Work Text:
Instagram, Charles decides on the spot, is a menace when you're trying to do anything remotely productive.
He's supposed to be looking at data for the new car that the team at Maranello sent him over four hours ago. But every time he tries to immerse himself in it, his phone chimes with a new notification and he can't help but check it.
He could just put it on silent, he supposes, but he can't focus on his work. It's tedious, and he's been at it for the past hour, curled up in bed with his laptop. He keeps getting distracted by the smallest sounds or movements.
Giving up, he rolls over and grabs his phone. He can always look over the documents later, he tells himself, although he knows he probably won't until the hour before the team wants it back.
He scrolls through his Instagram, grinning at Alex's story of him trying to teach George golf. They look like they're having fun, and he misses them, suddenly. He makes a mental note to ask them if they want to come over sometime during the winter break.
The grin fades when he sees a post from his girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend now.
Too many posts now are about him and Charlotte, people wondering why they broke up, people angry with either of them. He sighs. He loves his fans, really does, and understands that he gives up privacy for his racing. But he does wish people wouldn't be quite so… intrusive.
Especially since the breakup has left him full of regret and guilt, even though the relationship had been dying for months. It ended well, mostly. He still can't help feeling guilty that he couldn't spend enough time with her, even if she always understood racing came first and foremost to him. Maybe that's the problem, has always been the problem. That he puts racing above so many things, people and events and his own sanity, sometimes. Maybe he's a bad person for -
Charles sighs. Stops himself from going down that route again. It won't help anybody, least of all himself.
He scrolls past Charlotte's newest post and comes across one of Pierre and Yuki's old challenges, something apparently involving sushi. Perfect. By the end of the clip Charles is almost in tears from laughing, any lingering guilt vanishing. His best friend can always make him smile, even if it's through a screen.
The next reel gives him pause. It seems to be a compilation of thirst traps Pierre has posted throughout the last year or so. He watches it, and then watches it again, without thinking about what he's doing. He appreciates the curve of muscle around Pierre's shoulders, glistening with droplets of water. His waist, his abs. His eyes get caught on the little trail of hair on Pierre's stomach leading down towards his swim trunks. He really is gorgeous, Charles thinks to himself, continuing to stare at what Pierre's shorts are doing very little to hide.
He stops, suddenly. What the hell is he doing?
He's straight. He's always been straight. He even had a girlfriend until just two weeks ago. But this doesn't mean that he's not straight, does it? He's just supporting his best friend, he reasons, it's not anything weird. George and Alex would do the same thing. Besides, thirst traps are supposed to look good, so his reaction is perfectly normal.
And he hasn't seen Pierre in a while, so he's missing him. Of course he wants to see him, even if it's just through his phone.
Charles nods decisively, pleased with his reasoning. He'll invite Pierre to sleep over so that they can game together, and that'll be the end of this strange feeling.
Except that, for some reason, it isn't.
Pierre does come over a few days later, and they play FIFA for hours on end. Both of them are too competitive to let the other win, and so it's a very drawn-out affair, as always. They guiltily eat pastries their trainers would never approve of, telling each other they'll put in an extra hour in the gym tomorrow. (They both know they'll do no such thing, and will instead use their free day to sleep as late as possible.)
It's all so normal, so traditional, so them.
Pierre helps with thoughts of Charlotte, as well. Just having him there, smiling and joking and throwing a casual arm around Charles, almost allows him to forget his guilt.
So it's not that Charles is uncomfortable around Pierre, because he isn't. He loves spending time with his best friend and this is no exception. It's just that he can't stop looking.
Like earlier when Pierre reached up to get a couple of glasses from a cupboard, Charles couldn't help following the play of muscles in his back, visible through his tight shirt. Or when he leaned forwards across the table, completely focused on the game, and the intensity in those blue eyes made goosebumps erupt on the back of Charles's neck. It makes him wish that gaze was focused on him, a thought that he's not keen on examining too closely.
It's becoming a problem, because Pierre is starting to realise something is off.
Charles doesn't acknowledge the subject though, and Pierre lets it go. He's always been amazing like that, knowing when to push Charles and when to give him space.
So Charles manages to forget about… it, enjoying the rest of the afternoon thoroughly.
At least until they finally decide to go to sleep.
They've slept in the same bed since they were children, sharing everything from covers to ice-creams to their dreams. Why should anything be different now?
