the next few hundred miles that couldn't be let go.

He didn't waste time on words, questions, or proposals. He didn't pull away to check the other's reaction or look into his eyes, because he knew perfectly well what he would see. That which splashed in Lando’s gaze like sweet liqueur every time their touches accidentally overstepped the boundaries of friendship. That which was reflected in the light irises when Carlos ran his fingers through his hair during another hangout in the driver’s room.

Lando hesitated for a moment, melting under the pressure in the realization that his main New Year's dream was coming true right now, and then took the initiative, reflecting all the desire boiling in Carlos right back. He gripped Carlos's shirt at the shoulders, crumpling the fabric that had been perfectly ironed for the event, and leaned forward, biting into the other's lips with matching force. He bit the lower one, rolling it between his teeth, and hummed contentedly when the hand on the back of his head squeezed his hair tighter in response.

"How greedy we are," Carlos breathed mockingly, sliding his hand under Lando’s sweater. He glided softly from the back to the side and dug his fingers into the skin just as he had when they were sitting at the table. Lando pulled away from his mouth and sucked in air sharply through his teeth. Carlos hummed with satisfaction and moved his hand lower, squeezing his ass.

"Better than that girl's?" Lando asked, breathless. He couldn't help this tiny bit of spite, remembering the stranger Carlos had been dancing with earlier.

"Which one?" Carlos replied without a second thought, moving down to kiss his neck.

"Mmm… the one with the curls," Lando bit his lip and groaned dully when Carlos ran his tongue over the sensitive skin. "You were with her on the dance floor".

Carlos stopped for a moment, then slid his second hand down as well, squeezing the firm buttocks again. "Don't you doubt it," he whispered in Lando’s ear, then caught him by the thighs and hoisted him onto the sink. A ragged breath escaped Lando’s mouth; he hadn't expected his teammate to manage it so easily.

Allowing Carlos to continue kissing his neck, he looked down and suddenly noticed that the lipstick mark still graced the other’s cheek. Smeared, indistinct, but it had remained in place after a failed attempt to get rid of it. An eyesore.

Lando smirked conspiratorially and pushed Carlos away slightly, pressing his thumb lightly against his chin. "Red doesn't suit you, I told you," he whispered before kissing the other’s cheek exactly where the crimson smudge remained.

Carlos couldn't help but chuckle while Lando diligently got rid of the other's marks with kisses. It was as if he were reclaiming a fortress captured by the enemy in battle, taking back what was his.

When no lipstick remained on the skin, he pulled away satisfied and licked his lips, settling more comfortably on the sink. Smudged red spots now graced the area around his mouth and his lower lip; apparently, the lipstick was very long-lasting.

Carlos, looking at this sight, exhaled shakily, biting the inside of his cheek. He positioned himself between Lando’s legs and reached for the hem of the other’s sweater, pulling it over his head. Lando helped him, raising his arms, and tossed the piece of clothing somewhere to the side.

Had the situation been a little less out of control, he would have been disgusted by the tiles that a hundred people had stepped on today, but right now, that was the last thing on the list of things he cared about.

"Why are you all wrapped up like this?" Carlos grumbled irritably, unbuttoning several top buttons on Lando's shirt.

"Well, yeah, I should have learned from certain people," Lando interrupted with a sharp gasp when the other's teeth bit the skin on his collarbone. "You’d unbutton your shirt to your navel if you could".

"You’re so cute when you’re jealous," Carlos replied, sucking the skin near his shoulder, intentionally leaving a mark.

"And you are when you’re silent," Lando groaned in response.

Lando was thoroughly melting; he could almost feel wax dripping down his skin from every touch of the lips, as if he were a candle. Carlos's body temperature was always higher than Lando’s, whose palms, regardless of the weather, were always icy.

