Work Text:
no proof, not much
but you saw enough
Carlos knew.
He had known for a while.
Since Saudi Arabia, specifically.
“What do you mean he is out?” Charles asked, lips worrying, and eyes fixed on Carlos’, searching for any hint of humour but failing to do so.
Carlos couldn’t help the wince that left his lips when the doctor pressed slightly on the right side of his abdomen and Charles immediately scowled at the man.
Carlos was grateful the doctor was giving Charles his back because if looks could kill… Phew.
“I—I thought you had recovered from your fever,” Charles continued, watching meticulously every movement the other man did, ignoring everyone else in the room.
“Yeah, I was better last night, but then—” Carlos hissed at the force of the doctor’s fingers. Charles was just a step from yanking his hand off when he finally leaned back and removed his gloves.
“I strongly believe it’s appendicitis,” he informed Fred.
Carlos let out a flow of curses and threw his head back, not liking the news at all.
Seriously? You’ve had twenty-six years to inflame and you decide now it’s the right time?
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity. He really wanted to. But he also wanted to just pull it out himself and get ready for the race.
Not really a good idea, huh?
So, he decided to just sigh, the weight of the situation dawning on him.
He was out. He was officially out at the second race of the season.
Fuck me.
He had been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t realized when he had been pulled out of the room, much less when they had admitted him to the closest hospital for an emergency operation.
But while he was waiting for the anaesthesia to hit him, he remembered.
He remembered the way Charles’ face had gone blank in an instant, his face almost as pale as a ghost, worrying clouding his eyes and his mouth biting his nails.
He knew any teammate would be slightly worried about their partner if they were ever in their position. But he also knew the relief they would feel at not having to compete against the other and being the main priority of the team.
Still, that hadn’t been the look on Charles’ face.
He had been utterly worried.
Anxious.
Unsettled.
Carlos knew.
“I can’t believe you, Carlos. How the fuck had you convinced the doctors to let you go not even twenty-four hours after your operation?” Charles rambled, on and on, while he tried to guide Carlos to his bed with a cute frown adoring his expression.
“I’m a very charming man, Leclerc,” Carlos teased, still a little knocked out by the medicine they had given him.
“You sure are,” Charles mumbled, a light blush on his cheeks. “Isn’t that medical negligence? Discharge a patient that can’t even walk?” He started again, more to himself than to Carlos, making the other roll his eyes.
It was when he heard him talk about calling Fred about it that he turned to him and stopped their steps.
Trying not to let any pain expression cross his face, he lifted his hands and rested them on Charles’ shoulders, who just looked at him with those anxious eyes.
“I’m okay, Charles. I’m not going to break just because I left the hospital a couple of hours earlier.” He squeezed Charles’ shoulders in an attempt to calm down the man, which worked well enough.
Charles sighed defeated and gave him a short nod. Carlos could still see the concern on his body. The way it was so stiffened while he tried to be as careful and gentle as he could not to hurt him.
It was inevitable for Carlos’ heart not to soften even more at that.
Charles took his time to prepare Carlos’ bed for him. He plumped way too many pillows against each other, then lifted the sheets and grabbed the other’s hand to help him make his way.
Carlos had never liked being babied. But he surely wouldn’t mind it if it was Charles who did it.
Carlos' grip on Charles’ hands tightened when he slowly sat down on the mattress, unable to avoid the wince on his face. Charles immediately pushed him softly against the mountain of pillows and the Spaniard let out a relieved breath, the tightness of the stitches easing.
“You okay?” asked softly Charles, examining him once more. Carlos couldn’t count the times he had done since he had seen him in the garage.
Carlos nodded and closed his eyes, making himself more comfortable but opened them right away when he started to become annoyed by the tautness of his jeans and shoes. Charles, being as clever as always, followed his gaze and when he made a strained sound, Carlos looked at him, a slight pink returning to his cheeks. The Spaniard smirked when the other scratched his neck, nervously.
“Do you…” Charles cleared his throat, avoiding Carlos’ eyes. “Do you want me to get them off?” He asked shyly.
Carlos wanted to laugh at how adorable Charles looked, so shy and unsure if that would be the right thing to do.
The Spaniard had never had a problem with undressing in front of people, not even if they were the person he hadn’t been able to stop obsessing over for two years now.