Pierre casually pulls off his shirt and heads to the bed, apparently oblivious to the way Charles's brain is short-circuiting.
Charles stands in the middle of his room, mouth slightly open, staring. He's blushing, he knows he's blushing, but he can't stop. He's seen Pierre shirtless countless times, of course. But after his thirst-trap-induced confusion, his brain seems to have come to the conclusion that shirtless Pierre is, in fact, extremely attractive. And so Charles resorts to his usual reaction at having someone gorgeous in the same room as him: blushing bright red and stuttering.
Pierre turns around. He frowns, worried for a second, before understanding brightens his eyes and a smirk curls the edges of his mouth. "See something you like?"
Charles realises his mouth is still slightly open and closes it quickly. "I… I was just - I don't -"
Pierre reads the confusion mixed in with obvious attraction, understands, and gives Charles an easy way out. Because of course he does. Pierre may tease him endlessly, but when it matters he will always, always look out for Charles.
Turning back to the bed and burrowing under the covers, Pierre says, "Croissants for breakfast? Or should I make us scrambled eggs?"
Charles finally unfreezes, endlessly grateful for how well his best friend knows him. "Can't we have both?"
Pierre chuckles. "Both it is, then."
***
After Pierre goes home the next afternoon, Charles sits down on his couch, wraps himself in his favourite blanket and puts his "sad hours" playlist on shuffle.
He needs to think.
Pierre may have given him an easy way out of acknowledging whatever the hell last night had been, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened.
Charles sets about making a list of facts in his head, to the backtrack of Adele's Someone Like You.
He's pretty sure he's straight.
He definitely, without a doubt, finds Pierre absolutely gorgeous. Who in their right minds wouldn't? His smile with those hidden dimples, his arms, and those eyes, God.
Apparently, he can't keep his eyes off of Pierre.
He's getting very much sidetracked.
Yeah, okay, so maybe he isn't quite as straight as he thought.
But It's just Pierre. Being attracted to one man doesn't mean he's suddenly gay.
Then Charles freezes. Oh shit, he thinks. Lewis.
He thinks back to a day on track when he'd been angry and hollow about his race going badly. Lewis had come up to him, put his hands on his shoulders and promised him that one bad race didn't make a bad driver. Charles had blushed down to the neck of his fireproofs, ducking his head.
At the time he'd thought it was just because it was Lewis Hamilton talking to him. But that skin tight shirt Lewis had been wearing, showcasing exactly how much he worked out… maybe he'd been blushing for a completely different reason. Then, and all the other times he's found himself lost for words in Lewis's presence.
And he does also remember watching Pirates of the Caribbean with his mother when he was younger, staring at the couple on the screen and not knowing where to look.
Fuck.
Charles groans and puts his head in his hands. No, this won't do at all. How do people know they're not straight? It can't be that easy, right? He wishes he could just talk to someone to find out how they knew.
He suddenly smacks a hand to his forehead. "I am so stupid," he says out loud.
Pierre is bi. Pierre has to be able to tell him at least something. Why didn't he think of this sooner? He has to talk to his best friend.
…Who has just gone home. Charles bemoans his luck, grumbling to himself as he picks up his phone to text Pierre to come over. Again.
Thankfully Pierre is used to Charles's chaotic ways, and agrees to come over in two days time with minimal teasing.
Those two days feel like two months to Charles. He's getting antsy, pushing himself to his limit and then a couple of seconds more in the gym, going out to run twice a day. He can't seem to relax, can't dispel the nervous energy.
Pierre finally shows up in the late afternoon, letting himself into Charles's apartment with his extra set of keys. He shuts the door behind him, leaning casually against the frame with that patented smirk. "Inviting me around so soon again? Is this a rebound, Calamar, should I be worried?"
Charles shifts guiltily, not meeting Pierre's eyes. "Actually - about that. I've been thinking…"
"Thinking? Now I really am worried," Pierre jokes.
Rolling his eyes, Charles swats at Pierre's chest. "Haha, yes, you're very funny."
Pierre's smirk widens as if to say yes, he knows he is.
Charles rolls his eyes again, heaving an overly dramatic sigh before he turns slightly more serious. "No, really. I have a question, you don't have to answer if you don't want to of course, but I was just wondering. How did you know you were bisexual?"