In ordinary days, this was an extremely useful circumstance for a person who had to justify excessive tactility with his teammate. When one of the managers found him and Carlos stuck to each other in one of the rooms of the McLaren motorhome, Lando would just blurt out something like: "You guys must have forgotten to turn on the heating, it’s freezing in here," and hoped all questions would drop away.

In those moments, Carlos’s warmth was soft and comfortable, allowing him to find a bit of peace in the rush of another weekend. Now, however, it was going wild and burning hole after hole in his skin, leaving behind reddened spots that would later darken and require concealer to hide.

The buttons on the shirt were freed one by one, simultaneously with the way the other's lips moved systematically lower, forcing Lando to cling to the edge of the sink so as not to fall.

"The door," he blurted out before being left undressed to the waist.

"Locked it as soon as I came in," Carlos answered shortly and to the point.

"You’re too confident in yourself," Lando rolled his eyes, clumsily fumbling with his fingers at the other’s shirt in an attempt to remove it.

"Oh, really?" Carlos smirked. He leaned toward Lando, drawing him into another kiss and pushed his tongue inside, forcing a dull moan out of him. "And it seems to me, I wasn't wrong".

Lando, breathing heavily, pulled away and finally yanked the shirt off Carlos in one go. Now that the layer of clothing was absent between their bodies, they pressed against each other as tightly as possible; goosebumps ran in a rapid wave over their skin.

Not allowing himself to focus on that sensation, Lando found the other’s mouth again and kissed him with tongue immediately, mimicking Carlos. The latter groaned low, expressing satisfaction, and slid his hand toward Lando’s thigh. Lando nearly choked when the fingers on his skin squeezed just as they had when they were both sitting at the table.

"Won't run away this time?" Carlos whispered into his ear, then bit his earlobe.

"This time you aren't prattling about COVID restrictions with drunk mechanics," Lando mumbled this like a tongue-twister, trying not to whimper.

The hand moved higher and this time finally reached its goal, dealing with the fastener on his trousers. Carlos decisively pulled them down when Lando lifted himself slightly for convenience, and then did the same with the underwear.

Unsurprisingly, Lando’s cock was already hard and weeping with pre-cum, staining his stomach. Carlos didn't rush; he teasingly ran his hand from the base upward, making Lando gasp sharply, and then pressed on the tip with his thumb.

A muffled moan reached his ears and Carlos smiled contentedly. Immediately after, he made only one full stroke up and down and stopped, watching as Lando unsuccessfully stifled the sounds tearing from his mouth. He was on the verge of begging Carlos to stop mocking him and do everything properly; a piteous whimper drowned in the air.

And Carlos decided to have mercy. He leaned his forehead against Lando’s and unhurriedly repeated the hand movement several times. Lando hummed under his breath, unable to control his faltering breath, and bit his lip.

When Carlos began to gradually speed up the tempo, Lando suddenly stopped his hand, grabbing his wrist. "Wait, I…" Lando hesitated, but then forced out, "You too".

Carlos at first raised an eyebrow in confusion, but caught the thought when the other’s hands reached for the button on his trousers. Having dealt with them, Lando feather-lightly ran his fingers along the trail of hair from the navel to the groin and, catching the edge of the boxers, pulled them down, exposing the cock.

Lando swallowed nervously and looked up at Carlos, whose gaze was overly distracted and jaw was tense. He didn't wait and immediately took the cock in his hand, distributing the pre-ejaculate along its length.

Carlos hissed through his teeth, sharply squeezing Lando’s shoulder with his hand and pushed his hips toward the other’s touch. Lando looked into the eyes opposite and saw the same expression clouded with desire he had already managed to see today while fleeing the scene of the crime at the shared table in the hall.

Seeing Carlos like this brought him some frantic pleasure, gave him the illusion of control over a wild beast that, if it wanted to, would bite your leg off and wouldn't even spit out the bones. And which of them was "El Matador" now?

