Chapter Text
Two championships in the bag since the 2024 season, Charles Leclerc was now fighting for the third one. Flued by the mistakes and wrongdoings of his team and his alone, Charles changed the game, and he was not planning to stop anytime soon. He had to win, he had to be the best that there ever was – and winning two championships represented the beginning of his legacy.
Charles had realized three seasons ago that the good old ways of listening and submitting to his team’s orders was not working anymore for him and his goals. Trusting them with his whole heart that they have a plan for him somewhere soon in the future neither.
First season since the attitude adjustment brought him the second place in the Championship miles away from third place, and the other two the winning title bringing the Italian team back on top, instituting dominance back on the grid. How that managed to happen, everybody wondered when the answer was rather smile – Charles Leclerc was done being nice, obedient, and sweet.
The Monegasque flicked a switch, decided not to follow Xavi’s words all the time over the radio and stopped the hope tap, instead Charles began staying up late every single evening after a race with the engineers and strategists to plan the best way to fetch the next win, not letting them move a finger without him knowing. The entirety of Charles’ life outside and inside the track was Formula 1, not even bothering to afford leisure time anymore, hours and hours of training, testing, and manhandling.
Starving for the win every time when he passed Max or Lewis, never switching positions with his teammate if asked too and sarcastically apologizing for any accident he had provoked due to his now very risky driving – no matter the drivers who were involved. That is what Charles had to do to put his team back on top, and to stop the laughs coming from his haters. Failures can make a man turn bad, and it has turned Charles Leclerc for good.
Ferrari minded at first, but after seeing how a good guy turned bad can win them races, can win them points, can cash for them, and put them back at top, the comments towards him from the team had stopped. No matter how harsh Charles replied to interviewers and no matter how much fuss he was making over the radio – they let him rule.
You were bothered by that to an extend that those sleepless nights that Leclerc had in the garage were your own too – figuring a way to beat him at his own game as his teammate. Yes, the truth was that Charles Leclerc could have not done it without you, without his sweet lieutenant: the one who agreed on being Ferrari’s second driver and forever little helper for Charles Leclerc to shine.
You took Ferrari’s seat two years ago, and the timing could have not been more unfortunate for you to take your shot at one of the bigger teams after rookie years of switching seats in between midfield ones. You were proud to be one of their drivers as everyone dreaming of racing could have been, and it was meaningless to say that part of the excitement of sharing spots with Charles was highly impacted by your undying little crush on him since you were just a junior.
Those feelings of admiration, marvel and curiosity swiftly turned into resentment throughout the two years. Oh, what complications your feelings for Charles were. In the same fashion, what complications you joining the team was for Charles. He knew you, and no in the way the others knew you – but in the way of him being your mentor throughout the years. He had always been talented, and you caught his drift from earlier on watching him climb the ladder as you followed in his steps.
You followed him around when you could, being five years younger than him and not attending the same tracks and leagues as him made it complicated to do so – and yet, you managed. Charles saw something in you too, although you two were not exactly from the same generation – he took his time before F1 races to watch you drive in your F2 ones and watch closely if you were taking his advice. He liked to think about you as somewhat an investment, but what do you do when you start to find your investment as something so much more?
The little protégé turned into the protector, having Charles’ back anytime he needed, changing positions with him every single time when asked, putting him ahead of you all the time for the sake of the team for two whole years. Your mentor-mentee relationship changed since you two were now teammates, and when you were not faking it for the sake of PR and Ferrari’s imagine – you were playing catching mouse most of the time. You obeyed for the first two years, and yet you were the first one to be feed up about Charles Leclerc’s villainous attitude that got him winning championships in the first place. Therefore, you were becoming a threat now although people in the time were already talking about your shift – Charles Leclerc was the first one to feel it.
“I am pretty sure I am faster than him.” You spoke quite calmly to your race engineer hitting the DTS zone while being 0.782 seconds behind P1 that Leclerc hardly managed to keep due to his tire degradation, “I am not waiting for your approval, I am passing him.” You declared, fingers almost crushing on the steering wheel.