Pierre's mouth actually drops open. Charles is so unused to seeing him speechless that he smiles himself, forgetting his question for a second.
Until Pierre starts laughing helplessly, doubled over and leaning against the doorframe for support.
Charles just stands there, bemused, waiting for his friend to stop.
Pierre eventually catches his breath, still supporting himself on the doorframe.
"It's not funny, it's a serious question!" Charles insists, slightly hurt by Pierre's dismissal of his possible coming out.
"No, Charles, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that at all," Pierre reassures him earnestly, all traces of laughter gone from his face. "It's just, you invite me here two days after I left and your first words are how did you know you were bi. It was just the absolute last thing I expected you to say."
Charles smiles ruefully, rubbing his neck. He does see the funny side, he supposes. Why does he always say stupid shit like this?
"Let me put my bags down and come inside properly, then we can talk about it," Pierre says.
He puts down his bags in Charles's room before heading to the kitchen. The ridiculously expensive coffee machine Charles had gotten as a sponsorship gift is sat on the counter. He had debated giving it away or selling it, but ended up keeping it in storage exactly for a time like this. He'd taken it out yesterday, spending a full hour cleaning it for his best friend.
Pierre's eyes light up when he sees the monstrosity, and Charles thinks yes, alright, maybe it was worth keeping.
"Charles, have I finally managed to convert you to the dark side?" Pierre smirks, catlike, pointing to the bright red coffee maker.
Charles sighs. "Coffee is still the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted, I'm never changing my mind," he says, rolling his eyes at Pierre's pout. "I kept the machine only so you wouldn't complain about my instant coffee again."
Pierre shrugs as if to admit that that's a good point, but Charles sees the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and knows he appreciates the gesture. It makes him smile, too, seeing his best friend happy.
Pierre sets about expertly making coffee, passing Charles a tea bag from the cupboard he's just opened. They make their respective drinks in comfortable, if slightly charged, silence.
They settle onto the couch after they're finished, not quite touching but not sat very far apart, either. Charles tucks his legs under himself, turning his body to fully face Pierre.
"So… how did you know?"
Pierre shrugs. "Well, I fucked a guy and it was hot. Maybe you should try that," he says, completely serious as he sips on his coffee.
Charles immediately turns scarlet, spilling his hot tea in his lap as he flails his hands around. "Pierre," he hisses. "I can't just do that!"
His best friend frowns. "Why not?"
Wincing, Charles tries to wipe away the spilled tea from his jeans. "Well, there's a difference between sexual attraction and wanting to date somebody. How can I know if I want to date a guy if I've only fucked him? And besides, I've never - I've never done anything with a boy before," he finishes, his blush still not fully gone.
Pierre considers for a long moment, downing his coffee at an alarming rate as he thinks. "Well, why don't you ask a guy out then?"
Charles's mouth opens and closes a couple of times. "Just. A guy. Any guy? I can't just go up to Max Verstappen and ask him if he wants to go on a date with me!"
There's a split-second of quiet before they both burst into helpless laughter.
"Why on earth would you suggest Max?"
"I don't know, he was the first person that came to mind!" Charles giggles, trying to get his laughing under control. He has the good sense to down what's left of his tea and put the mug on the little table in front of them before he manages to spill it again.
"Oh no," Pierre gasps out, "imagine the look on his face!"
Charles laughs so hard he snorts tea out of his nose, setting Pierre off again.
Every time they stop, one of them catches the other's eye and they collapse into more fits of giggles. When they finally manage to get it under control, Charles is feeling lighter than he has in weeks.
There's still a problem, though. "How am I supposed to ask a boy out? Pierrot, you know I can't flirt."
Pierre rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes, Charlito, I know that very well. You'd need to find someone who you know isn't straight… someone you know already so that you aren't awkward around him."
They realise at the exact same moment.
"Pierre -"
"Charles -"
They say at the same time. Pierre gestures with his now-empty mug for Charles to go first.
"What if… Pierre, what if you took me on a date?" Pierre's quiet, and Charles immediately starts backtracking. "I only meant that you're bi, and you're my best friend so it won't be awkward because I trust you more than anyone. But obviously you don't have to do it if it'll be difficult for you, or if you won't enjoy it."
Despite Charles's worry, a smile lights up his best friend's face.