Lando exhaled unevenly and finally moved his hand, continuing to watch the other's reaction. Carlos squeezed his shoulder harder and returned his second hand to the cock, matching the rhythm Lando had set a few seconds ago. The deafening thud of his heart roared in his ears as if a herd of wild bison were charging past them right now.

Carlos moved his head to the side, catching the other’s neck and chin with short kisses, to which Lando released a soft "ah" and involuntarily squeezed his hand on the cock harder in the middle of another movement. Carlos groaned long and accidentally grazed the spot he had just kissed with his teeth, receiving an "ah" in response that was much louder than the previous one.

Lando moaned muffledly into his shoulder, staining the skin with saliva while Carlos bit into his neck with kisses again and again. Lando would never say this out loud, but he actually really wanted marks to remain. So that later he could look in the mirror, pulling back his collar, and remind himself several times a day that this wasn't a dream.

Strange, but Carlos seemed to know immediately what he needed—where to press, where to bite, where to run his tongue. Lando felt like an open book, and one with author's notes at the bottom of the page at that. And Carlos, by all appearances, was a very attentive reader, since he didn't miss a single one.

At one point, when the caresses noticeably accelerated, Lando pressed his whole body closer to him, almost sliding off the sink, and to prevent this, Carlos also moved closer. Their hands were tangled with each other, and it was awkward. Breathing became more and more labored and fast, interspersed with impatient whimpers from Lando and long moans from Carlos.

When their fingers collided once more, Carlos hissed with dissatisfaction and sharply intercepted the other’s hand with his own. Lando groaned disappointedly somewhere into his neck and jerked, trying to resume the desired touches, but didn't get his way. Carlos gave him a short peck on the lips, assuring him he wouldn't leave things as they were, and then ground his groin even closer so he could wrap his hand around both cocks at once.

Lando moaned hollowly into his shoulder, feeling the other's arousal right against his own, as Carlos locked their hands in a steady position and resumed the motion. Everything felt much sharper this way, and even after the short break, Lando almost immediately felt the pleasure washing over his head again. A heated Carlos kissed his jaw and, unable to help himself, moaned loudly, provoking a quick retaliatory kiss on the temple.

A minute later, they were both close to coming, so it was hard to maintain a clear rhythm; it either sped up or slowed down when the edge became closer. Not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer, Lando squeezed his hand, making the pressure more active, and immediately got a reaction when Carlos gasped sharply, like a drowning man fighting the elements.

He repeated after Lando, also squeezing his palm, and felt that he was about to reach orgasm. Carlos hissed "Lando, Lando, Lando" in a hot whisper into his ear before he came, and that was the last straw for Lando’s patience. Colored spots danced in his eyes as Lando whimpered, pressing his mouth to the other's shoulder to muffle how loud the sound was.

Sperm splattered onto Carlos’s stomach, and the version of Lando a few minutes later thanked the higher powers for that, because then they didn't have to urgently wash the fickle fabric of the trousers from the murky whitish marks.

For a moment, time stopped; they continued to press against each other in post-orgasmic weakness, feeling the heat slowly leave their bodies. When the heart calmed down a bit and stopped beating like crazy, Carlos took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled away, taking a few steps back. The tile responded with a dull thud that for some reason sounded overly loud, cutting through the sound of their still-rapid breathing.

Lando blinked away the veil that had come over his eyes after the orgasm and clumsily slid off the sink, supporting himself with his hands. Disheveled like a sparrow, he burned the wall with a blank stare, processing what had happened.

Carlos, meanwhile, calmly picked up his shirt, throwing it on immediately and buttoning it halfway. Then he approached the sink and used it for its intended purpose for the first time that evening, washing his hands. Pulling several paper towels from the nearest dispenser, he handed one to Lando and, with another mundane gesture, wiped the sperm from his own skin.

"What now?" Lando asked hoarsely, his eyes darting worriedly over the other's face.

Carlos pursed his lips in brief thought, then smiled and said: "I think we could use some sparkling water". He took a step toward Lando and fixed a curl that had escaped his hair. "You certainly could".