“No, no, Y/N. Do not pass him, I repeat – do not pass Charles.”
If you could have rolled your eyes at the engineer, you would have done it in the most annoyed ways he had ever seen a woman disgusted by his words ever in his life. Instead, you keep your calm and speeded. Leclerc was not the only driver that was not listening to his team, you were not either – he thought you that through his actions, right? Well, Charles taught you most things you know about how to race for Ferrari.
It was never easy to pass Leclerc, especially this season since Ferrari managed their best to produce a car according to his driving style (jokes were on him in that matter, since you have been mimicking his driving style since you were fourteen). And yet, through the ten races this season had so far you quite enjoyed every single battle on track with your teammate. Full concentration on, you battled Charles for almost one full lap teasing him enough for his tires to almost fail completely and for your entire body to ache at every single taking of a risky turn wheel to wheel with him.
Fans were in awe; Fred and the whole team were at the edge of their seats with hands clasped praying you two will not crash like you did during the season’s last race (causing your car to be retracted), and as you passed Charles and maintained the ten last laps ahead of your teammate with a teensy half of a second gap or even less you knew that everyone was going to talk about how you stole P1 from Leclerc for the third time this season. Also, you knew how Leclerc’s reaction was going to look like in front of the others. Calm, restricted and with a congratulatory smile all over his pretty damn face. Fuck, it would have been easier for everyone (especially for you) if Charles were not to have such a pretty damn face.
“You needed to be stubborn, weren’t you?” Charles spoke as soon as your helmets were off and you were waiting your turn to hop on the podium after Max claimed the third spot, making sure that you two were the only ones hearing his words.
“You need to stop acting like a prick, don’t you?” You returned the comment making him room to pass you, “Go on now Leclerc, claim your second.” You dared to mock even further, blood boiling inside Charles’ insides as his dreadful glare pierced you with the additional shake of head and a corny smirk sprung on his face.
That was usually how many of your conversations with Charles went lately, sarcastic comments and calling each other on your surnames, faking the coldness of what was a made-up reality in between the two of you. In that type of a reality – you two hated each other when, in fact – you were drowning until the pits of hell together not in heathered but in a form of lustful longing and yearning Dante wrote about.
It was useless to say that your relationship was a twisted complicated one. You have been friends before being teammates, each developing what seemed to be crushes on the other during that time. Then, you helped him achieving what he had always craved the most by playing the good cop of the game – and now you were turning on him. Oh, more than acquaintances, less than friends and under many circumstances craving to be lovers.
The evening after the race called for a huge party thrown into your honor and the 1-2 finish for the team, and the timing could not have been more perfect as that was the last race before the summer break. You needed this, you deserved the win – and you were going to celebrate with everyone who wanted to do so. All the drivers were invited, Charles Leclerc included. Most of you knew that he will not came. Charles had missed most of the parties in the past two years, even though most of them were thrown for him.
“He is going too far with his World Champion vibe.” Norris spoke as the group you were with at the bar were talking about the bet that has been placed at the beginning of every party in the last year or so: will the champ come?
You slightly sighed, your bid for tonight was “no” no matter how much you would have wanted him to truly celebrate with you your win. You took one of the shots that were placed across the bar and drowned it whole. That’s it Y/N, you have to abandon the idea that he still finds you likeable.
Shaking your head due to the high percentage of alcohol you found burning your mouth, you turned to Norris and gave him frowned look, “You always choose the most grotesque shots to start the night with.” You added, napkin now glued to your lips.
Norris’ eyebrows cockily twitched up, “Wait until you see the other that I have plan—” Norris begun to speak but shut his mouth tersely as his eyes went behind your shoulders fixing them on whatever he saw that made him grunt, “Oh fuck – losing all my money again just because of him.” Norris muttered, eyes rolling as well.
