Work Text:
"I can get it."
"Lando. Por dios, cariño, not under the fence, please."
Carlos has to grab ahold of the younger man to hold him back, barely catching the back of his polo. Lando twists around to give him the most stubborn pout he can muster from behind his sunglasses.
"I'll fit right under."
"You'll be filthy! Lando, it's just a ball."
"Zak thinks it's funny when I scramble under things." Lando says. "And I have other shirts."
He should've seen this coming, really, Carlos can only blame himself. It's been a while since they've had time together. He'd tried to suggest some down time at home but Lando had glared at him, defended his adulthood, and suggested golf. So they're here now, only three holes in and with Lando already getting finicky. Carlos sighs. His boy isn't usually the pushing boundaries type (unless Charles is around). But it's been a while, the sun is harsh, and he knows how much Lando hates being in public when he's nearing a drop-- even if he's refusing to acknowledge it. Carlos gives his friend's shirt a tug.
"Come, mi tesoro, forget the ball."
He sees Lando's hesitation. Watches as the young man's eyes lock onto the lush grass under their shoes. His voice is a mumble, but Carlos wouldn't miss a word.
"Don't need to call me that. I'm not small."
But he goes willingly towards Carlos, away from the fence holding the stray ball hostage on the other side. Carlos hums and let's go of the boy's shirt in favor of his hand. He gives it a quick squeeze before guiding him back towards where they were.
"Maybe I just like calling you sweet names. I am not sure why, though. You're very sour sometimes."
Finally he earns a chuckle from the boy.
They get back to their game. Though it's hard for Carlos to concentrate. The sun tangles up in Lando's curls like strands of fine gold. He's let his hair grow out just a bit and left it un-styled, so Carlos gets to admire how the ends of messy curls frame his face. He's caught staring, but instead of the usual teasing remark he simply receives a smile that makes Lando's whole face just that much brighter. Sunglasses block what he knows are beautiful eyes, especially in lighting like this, and he wants to reach out and snatch away the offending things. Instead he breaks eye contact and finally takes his swing. He whiffs it once more and completely blames Lando, who doesn't seem all that interested in hitting his own ball, busy messing with the strap on his glove.
"Your go, Lando."
"I'll um... I'll just watch you?"
"We can leave whenever you like."
The reassurance doesn't seem to convince him. Lando's face scrunches up, previous smile forgotten as he's clearly struggling with his headspace. He shakes his head defiantly.
"I'm fine," he insists, "I'll just watch you."
So it goes. Carlos continues with his miserable performance, distracted by keeping an eye on the increasingly fidgety young man. He's lining up two holes later when a gloved hand suddenly blocks his vision. Blinking, he gently takes Lando's hand and pushes it down, raising a brow at his friend.
"Want it off."
Ah.
He makes short work of the velcro strap and slides the glove off Lando's hand, stashing it in his own pocket.
"Thank you."
"Con gusto, mi tesoro."
"You're really good at golf." Lando says, voice quiet and earnest. Carlos can't help a short laugh. He takes the proximity as an excuse to card clever fingers through his boy's soft hair, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his head.
"You think so? I have been a bit distracted this round."
"Yeah. Super good."
He lets himself soak it in, since it's the rare occasion where Lando actually means his compliments and isn't prodding at him in search of a reaction. The whole situation is a touch absurd, if Carlos thinks on it too hard, so he doesn't. He simply hums and pets over Lando's cheek before returning to make his shot. The bliss is a bit disrupted when he has to essentially pin Lando down to keep him from trying to jump out of the golf cart as they progress through the course. Their next stop sees the British boy sat on the green and picking at grass, plucking up perfectly manicured blades as he waits for Carlos to get them moving again.
Carlos is thusly a bit surprised by the sight he's met with when he turns back to face the boy, who'd been so immersed in his grass picking only moments earlier.
"Lando, please get up."
"No. I'm bored."
"I told you we could leave whenever you want."
A long drawn out groan from the younger driver now laying flat and splayed out all over the ground. Carlos sighs. He knows this game, and while the course seems largely empty he still doesn't really want to risk picking the boy up and carrying him back to the cart. It might be what this version of Lando wants, but he knows that adult Lando would kill him if anyone got pictures of the moment.
"Come, Lando. We can--"
He's abruptly cut off by the other man.... rolling away. He watches as Lando tucks his arms against himself and rolls across the grass, away from the Spaniard. It edges back towards that earlier absurdity, and Carlos is a moment away from laughter when Lando disappears from view completely.
Oh.
The hill.
It takes him a moment to process the situation and rush forward. And, well. There he goes. Lando's rolling away down a perfectly sloped artificial hill. It's enough to finally pull that laughter from him. Impossible to contain himself given the situation. He hurries down the hill in pursuit of his charge, calling after the rolling boy. He loses his own footing almost immediately, slipping and joining Lando in the tumble. His chest is hurting with the force of his own laughter. When he finally comes to a stop his head is just a little bit dizzy and his body maybe a touch bruised, but it's all nothing compared to the sight of Lando collapsed a few feet away in absolute hysterics.
He scoots his way over on the torn up grass and wraps his arms around the laughing man, dragging them both to the side and tucking Lando against himself. Their laughter blends together and rattles through both of them.
"Let's do it again!"
"Oh, no, no, no. I am old, my bones will break."
The self-burn is worth hearing Lando wheeze on even more laughter. He pulls some grass out of the younger's hair but it's really a lost cause.
"Papa's not that old."
"Mm, I think he is."
There's a sloppy kiss pressed to his cheek. They should really get up. They're both in need of showers now, and Lando's pretty far under. His sunglasses must have gotten lost in the havoc because their eyes are locked now, Lando's gaze bleeding of adoration. It's a lot to handle. Sometimes Carlos questions how he's earned it. He doesn't recall doing anything special to end up with such a wonderful light in his life. Yet here that light is, shining warm and bright and happy and blinding him with all of it.