Lando was asking about something else. Not about this evening, or even this day. He was asking about the week, the month, the year that would come after. About what would happen to them.

It was visible on Carlos that he understood this, and it was also visible that he had an absolute lack of fear regarding the matter. The smile on his face was calming and steady, as if everything had already been decided without words.

And then Lando decided to believe in what he saw. He mirrored the other's smile, drawing Carlos in for a hug and clinging his fingers to his shirt. Carlos chuckled somewhere into the crown of his head, burying his nose in it, and then rested his hands on Lando’s back.

They stood like that for a few minutes until an anxious rustling was heard behind the door, indicating that someone had fallen ill. Not daring to risk the cleanliness of the banquet hall floors, Carlos and Lando moved toward the exit.

"Just don't forget to zip up your fly, Casanova," Carlos said cheerfully as they stepped out of the restroom, unlocking the door.

"You're not the one to be telling me that," Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

The rest of the evening went like clockwork, and Lando thanked all the gods that everyone around was too drunk to notice his and Carlos’s intertwined hands under the table.

What happened next merged in his memory into one large, inseparable tangle of hugs, secret kisses, and shared nights, and deciphering the memories was a bit difficult.

They spent that winter break together in the apartment Carlos rented in Woking, lazily lounging in bed and occasionally venturing out for a walk or a bit of grocery shopping. They ordered breakfast and lunch for delivery, but dinner was most often handled by Carlos. He cooked wonderfully, unlike Lando, but Lando was only happy to let him do everything for him.

Well, almost everything. After all, he couldn't slack off completely. If, for example, Carlos was sautéing vegetables, stirring them with a spatula, Lando would be sitting nearby, unhurriedly slicing meat, occasionally glancing toward the TV with another Christmas movie playing on it. Having finished with the slicing, he would immediately wash his hands and hug Carlos from behind, clinging to him like a fly to sticky tape.

Yes, perhaps it interfered with the cooking, but who cared. When the fire on the stove went out and the hood was turned off, Carlos would hum contentedly and turn his face to Lando to finally satisfy his need for affection and kiss him.

They kissed a lot, by the way; you could say that was all they did. On the sofa in the living room, completely ignoring the movie they had intended to watch that had been turned on three minutes ago; in the hallway against the wall, frozen after a walk and with snowflakes in their hair; in the kitchen, where Lando, with the other's help, would settle onto the countertop, giggling contentedly.

"I feel like a teenager in puberty," Carlos said with a hint of irritation, wiping sauce off the floor that had ended up there because in a fit of passion, Lando had bumped it with his elbow and knocked it down.

"Me too," Lando grunted, who wasn't helping with the cleanup at all, but only looking down at the mess that had formed and providing "emotional support," as he put it himself.

"Well, you were one a couple of years ago, not much of a difference," Carlos replied mockingly, for which he received a jab in the side that made him chuckle.

Lando clicked his tongue but generally remained silent. In truth, he understood very well what Carlos meant. Their little prank had gone much further than a one-time drunken outing, and it wasn't entirely clear where it would lead.

To himself, Lando knew for sure that his crush, which had been growing all that time before the New Year's party, had now burst and splattered in his head like paint on walls. Feelings governed him more than he governed them, and it felt simultaneously wonderful and terrifying.

But as for Carlos… what was going on in his head remained a mystery, the answer to which Lando wasn't sure he wanted to know. And as cowardly and selfish as it was on his part, he wasn't going to ask either. Because, who knows, maybe if you ask the wrong question, the carriage will turn back into a pumpkin in that very second.

However, despite the anxiety, in Lando’s humble opinion, it was the most magical time he had ever experienced; it seemed then as if he had suddenly landed in one of those classic rom-coms where everything happens suddenly and very vividly. He was high on it—from the eternal, never-ending warmth at his side, from the shared laziness, from the other's touches, which he believed in more than his own.