Your heart sunk the moment Norris’ finished, Charles was right behind you. You could have caught that judging by what Norris just said, and yet what gave it away was the scent of that one Prada perfume you knew too well. Looking over your shoulder, your glare fixed Leclerc who was already looking right back at you. Besides sarcastic and bitter comments, excruciating long enduring stares was one of your things too. Perhaps they meant something more than just seeing who is winning at the game of asserting dominance, something in between the lines of “I want to touch you, and yet I am afraid I might get burned.”
“Don’t give her too many shots – she gets drunk easy.” He commented, and of course the very first thing your teammate said in a mass of people was about you.
“I don’t.” You childishly replied without breaking the eye-contact, knowing very well yourself that your alcohol tolerance was not something you could show off like you do with your driving skills.
Leclerc let a short amused chuckled escape from between his lips, “Let’s agree to disagree.” He then added, taking a shot as well after quitting in fixing your glare with his – you won this time too.
“That is all you two have been doing since the beginning of the season, aren’t you bored yet?” Russell interviewed with a swift move inside the party, patting your shoulder and gently taking you into a warm embrace, “Congrats darling, awesome drive today!” He then added, joining Leclerc for shots but not before he metaphorically turned the knife inside his friend, “I wish I could say the same about you too, Charles.”
You mimicked an embarrassed smile watching Leclerc giving George a side-eye, “Thank you, George.” You added, not missing on the chance of mocking Charles together with him, “You did your best, don’t mind George.” You bittersweetly spoke, Leclerc placing the empty shot glass back on the bar and giving you one of his signatures shake of disapproval accompanied by a short silence before a scornful comment.
“Since when does George Russell call you darling?” Leclerc then asked, watching George and Norris make their duty in finding homes for the remining shots made of the other drivers’ hands.
Your shoulders shrugged, “I guess it is a British thing.” You shortly laughed, “And since when do you care how other drivers call me?” You wondered, catching yourself too comfortable to really laugh in presence of Leclerc without the laughs being results of sarcastic comments exchanged in between the two of you.
Leclerc’s eyes widened for a short while as he found himself a contented position next to you, who were sitting on a high-bar chair making yourself stood a little taller to Charles’s side, with his elbow pressing the bar’s surface and his chin sustained in his palm, forearm fully into your sight now as well as his peering eyes on yours again. To add to this whole thing, Charles’ other hand wrapped its fingers on the edges of the chair you stood in.
Inches away from each other while the others were taking their seats at the woodened table at your left next to the bar waiting for the food, you two felt like you were alone in the whole entire restaurant – just as you feel when your cars are creeps away on the track.
“I don’t.” Charles replied, fingers gripping on the chair even tighter – sign that Leclerc actually did care on whatever appellatives others used for you when you two only permitted surnames in between the two of you, “We need to talk about today.” He then voiced and you could feel your heart sinking right into your stomach.
“We don’t.” You added, getting down from your seat with a hasty move that meant being trapped in between the chair and Leclerc for a brief second before he took two steps back, almost as if he was careful of your bodies not to accidentally collide, “I have nothing to say to you – I was faster and I passed.” You smiled right back at him, “Sucks to be the second driver at Ferrari for the day, right?” You spoke looking over your shoulder as you made your way to the table next to the others.
You left Charles hanging in there with no chance to reply. He breathed slowly, and after selfishly taking another shot from the bar, your teammate followed your steps towards the table but made sure to sit across from you.
Hours passed, food was served and finished, drinks were aligned and tasted. You enjoyed celebrating your win, and you would have wished for the one standing across the table from you peering with those beautiful damn eyes catching yours from time to time analyzing them back, to celebrate it with you too. Yet, that was unheard off – Charles Leclerc was not celebrating other drivers’ wins anymore.
You liked sweet Charles better than villain Leclerc, and you caught yourself thinking about this while Charles was exchanging shots with Pierre at the bar that evening laughing about unknown whispers coming from the French driver right at Charles’ ears.