"As if it would be difficult for me to take you on a date, with you looking like you do," Pierre all but purrs, his eyes sweeping up and down Charles's body.
Charles chokes on thin air. When he's finally managed to get his coughing under control, he splutters, "You can't just say things like that!"
Pierre's smirking. Oh, he's enjoying this, the bastard. "Can't I? Why, Charlito, am I not allowed to flirt with the boy I'm going to take on a date tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow night? How - what are we doing?" Charles asks, dumbfounded. It seems Pierre really is taking this whole thing seriously. How the hell did he think of something this quickly?
"Pack warm clothes, and be ready for a surprise," Pierre says, winking, and leaves it at that despite Charles's protests. "I'm going to shower, and then maybe some FIFA?"
Charles nods absentmindedly. Its just hit him, what he's done, what he's asked of Pierre. What type of friend asks someone to go on a date with them just to experiment? Then again, Pierre didn't seem too bothered by the whole thing…
Suddenly not knowing what else to do, he grabs his phone and opens his chat to his brothers.
LEFRÉRES 🏎️ ⛵🏎️
Charlito 🤌
(17:34) i am stupid
Petit 🤏
(17:37) yeah tell us something we don't know?
Enzo✌️
(17:39) Arthur! Don't be rude to your brother
(17:40)... but also yes Charles this is not exactly the realisation of the century
Charlito 🤌
(17:40) 😒
(17:41) no I did something bad this time
Petit 🤏
(17:41) wait should I actually be worried
Charlito 🤌
(17:42) yes
(17:42) be worried
(17:43) help me
Enzo ✌️
(17:45) Charles. what did you DO
Petit 🤏
(17:46) charles?? 😶
Charlito 🤌
(17:50) well
(17:50) i might be going on a date tomorrow night
(17:51) and I think I fucked up i don't know what to do
Enzo ✌️
(17:52) WHAT
Petit 🤏
(17:52) ur doing what
(17:52) you, charles leclerc, are going on a DATE
(17:53) how
Charlito 🤌
(17:55) I don't know!! it was sort of an accident 😭
Petit 🤏
(17:56) let me get this straight
(17:56) you asked someone out
(17:56) BY ACCIDENT
(17:56) how even -
(17:57) are you hearing this shit rn enzo
(17:57) i cant
(17:57) again, charles, how the fuck???
Enzo ✌️
(17:59) shut up Arthur
(18:00) don't listen to him Charles
(18:00) I think the more important question is why are you worried?
Charlito 🤌
(18:03) I think I'm asking too much of them
Petit 🤏
(18:04) ??!?#=@)R)#=#@??!?!m?.
Enzo ✌️
(18:06) I think whatever Arthur was trying to say there I agree. For once
Charlito 🤌
(18:10) im just nervous about it
(18:10) it's kind of a first
Enzo ✌️
(18:16) Don't be nervous
(18:17) You're amazing, much as it pains me to admit
(18:17) And how can you be asking too much of them? It's just a date, after all, you'll be fine
Petit 🤏
(18:18) for once in his life enzo has a good point
(18:19) im sure it'll go fine
(18:20) just be yourself and all that shit and it'll go great
(18:21) also if whoever it is hurts you I'll beat her up :)
(18:21) lorenzo might be the older brother but he didn't say anything
(18:22) so ill beat her up for you
Enzo ✌️
(18:23) Why are you like this 😐
(18:24) But of course I will also intervene if you need anything, Charles
(18:25) And tell us how it went!
(18:26) Whoever it is has to be amazing as well for you to want to date them
Charlito 🤌
(18:32) 💗
Charles laughs and turns off his phone. His brothers might be idiots sometimes, especially Arthur, but it's nice to know they have his back even when they don't know what's going on.
Feeling reassured, he gets up to go check on Pierre and maybe get his best friend to tell him where they're going.
***
Pierre won't tell him where they're going, even as he drives Charles through the streets of Monaco.
They're listening to music at full blast as they always do, driving just a bit faster than they should. Charles can't appreciate the beauty of his city, though, not when he's this curious. His nerves have mostly worn off, mostly due to Pierre looking so excited, but now his curiosity is getting the better of him.
Charles keeps asking what they're doing, and Pierre replies only with we're almost there, Charlito. There's a twinkle in his eyes that usually spells trouble.
And trouble indeed.