This month was a lucid dream with a fever, the kind you see once and can never forget. And Lando didn't want to wake up so badly, didn't want to go back to that cold paddock flooded with camera flashes where you couldn't breathe easily, let alone be alone.

However, spring still arrived. And it was time to get out of the warm apartment and into the drizzling English air to start fully working at the MTC.

Strangely enough, with the start of the season, little changed. They didn't unglue from each other anywhere or ever, just like before the New Year's party, only now, staying alone in one of the motorhome rooms (usually Lando’s, since Carlos’s room was through the wall from the office), they locked the door.

The topic of the status of what was happening between them wasn't raised; it was essentially out of the question. Lando was too afraid of destroying the fragile thing he had with questions, and Carlos, apparently, wasn't bothered by the uncertainty at all. As they say, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it".

While Lando received what he hadn't even dared to dream of before, he easily managed to stifle the anxiety directly. If fear of the future nagged at his head, he could always go up and peck Carlos on the lips, knowing perfectly well he’d be answered.

There were no direct agreements between them and vows of loyalty, but Lando knew from the gossip that Carlos wasn't sleeping with others. Everyone was so surprised by this turn back then, for Sainz Jr. had always been quite the skirt-chaser. Lando warmed his ego from every question like: "You don't happen to know if he’s seeing someone?"

Because, yes, he was. Only it wasn't a sultry model-beauty or an actress with membership in some charitable foundation, but him, Lando, the clumsy, inexperienced rookie.

God, how many times Lando had been torn by the desire to declare his non-existent rights to Carlos when such conversations reached his ears. If it were up to him, he would have stuck a "Keep back, danger of death!" sign on Sainz like on some electrical terminal, just so not a single living soul would even think of taking what was his. Even if what was "his" wasn't actually his.

For the sake of fairness, Carlos himself liked to tug Lando by the sleeve when, for example, he was, in his opinion, too friendly with one of the guests at a sponsor dinner. He, of course, tried to stay aside, watching from a distance, carelessly sipping champagne from a glass, but his patience lasted exactly until the first free stroke on the back.

Then he would usually pull a casual expression onto his face, yank Lando out of the conversation, and then they would fuck in the nearest room with a locking door. Once they even ruined the sheets in someone else's cabin on a yacht, because it wasn't locked and someone was too busy to check the number on the door.

With Carlos, it was as if there was no need to think about the small things. Never before had Lando felt so free from other people's opinions and reproaches. When they played golf together, Lando often lost, but, surprisingly, he didn't even get upset.

He didn't care at all about how poorly he played compared to others, as long as Carlos noticed his improvements, even if in a joking manner.

"Don't tell me you’ve started placing your feet correctly! I thought you were just born that crooked," Carlos chuckled, peering into the distance to see the result of the other’s strike.

"Said the man who just couldn't make it to the kiddie hole," Lando rolled his eyes, leaning on his club.

"I just didn't want you to feel left out! I had to give you the illusion of an advantage so you wouldn't completely sour".

Lando pointedly clicked his tongue and considered the prospect of sending Carlos flying off the small hill they were standing on while he was distracted by greeting some acquaintance of his. At that moment, a devilish idea arose in his head.

"You know, there’s something that definitely won't let me sour," Lando said playfully, adjusting the collar of his polo so that his neck was visible, and consequently the marks on it left by Carlos a few days ago. "Will you guess yourself or should I tell you?"

Someone looking from the side might have thought that Carlos didn't think about the other's comfort at all, given how many hickeys he left behind. But the truth was that they both sinned in this regard, only one of them preferred to mark areas of skin much lower than the neck. So that, for example, when Carlos was playing padel in his usual shorts, if the fabric hiked up slightly, one could see a flock of small dark spots on the inner side of his thigh.