In all loudness, Charles’ laughs echoed the most in your head and you would have been able to give up all your wins for him only if that guaranteed you that Charles that you knew back into your mentorship years could come back – that is how complicated being teammates with Charles Leclerc was for the moment, and how much more complicated it will become now that you were turning into the devil you were so afraid of walking with.
You avoided each other for the rest of the evening. Glances were exchanged. Time-consuming and penetrating ones. Charles’ eyes on you when he engaged in chit-chat at the bar while you were dancing and having fun with somebody else within the team or not, and yours on Charles when he will get approached by any of his fans (mostly girls, mostly pretty).
It has not always been exactly like this in between the two of you, except maybe for the unexpressed jealousy only through eyes but never through words. And yet, you two avoiding talking back in the days when you were not teammates nor on each other’s throats was out of the question.
As mentioned, you followed him everywhere and he made time (all the time) to watch over you before your F2 races and to congratulate you after any of your wins.
“You have to be smart.” Charles intoned as you were walking side-by-side on an empty Emilia Romagna circuit at the dusk of sun two days before what was the time and place of your first F2 driver championship catch, “You have the same car as anyone else, therefore you have to be smart about the way you use your tires here, especially when taking turns.” He added, vrooming through the apex as if he was a racing car and you were a mere spectator.
You laughed, back then what Leclerc managed to do to you was only laughter and not hard feelings. He caught your laugh and then warned you with a finger to cut the giggles and to pay attention to him and only him as he was explaining to you the best kind of a set-up you could use for the race.
You closed your mouth shut mimicking a closed zip, being the one to cause the laughter to Charles as he watched you tossing your imaginary key far away from the place you have now stopped.
“Understood?” He then inquired, watching you watch him back with whopping googly eyes and hope flickering in the irises of your eyes partly thinking about the win, mostly thinking about him and how attractive having him advising you was.
If you were to be in school and Charles Leclerc were to be your teacher – you would have been most definitely a teacher’s pet. The thought of that scenario made your blood boil, and the way you looked while picturing that made Charles’ spine shiver in pleasure while your body heated underneath his look.
“If you want to make a pass here, you have to be careful to—” He hesitated, heavily breathing in the process.
“What?” You stopped, watching Leclerc’s words being cut short as well as his steps slowing.
You slowed yours too, wondering what was going in the back of your mentor’s mind with a slight hope that your thoughts were the same. They indeed were, and oh how much anticipation was there for them the become real and not just fantasies hidden in the corners of your minds and extremities of your fingers.
“Nothing.” Charles anxiously gulped, his eyes being fixed anywhere else on the track but not on yours that were examining him attentively, “You just —“ He then stopped again, arms close to his chest almost as if he was frightened of the thought that you might see it lifting up in a sorrowful sigh, “You are looking at me like that again.” He explained, arms falling around him helplessly, fingers snapping his knuckles in nervousness.
You let out a giggle, pretending not to know what he was speaking about. When in all trueness, you knew even since then that looks played a major role into your relationship no matter the status of it.
“What are you talking about?” You asked, proceeding in walking away from him so that he will be the one to follow now — which he refused.
With a hold of your wrist, Charles’ fingers wrapped against your skin. Your eyes widened, there have been little to no chances of him daring to touch you. You looked down for a short while, and then up again meeting his gaze.
“I have a girlfriend, Y/N.” He then suddenly spoke, and your heart dropped into your stomach.
Charles had Charlotte at that time, and you knew for the better not to ask details about their relationships. You saw them in the paddock often, and each time you would say “hello” to them while passing by the two holding hands for the photographers to capture, you would have wished for nothing but the Earth to swallow you whole.