When they finally pull up, it's in front of an ice rink. It's supposed to be closed, according to the sign, but - but that wouldn't be a problem for two Formula 1 drivers.
Pierre walks straight up to the entrance, exchanges a few quick words in French with the man there, and then gestures for Charles to follow him inside.
He expects to see at least someone, but the place is completely empty, multicoloured lights sparkling on all the walls. Pierre has rented out the entire space, Charles realises. How the fuck he'd managed to organise all this within a day and a half -
He's kept from thinking about it more by Pierre offering him a pair of skates with a wicked grin.
"They should be your size, although I'm not sure what will fit seeing that you've never skated before. I suppose I'll just have to help you," Pierre says, and there's just a hint of a challenge in his voice.
Charles picks up on it. Oh, he might not have skated before, but like hell is he letting Pierre beat him. So he smirks himself, pulling on his skates and getting to his feet smoothly, intending to offer his hand to Pierre.
There's just a tiny problem.
The skates are a lot harder to balance on than he'd thought, their thin undersides making him wobble from side to side, pinwheeling his arms to keep upright. It doesn't help though, and he falls backwards with a shriek that would have been very embarrassing, had anyone else been around to hear it.
He lands on his ass in a puddle of melted ice.
Pierre laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench he's sitting on to tie his skates. "We're not even on the ice yet, Charles, and you have already fallen over!"
Charles rolls his eyes, but accepts Pierre's gloved hand to help him to his feet. They make their way towards the ice, leaning against each other to find their balance.
For some reason, Charles had expected ice skating to be easy once he was on the ice itself. He's a Formula 1 driver, one of only 20 in the entire world, he's fought his way up to the top and won races. He's refused to break over and over again, and now he's driving for fucking Ferrari. A little bit of ice is sure to be a breeze.
Except that it very much isn't.
He wobbles around like a newborn fawn, clutching at the barriers to keep from falling flat on his face. It's embarrassing, is what it is, but he's also never been one to say no to a challenge.
So he makes his precarious way over to Pierre, who's not actually that much better than Charles, despite earlier posturing. They skate around for a while, slowly finding their balance and giggling every time the other one almost falls over.
"Pierre, you look like your cousin when she just learned to walk!" Charles calls from where he's catching his breath at the barrier.
Pierre tries to scowl at him, but the effect is completely undermined by his scarf, pulled up to almost under his nose. He looks so adorable with just his eyes peaking out that Charles can't help but laugh.
"Oh do I now? Well, at least I'm not the one who crashed into the side seven times already," Pierre retorts.
It's unfortunately true. Charles can't seem to get the hang of the skates, and the only thing keeping him from giving up is the fact that Pierre is almost as shit as him.
Charles is secretly extremely pleased to have found something that Pierre doesn't excel at. He hides his smile, though, and says faux-innocently, "Wow, Calamar, this is the most romantic date I've ever been on in my life."
Pierre glowers at him, but there's laughter dancing in his eyes. "Oh, really? How's this for romantic?"
He scoops up a pile of loose ice and throws it at Charles, his stupidly perfect Formula-1-driver aim ensuring that it hits Charles right in the face.
Charles gasps at the cold, but he can't help the smile that breaks out over his face. The smile that means shit is about to come Pierre's way.
Pierre sees it and tries to skate away, shoulders shaking as he tries and fails to keep his laughter contained. Somehow Charles catches up to him without falling, his own ball of ice splattering over Pierre's hair.
Pierre catches his wrist to stop him from throwing any more ice, still laughing, and Charles suddenly realizes how close they're standing now. He could just lean forwards and his lips would brush Pierre's cheek - kissing away the small bits of ice gathered there.
He blushes and looks away quickly. But then he realises that he doesn't have to look away. They're on a date, for fucks sake, he's allowed to do what he wants. So he looks back at Pierre, catching his best friend's gaze.
Pierre still hasn't let go of his wrist. His smile is softer now as he looks up at Charles. He slides his hand from Charles's wrist so their fingers intertwine, catching his other hand as well. He skates backwards slowly, seeming to have found his balance now, and pulls Charles along with him.
And Charles has to admit, it really is romantic. The flickering lights of the ice rink casts Pierre's features in a soft light, making him almost glow. It casts his cheekbones into sharp relief, and God, he really is absurdly beautiful. Music is playing in the background, something slow and lovely and Italian. Pierre's hands are firm around his own, holding him steady over the slippery ice.