With Carlos, Lando felt as if he were on a permanent vacation. With no other person did he receive so many impressions on a constant basis. Being a part of someone else's life was magical, especially considering how saturated that life was.

They traveled together several times, staying in bright, sunny villas and in private resort areas. They slept until noon, not releasing each other from their embraces, or conversely got up early in the morning to go to golf before the sun reached its zenith and started baking their heads.

In those moments, Lando rejoiced more than ever in the size of his salary as a Formula 1 driver, allowing him to spend time on meaningless and non-useful things without a guilty conscience.

Though, as for the use, it depended on how you looked at it. By his subjective assessment, the benefits of this vacation were countless. Oh, Lando definitely learned a lot of new things during that time. When there are two of you and a vacant villa at your disposal, not using the opportunity is a crime of the highest order. And Lando didn't consider himself a criminal.

A surprising discovery was how gentle Carlos was in everything. In intimacy, he was as soft as he was steadfast and confident in a normal setting. Lando felt like he himself thought about his feelings and sensations a hundred times less than Carlos did for him.

His hands and lips searched with extraordinary diligence each time for new sensitive spots on the other's body, like treasure on a pirate map. Before this, Lando didn't know he was capable of feeling so many things simultaneously, that he was capable of making the sounds that Carlos beat out of him time after time.

Perhaps it wasn't about the actions themselves, but rather their executor. In the way he treated Lando so carefully, there were so many unreadable but nonetheless strong emotions that they were transmitted to him too.

In any case, it was never a one-way street. Lando himself tried to listen to the other's reactions and responses, even if he didn't always manage to guess as accurately as Carlos did. They obviously had a difference in experience that was simply impossible to fill so quickly. To some extent, Lando was a bit ashamed of his helplessness in some moments.

For example, he was terribly embarrassed by how much significance he attached to the fact that Carlos was his first man. Nonsense. He convinced himself it was all nonsense and there was no difference, but there was, and it didn't disappear from the denial at all. At first it was very hard to get used to.

Even with all of Carlos’s preparation and care, he didn't know which sensations to focus on and for the most part felt discomfort sometimes mixed with pain. Of course, this was discussed and changed over time, but it became easier far from immediately.

It was interesting that they weren't shy about discussing sex, yet relationships remained a closed topic, locked in the furthest chest with several locks. Lando did overcome his anxiety a couple of times and spoke about it in passing. Carlos even supported the conversation, but almost immediately found urgent business or changed the subject.

Lando was upset by this, of course, but what could he do?

For him, what they had was insanely important, and a ghostly possibility was absolutely not worth the potential loss of a precious connection. It was something hidden in the corners of the MTC, hotel rooms, and service areas of the paddock. Something that was sometimes seen in double-meaning jokes and fleeting touches. Something they never hid in their gazes and words about each other.

And perhaps that was enough, at least for the time being. However, if you keep something in yourself for a long time, it accumulates and at one point spills over the edge, like water in a glass.

Once, lying on a giant bed in a room of some luxury hotel, Lando looked at Carlos. The latter was stroking his bare back, softly tracing unknown lines around the shoulder blades, and his eyes were almost closed.

Lando, having settled his head on the other's chest, listened to the heart under his ear steadily beating stroke after stroke and thought that perhaps he would never be happier than he was right now. A feeling of incredible peace spread throughout his body, mixing with that tenderness toward Carlos that lived in him permanently.

And Lando was so warm inside and out that the feeling of security seemed unshakable. So unshakable that it gave him the extra courage to say what he had never dared to before.

"I love you," slipped from his lips in a soft whisper.

The hand on his back stopped moving. Carlos opened his eyes and knit his brows, his pupils darting from side to side as if he were thinking intensely about something. During the few seconds of silence, Lando managed to regret a hundred times that he could even speak and had almost thought of which words to use to apologize, but Carlos finally unfroze.

He made a deep breath, kissed Lando on the forehead, and said: "Come here, Querido".