Retracting your wrist from Charles, you adjusted your voice with a short grunt, “I am aware of that.” You muttered before a short smile, “You have to question yourself why you had to reminder me that just now.” You added, stepping away from him while your chest was aching still by that mere touch of barely hands, “I was just listening to what you were saying and I—”
“Looked at me like you never do at any other driver, Y/N.” Charles dared to say with a shake of tone, the shakiness progressively getting softer as he spoke your name, “We need to keep this professional.” He continued, enforcing the truth for himself rather than for you just as mentioning his girlfriend before.
With a smirk crossing your lips, you teased even further as you replied, “You pay attention on how I look like at any other driver?” You inquired with a sly smile hid within the tone of your voice, “My plan is not to steal you from Charlotte, Charles.” You assured him, knowing that scooping through the man’s relationship was the last thing on your to-do list when it came to Charles, “My plan is to steal your knowledge, and one day to beat you at your own game on the track.” You proudly declared, managing to shake the uneasiness on Charles’ face for it to be replaced with the humbled proudness you were used back then.
“Oh,” He mouthed, “I would like to see you try.” Charles mocked in a sarcastic tone, “Just don’t be disappointed if that never happens, tough.” He then cockily continued, clapping both his hands together before you went back to the circuit’s tour and racing advice – both pretending that the talk outside the two never took place.
Fools, fools, fools – both of you. You, for teasing him that much during your mentorship era and him for accepting and playing along, toying not only with your emotions but his too. Two days ahead of your little evening escapade on the track, you won your first major championship and Charles’ arms were fast to grab you into a warm hug once you were on the way of getting back to your garage with the trophy tightly squeezed in between your hands.
“That was amazing, Y/N!” Charles shouted within your ears as your bodies entangled for a short yet intense while, “Taking the turns exactly how I told you they are supposed to be taken, amazing!”
You laughed as you two departed, “Taking all the credits, I see.” You joked with a huge smile spread on your face, “I think I did a great job at executing them.” You proudly spoke for a minute before your smile faded as you switched glare from Leclerc to Charlotte who was standing behind him.
Greeting her shortly with a shy “hello”, your hands fully departed from Charles’ forearms as you picked the trophy back from the ground where you first tossed it for the man to have a full access on you.
“Good luck on your race too.” You spoke, the enthusiasm in your voice slowly fading as well as Charlotte’s hand grabbed back Charles, both on their way to the Ferrari garage for Charles to get ready for what was coming that afternoon.
“Ah yes, yes, yes, thank you.” Charles still frenetic spoke looking at Charlotte before taking another one good look at you and your rosy cheeks, “Send me the details to your party for tonight! You must celebrate!” He added, patting your shoulder in passing as they were hurrying on their way.
You nodded yet said nothing. Of course, there was going to be a party, but would you risk it for him to show with Charlotte as he always had done in the past and ruin your winning mood just because she had something you so foolishly desired at the age of eighteen? No, the answer was no.
You had not texted Charles that evening, although every bone within your body wanted for your mentor to attend the celebrations. Selfish mood driven by an even selfish heart, one that Charles was very much aware of and yet one that he wanted to understand without having to lose in the process. And yet, as young as reckless as you both were – mistakes were made in the form of him showing up at your hotel’s door at midnight without Charlotte or anyone else knowing.
A knock into your door as you were ready to go to sleep startled you. Your scared steps carried your body at the door to slowly open it. Yes, you would have lied if you were not to admit that you wanted for the person behind it to be Charles.
Then, seeing him standing upright with a bottle of champagne in one hands and flowers in the other – your heart sunk even deeper, and you knew that him being this close to you and at that hour will not do go to neither of you.
“I waited.” Charles begun with the same type of shakiness into his tone as the one back at the track, “I know from Carlos that you had your party.” He added, eyes all over you as you almost hid behind the door, “Did I do something wrong?” Charles then pleaded, and you had to restrain all your urges to not invite him into the room.
You declined with a nod, “No, it is just that I –” You gulped, “It was just a small party with people from the Prema Racing team, and some of my non-racing friends.” You almost whispered with a smile, “No big F1 drivers were invited, no huge fuss nor cameras, no drinks nor dances, no fun actually – really.”