It's nice. It's really fucking nice. Charles thinks he could definitely get used to this.
Except that right at that moment, a rut in the ice catches on Charles's skate. He falls over backwards, so quickly he just manages to grab Pierre's shoulders as he goes down.
Pierre lands on top of him with a little oof of surprise. And then he just… stays there, his hands braced on Charles's waist. The heat of his skin seeps through even past his thick gloves, and Charles's brain goes blank at the feeling.
Pierre rolls off him, oblivious to Charles's sudden and complete lack of coherent thought. He props himself up on one elbow, a smirk in place on his face, as if he meant to fall over. He then proceeds to lie there, not offering to help Charles up.
Charles huffs as he tries and fails to get back on his feet. "You know, most people would help the person they're taking on a date when they fall over."
"We're not most people, though, are we? And besides, this is much funnier."
Charles can't even argue that point. Still, when he's finally standing upright again he steals Pierre's scarf, even though he already has one. Petty, yes. Sue him.
Pierre just laughs and tucks the corners in under Charles's coat.
It's such a simple gesture, but it warms Charles right down into his freezing socks. It's then when he realises exactly how cold he is. His clothes are soaked from the ice, his hands almost numb under his gloves. Pierre isn't much better off. His jeans, usually tight, now cling to every muscle in his toned legs. Really, it's unfair, Charles thinks. Why does Pierre always have to look so good?
He doesn't realise he's said that out loud until Pierre smiles, wicked and delighted. "If I'd known that was how you were feeling, we could have done this much sooner."
Charles's cheeks immediately turn as red as his Ferrari jacket. How many times has Pierre managed to make him blush tonight? He really should find some way to get him back for it, he thinks. But, then again, he finds he doesn't actually mind blushing for Pierre. In fact, he may just like it. A lot.
He tucks that thought away to be examined much, much later.
They agree that they're too cold to carry on skating, and Charles expects Pierre to drive them home. Instead, he soon finds himself in front of his favourite restaurant in Monaco, a cozy little family-owned establishment tucked away on a back street.
He smiles softly at Pierre. Of course his best friend knows his favourite places, he doesn't even know why he's surprised. Still, a warm, contented feeling blooms in his chest as Pierre smiles back at him and they go inside.
They get a table and Pierre orders Charles's usual for him without them even looking at their menus. The warm feeling is still there, and it has nothing to do with the heat of the little restaurant. They share a bottle of wine between them, giggling like schoolboys the more tipsy they get, and the feeling only intensifies.
It's nothing like any dates he's been on before, where he was stumbling over his words and actions, not sure what to do with his hands. No, being here with Pierre feels like coming home after a long day, relaxing into a sense of them.
It's better, he thinks. Better to be sat in his favourite restaurant with a beautiful boy he knows as well as he knows himself than trying to make conversation with someone he's only met once. It's easy, too, the conversation and banter flowing between them as they eat. It might have something to do with the alcohol, but Charles doesn't care. It's easy as breathing, and Charles is slightly addicted to it.
He wants to kiss Pierre, he realises suddenly. Wants to see if their mouths fit together as well as everything else about them.
It's a sudden thought, but he's shocked by how much he means it. He's wanted to kiss Pierre the entire day, and actually, the entire time since he'd seen that gods-dammed thirst trap compilation.
They finish dinner and Pierre pays. When Charles tries to protest, he simply says that it's only fair, seeing as he was the one that asked Charles out. Technically.
"If it's really that bad, you can pay on the next date," Pierre says over his shoulder as they walk out to the limo he'd ordered earlier, stumbling slightly over rough cobblestones.
"There's going to be a next one?" Charles blurts.
Pierre stops in front of the limo's door, sees the look on Charles's face and immediately backtracks. "Well, you did say you wanted the full experience, non? One date hardly counts. But if this is all you want then of course I'm happy with that, too. It seemed like you enjoyed it, is all, but I don't want to take you on another date if you don't want that."
Charles smiles, and without thinking leans forwards to kiss Pierre on the cheek. He pulls back, smile widening at Pierre's shocked expression.
"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing how you're going to make our next date better than this one," is all he says before he climbs into the limo.