He didn't answer, but he didn't reject him either. And Lando was ready to be content with that for as long as Carlos would still allow him. Perhaps he should have realized even then, when Carlos was softly stroking his head, whispering indistinct words about how "everything will be fine," while pointedly avoiding the other's gaze.

Had Lando been a bit more experienced and a bit less in love, he would have felt the catch.

In May 2020, Carlos announced to the team that he was moving to Ferrari. To say it was stunning would be to say nothing.

Lando first heard about it at a team meeting and was terribly angry that Carlos hadn't bothered to tell him personally. Although very quickly the anger turned into a disarming sadness; he allowed neither to come to the surface.

Even if he really wanted to start throwing accusations in his face and crying, it was obviously completely inappropriate in the situation they were in. Professional ethics, again, hadn't been canceled, even if he and Carlos had managed to trample them quite a bit over two years.

The season was only gaining momentum then, and after this news, it was not destined to remain measured and calm. The team didn't even try to hide that this parting was hard for them; in the end, they even made several farewell videos, during the filming of which Lando tried his hardest not to cry and failed every time.

Everywhere he went, he ran into reminders that soon everything would change. And as shameful as it was to admit, he was more worried not even by the fact of the inevitable change, but by how it would affect their… relationship?

He, in all honesty, didn't care about the accelerated choice of a new teammate, nor the constant bustle in Zak's office. Perhaps such a train of thought was to some extent infantile, but Lando couldn't switch himself to anything else even if he tried.

In one moment he became so fixated on this that he practically moved to denial of his attachment before others. Their manager had always joked before about how he and Carlos were completely inseparable, and now she teased Lando as a "lonely swan," not even realizing how close she was to the truth. Before, Lando would have joked back, but now he couldn't help himself and only grumbled dissatisfiedly about "exaggerations" and "nonsense".

He even, on one of his streams, to the question "Will you miss Carlos?" instead of a simple and truthful "Yes," gave a whole tirade about how their relationship was being too hyperbolized and generally, "I'm not in love with him after all".

Liar.

And how can one lie so blatantly? Carlos would have burst out laughing if he had heard it. If he even cared at all.

Carlos, by the way, was as happy as ever and in this happiness of his didn't notice at all how hard Lando was taking all this baloney with his departure. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to; after all, it would only slow down the process of adapting to a new environment. Though with the adaptation, apparently, he was doing great.

Almost immediately after signing the contract, he rented a house in Maranello near the Ferrari technology center and even took Lando there for company a couple of times. Does it need to be said that the "company" was not in the best of moods?

No, Lando truly tried. He didn't want to be that person who is set off by someone else's success or spoiled someone's pleasure. He was genuinely glad to see Carlos so encouraged. He just didn't know anymore if he could be a part of this encouragement, share it and support it when they would be so far from each other.

Lando could be called overly emotional, maybe erratic, but he definitely wasn't an idiot. Planning ahead was a folly; he understood this and wanted to personally smash his head against the wall every time he thought again about what he couldn't control.

He irritated himself, but couldn't detach from the stubborn "what if…," which changed shape and from time to time became more monstrous and frightening. For a whole year, he lived in the moment, because next to a person dear to his heart, it was easier to do, but now that Lando started being alone more often, he stopped being able to.

He didn't know who he was without Carlos. The shapeless puddle of his personality still hadn't fit into the stencil. How was he supposed to handle this alone?

He had no one to talk to about it, because, as it turned out, besides Carlos, he had no one. No, friends of course existed; there was Max, his mom, in the end. But only none of them knew that Lando liked men, and in the process of paraphrasing, he would definitely have let it slip. He knew they guessed to some extent, but guesses alone were always enough.

So the only way out was to be silent, to try not to think, and still eventually bury himself headlong in a heap of unknown variables with attempts to decipher them.