You lied stumbling at your own words, avoiding Charles’ look as much as humanely imaginable until your eyes laid on the man’s slowly trembling fingers. You made that; you made him shiver even when your intentions were not to do so.
Charles guzzled as well, “I understand then, yeah – sounds like a boring one.” He then laughed, handing you what was waiting into his hands, “I came here actually wanting to celebrate with you alone, but I think that –”
You nodded even before he stopped his words, taking the bottle and the flowers into your own hands, “I think it is a good idea too.” You added, for you to leave. There was no need for one of you to utter the words, as both of you were tragically thinking the same. “Thank you for stopping by, and thanks for the flowers.” You spoke, sniffing the scent of what were your only and favorite type of flowers that you perhaps mentioned once or twice during some of your interviews but never to him, never to any boy really. And yet, Charles knew – he had documented this moment, the very first time when he bought you flowers.
“Goodnight then.” Charles shyly verbalized, grabbing the back of his neck for you to not notice any further the trembles of his fingers, “You did a great job today, Y/N.” He then added with a soft short smile, “You will do just great in F1.” Charles continued, watching you giving him one last shy smile and a glimpse of your rosy cheeks in the dim lights of the hallway before closing your door once he turned to leave and go back into his hotel room, one in which Charlotte was most definitely soundingly sleeping.
You glued your back to the door once he left, the words “keep it professional” resounded in the back of your mind. With an aching chest, you placed the flowers in one of the random vases that the hotel room had to offer but not before noticing a hand-written note enveloped on the top of the bouquet.
You have one of the best talents I have ever witnessed in this sport and not only, do not waste it – and I cannot wait for us to fight together. I would like to see you try, younger and much ruthless me.
Charles was right back then with quite a few words; you were one of the most talented drivers he had ever seen – one of the most talented drivers everybody ever seen. And yes, you were the younger and much ruthless version of him. But now, oh – Charles Leclerc was not that keen on fighting with you together on the track exactly for those three reasons alone, and for the fact that you were on to get him and slow his process of being the best that there ever was on racing circuits.
The now two-times world champion was watching you leave your own party earlier than everyone else. You wanted some time for yourself the night after your scandalous win against him, therefore you took a car straight to the hotel to ease a little. You were not eighteen anymore, and you found yourself a little too much of an alcohol enthusiast now (although you were bad at holding your liquor).
With your head ponding too much after many of Norris’ gross shots, you quickly get rid of your cloths and showered before limping to the bed. You need to get a good night sleep before tomorrow arrived when you had to take an early flight back home – three weeks without Formula 1 were ahead, and you would have never thought that you wanted a break from it more than you did now during your most successful season so far. You were almost dreaming about time spend with your non-racing friends far away from all the craziness, when a knock into your door blasted you awake.
“What are you doing here?” You awed spoke once you wide opened it, expecting for the knock to come from one of the hotel’s employees or your manager who drove you back to the hotel.
And yet, there someone else stood – the one you opened your door two more than six years ago with nervousness, thrill, and anticipation, “Leclerc, it is past midnight for God’s sake. What are you doing here?” You intoned with the annoyance of repeating the same question after receiving no answers at first try while inviting him in without giving it a second thought as you made him room to pass by you.
Charles was without a girlfriend now, and the idea of you two being in the same room late at night seemed more bearable now knowing that you despised each other rather than being attracted to the other.
Fools, fools, fools again – both of you, and now both for the same reason: pretending works until the boiling point, and yours has been long reached but to be exploited still.
“I saw you leaving.” Charles added, giving you a quick glance from head to toes, “Cute PJs.” Your teammate mockingly spoke, leaning against the wall in front of you as you closed the door, “I told you we need to talk – I am not leaving until we talk.” He demanded as you looked down at your pink and white PJs sprinkled with smiley yet creepy faces that you drunkenly ordered online one time.