Pierre climbs in next to him, and for a second they just sit there smiling at each other. Charles leans towards Pierre, not missing the way his best friends eyes flick down to his mouth. His lips part on instinct, and he leans even closer. There are centimetres separating them now, and suddenly all Charles wants to do is close that distance. His eyes slip shut as Pierre's hand comes up grip the back of his neck.
Then the driver leans back to tell them they're leaving, and the spell is broken.
They pull back, but there's no awkwardness between them. Something more like a promise for later flickers in Pierre's eyes, and Charles suddenly can't wait for the drive to be over.
While they're here, though…
There's champagne, which is probably a bad idea. But fuck that, Charles decides, his already-tipsy brain not seeing any point in not enjoying himself. They finish up most of a bottle between the two of them, imagining they're on a podium together. Charles honestly can't remember when last he's been so happy, when last he's gone this long without feeling guilty about Charlotte.
They finally arrive in front of Charles's flat. He lingers in front of his door, waiting for Pierre to say something.
Pierre cocks his head to the side. "Do you need something, Calamar?"
Charles bats his eyelids, any sense of shyness erased by the alcohol and their almost-kiss earlier. "What, no goodnight kiss after such a wonderful date?"
Pierre's eyes darken under the glow of the streetlights. He's already standing close enough for Charles to smell his cologne, but he steps even closer.
Even though they're bordering on drunk and Charles had quite literally asked for this, Pierre still checks, and it makes Charles feel immeasurably fond and warm. "You're sure you want this?"
A barely perceptible nod from Charles is all it takes for him to surge forwards, and then they're finally kissing.
Charles's first thought is that it's different, kissing a boy. Pierre's stubble is rough underneath his fingertips when he cups his jaw, but Charles finds he loves the sensation. Pierre's hands are on either side of Charles's head, braced against the door and caging him in. Yet Charles doesn't feel uncomfortable. In fact, his hands twine around Pierre's was to urge him even closer. It's better, this way. He can feel every centimetre of Pierre's chest pressed against his own, hard muscle against hard muscle.
Charles shivers at the feeling.
Pierre seems to take that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, licking at the seam of Charles's lips. Charles goes pliant in his arms as he opens for him, giving himself entirely to the kiss.
It could be a minute or an hour that they stand there, Charles doesn't know. All he does know is that he doesn't want it to stop.
Eventually Pierre breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. Charles chases after his mouth, but Pierre puts a finger to his lips, stopping him. He stares at Charles, and Charles stares back, taking in his swollen lips and the slightly stunned look on his face.
Pierre strokes his thumbs over Charles's cheekbones, leaning forwards so their foreheads touch.
"Does it always feel like this?" Charles asks. "With a boy, I mean."
"It can feel better," Pierre answers, catlike eyes flicking up to Charles's apartment suggestively.
Charles pales, and Pierre immediately realises he said something wrong. "I'm sorry, Charles, I was only teasing. I don't ever want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do."
But Charles shakes his head. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just… well, neither of us is sober. I don't want my first time with a boy to be while I'm drunk, so I don't remember all of it." Then his eyes lower and he buries his head in Pierre's chest. "Besides, it's not even been three weeks since Charlotte. Does it make me a terrible person?" Charles whispered, voice muffled by Pierre's chest.
Charles feels more than hears Pierre's soft sigh. "I understand, Charles. I really do," Pierre says, his hand coming up to stroke Charles's hair. Charles pushes his face further into Pierre's chest at the feeling, as if he can hide there from the rest of the world. "And no, it doesn't make you a terrible person. Not ever. Okay? We don't have to do anything tonight, not if you don't feel ready. I promise I understand."
There's such certainty in his voice that Charles nods against his chest. God, he shouldn't drink this much, he knows it eventually makes him sad. He looks up at Pierre through his lashes.
"Can you… can you just hold me tonight, Calamar?"
Pierre's face softens from concern into fondness, and he hugs Charles tighter before letting him go to unlock the door. "Of course I can, Charles."
They go upstairs, and true to his word, Pierre tugs Charles to him, his arms wrapping securely around him. Charles immediately relaxes into his warmth, letting out a huge breath.
He's so grateful for his best friend. That he would go on a date with him to help him figure out what he was feeling, and then hold him with no strings attached just to make him feel better about a breakup.
Charles falls asleep with a smile on his face, Pierre's arms a warm weight around his waist.