2020 became a year of waiting for the inevitable. Lando counted the number of Grands Prix until the end of the season like a prisoner on death row waiting for the execution of the sentence. Yes, very dramatic, but he couldn't help it because that’s exactly how it felt.

In Austria, Lando finished in third place and got his first podium. He had dreamed of this for so long and, finally having obtained what he wanted, couldn't get enough of the moment. Carlos that day hugged him endlessly, congratulated him and sparked with pride, though usually he rarely celebrated anyone’s success but his own with sincere joy.

A nasty voice in his head, however, continued to whisper that this was Lando’s last podium that Carlos would be happy about, and to his regret, he couldn't disagree with that. Instead of carefree celebration in the present, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about the inevitable future and spoiled the holiday for himself by it.

Nonsense. What absolute nonsense. He was an adult and should have been able to function independently, not leaning on only one teammate. Only it worked with difficulty.

Later Sainz also got his moment of glory in Italy, earning for the team the second podium of the season, as he himself joked, as a parting gift.

The timer until the end of the year continued to hang over Lando’s head like the sword of Damocles, and the imaginary ticking of the arrows became louder and louder until it finally turned into a bell announcing that time was up. McLaren finished the season in third place in the constructors' standings and had an immeasurable desire to improve this result next year. Only, everyone perfectly understood that without Carlos, it would be hard.

It was time to say goodbye. Lando was helping him pack the main things to move from the apartment in London to the house he had chosen and felt absolutely shitty. London was their city, the place where their feelings and attachment first found their place, and leaving it behind so simply was hard. Well, at least for one of them.

"Ready to be my rival, Landito? There will be no concessions for a pretty face, I’m telling you right now".

The suitcase slid from the elevator, its wheels rolling steadily across the floor toward the exit.

"Actually, we’ve been rivals these two years too, smartass," Lando replied, holding the door so Carlos and his suitcase could pass.

"Oh, don't mock me, you perfectly understood what I meant," Carlos grumbled irritably, while he approached the car and opened the trunk to throw the load into it.

"Yes, I understood," Lando grumbled with an unexpectedly sad intonation, sitting down in the front seat. The glass fogged up from the cold, so he, without waiting for the owner of the car, took a dry cloth lying on the dashboard and wiped them from the inside.

Having finished with that, he settled in his seat and buckled up, immediately turning his gaze to the window. He propped his chin on his hand and listened to Carlos’s scuffling in the trunk. Judging by the sounds, something from the luggage wouldn't fit and he was intensely playing Tetris with himself to fix it.

Lando sighed, looking at the pessimistic landscape outside, and suddenly felt all the longing he had held back until then making its way out.

A few minutes later, Carlos dropped into the driver’s seat and started the car; the weather was unpleasantly slushy and cold, so it was necessary to warm up the oil before driving.

During this time, Lando had managed to bury himself headlong in thoughts again and didn't even hear Carlos call him until his palm softly slid over his cheek.

"Earth to Lando, come in".

Lando started and turned, trying to promptly construct an expression on his face that wouldn't cause questions. However, judging by how worriedly Carlos looked at him, the attempt failed. He knit his brows in confusion and wiped away a tear that had suddenly rolled from his eyelashes with his thumb.

Lando hadn't even noticed that he was crying. When had he even started? It was very awkward to think about how it might look from the side. Another folly.

"I’m just a bit sentimental," he threw out dismissively, avoiding the other’s gaze.

Carlos hummed, expressing either agreement or support, and then moved closer and hugged him from the side, leaning over the gearbox. "Lando, I know you, everything will be fine," he whispered softly. "Don't worry".

Lando hummed affirmatively, hugging Carlos back, because he was right.

Later he thought that, yes, Carlos really did know him, maybe even better than Lando knew himself. But apparently the invisible thread that connected them broke back then when Carlos put on the red, because that was when he first made a mistake.

Because when he left, Lando cried. A lot, for a long time, and for real.

The truth was that his "soy lago" had never been an exaggeration.