“I very much like my PJs, thank you.” You spoke, eyes up now watching Charles crossing his arms at his chest.
Fuck, the training in the past years did its job. You could not help yourself but notice his biceps through the white plain loose t-shirt and the way his clothes fitted on what was now a very sculpted body. And yet, you sighed to act uninterested and even more annoyed that you were by the fact that Charles showed up without letting you know ahead, “I told you that we have nothing to talk about.” You added, glare catching his now.
You were not the only one who pretended within the room, of course not. Charles has been looking at you for the entire night, and he has seen how your body moved close to guys that were not him – and he reminded himself of all the moments he shallowed his urges whole to touch you, to caress the back of your hand with his, to glue his body on top or under yours. Yes, the view he had upon you was very much different than the one he had when you were eighteen or in the years that followed since then and yet, the shivers were the same.
That was the main reason why Charles held his hands so closely gripped to his chest even now, for you to not notice his nervousness around you anymore and for him to tame the pleadings inside of his mind as much as he could. Your dominance over Charles was turning him on more than he had ever guessed, and no one made him feel like this before – that was the trick.
“You need to slow down.” Charles intoned, the words were again spoken more for him to hear rather than for you to listen – and it was very much not about racing anymore. Leclerc’s mind was all over the place, and it has been like that since he decided to knock at your door with no plan whatsoever but just to warn you about your next steps, “This will get quite ugly in the future if you keep acting like this.” He added, eyes never away from yours.
You nervously chuckled, mimicking’s Charles’ body pose now. Younger and much reckless me, “I’ve slowed down for you in the past two years, mate.” You intoned with a very much sarcastic tone, “Are you that scared?”
“Are you that fearless?” Charles added, two steps now made towards you with both arms clasped at his back, “You went through a lot to get your seat next to me – are you planning on losing that?” Leclerc threated with a cunning smile; head titled to the right in trying to intimidate you as inches of the hallway divided in between your bodies.
“You taught me that.” You argued, the slug into your threat toughening as you parted your back from the wall and faced Charles closer, “How to be fearless,” You counted slowly, “How to fight for my seat.” You added, your fingers going up Charles’ cheek just to feel the burning inside his untouched skin, being the one between the two of you to first dare touching the other risking for the walls of your caged unspoken tormenting urges to crack, “Are you really threating me now?” You wondered, watching’s Charles’ eyelids sliding shut as you placed your whole palm on his cheek and part of his neck.
Charles took you in – you and your scent, you and your touch and all that he had been craving even more fervently now than six years ago since the first knock at your door.
And yet, winning seemed to be more important.
“If needed, I will.” Leclerc spoke with his eyes still closed to let himself enjoy the moment of one of your hands on him – although he would have enjoyed for both on him and every single part of his body, “Just a warning for now Y/N, do not stand in my way.” Charles added, stepping back and thus privatizing you of touching his skin no longer.
“What happened to you, Charles?” You breathed slowly as you watched him stating back at you now with one hand on the lock of the door, “You used to be so sweet.” You spoke, eyes on the handle.
“Sweet does not get you championships, darling.”
“So, you do care.” You highlighted, how the others call me, “Sweet might not get you championship, but neither being a dick.” You harshly spoke, placing your hand above him on the handle to stop him from clicking it down, “Look, I get it –” You paused to tame whatever was going inside that aching chest of yours, “You changed, but so did I. You want to win, but so do I.” You enunciated while your fingers gripped his, “Let’s see who wins – fair and square. No games, no threats.”
Charles chuckled, “Does not sound like us.” He spoke, hand hardly pressing the handle down for him to leave, not bearing anymore for you to touch him like that, “What’s the fun in fairness when it comes to us?” Leclerc then added, retracting his hand from underneath yours now that the door has opened, “Goodnight then, see you after the break.” Your teammate spoke, and you have never heard him speaking in such a grave alerting tone before – see you after the break was not a greeting, you had to take it as what Charles was intended for that to be: a warning.