Carlos would be lying if he said that he didn’t make the most of every chance he had to show his body to Charles, not missing the flush that would spread on the other’s skin.
“Do you want to?” Carlos asked back, giggling, partly because of the anaesthesia and partly because of the way Charles’ mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“I—”
Carlos, taking pity on the poor man, squeezed his forearm. “It’s okay. I can ask Caco when he—”
“No!” Charles opened his eyes clearly surprised by his own reaction and Carlos copied him. Well, that was new. “I mean, I—” He took a deep breath and eyed Carlos’ jeans. “I can do it,” he said but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it. You’ve already done enough,” Carlos told him, gentle but serious. He didn’t mind messing a little with Charles, but he never wanted the other to do things he didn’t want to. He wasn’t that dickhead.
Charles shook his head, clearly determined. “I want to.” Then, what he said hit him and he rambled once more. “It’s not that I want to, you know? I just want to—want to help you feel more comfortable,” he finally said with a puff of air and moving his hands exaggeratedly, clearly embarrassed.
Carlos eyed him curiously. He had known Charles could be a little awkward and not good at finding his words. He had witnessed it back in the day. But he had never seen him like this.
He had to admit he liked this flustered Charles. But then again, he liked everything about Charles.
“So you don’t want to take my pants off?” Carlos pouted and batted his eyelashes. “I’m not attractive enough for you, Sharls?” he slurred, making eyes at the Monegasque, who groaned loudly at that.
“I don’t know what drugs they had put you in but for fuck’s sake, mate, give me a break,” implored Charles, rubbing his face, stressed by Carlos’ antics.
The Spaniard had the nerve to giggle again and nodded. “Vale, vale. Just take my jeans off.” He raised his eyebrows playfully and Charles grunted, trying to focus on unlacing his shoes.
Once both shoes were off, Charles' trembling hands wandered off to the button of Carlos’ jeans, and with a subtle intake of air, as if preparing himself, he opened it and faster than Carlos could register, he unzipped them, avoiding lingering his touch there more than he needed to, and made his best efforts to take them off without troubling Carlos too much.
Quickly enough, Charles grabbed the sheets and without glancing a second time at his teammate's exposed skin, he covered him. Carlos could swear he had heard a relief breath coming from him.
Still, despite his efforts and speed, Carlos had felt the other’s eyes and the light shadow of his touch right where his own hands spent most nights, thinking about the man hovering over him.
Nope.
He was okay being undressed in front of Charles but popping a boner? That would be completely embarrassing.
He looked as Charles folded his jeans carefully and let them on one of the chairs nearby. He raised an eyebrow at that, to which Charles shrugged. “You are a total freak about tidiness.” Carlos snicked at that but didn’t argue with him. “You want your pyjama pants?”
“I normally sleep nude.” Carlos bit his lip, trying to hide his mischievous smile. Maybe he was having too much fun tormenting his teammate.
Charles blinked a couple of times, surprised, and swallowed. “Right. Uh…” His eyes wandered around the room, not knowing what else to do. “Do you need anything else? Food?” He fidgeted on the corner of the bed, not daring to step closer.
Carlos yawned, then smiled tiredly at him and shook his head. “It’s all good. Thank you.” He grabbed the sheets and brought them almost to his nose, snuggling on himself. “You can go celebrate your podium.”
Charles looked a little lost for a moment before his mouth opened in a small ‘o’.
Carlos chuckled. “Don’t tell me you had forgotten you’ve ended P3, Charles.” The Monegasque gave him a lazy smile confirming Carlos’ words and the Spaniard rolled his eyes fondly but amused. “You’re unbelievable.”
Charles raised his arms defensively. “Hey, can’t be a man too shocked to see his teammate fresh out of surgery chilling in the garage when he was supposed to be resting to remember winning a race?”
“You trying to tell me that I distracted you enough to forget a victory?” Carlos smirked under the sheets, but he knew Charles could see it by the way he let out an exasperated sound.
“You’re insufferable when you’re high.”
The Spaniard giggled again, proving Charles' point. How many times had he done that sound now? If he cared a little more, he would be embarrassed.
“So?” Carlos asked again. Charles' eyes raised from his bracelet to him. “How are you going to celebrate?”
Charles shook his head, his hair messier than before and Carlos had the urgent need to comb his fingers through it, brush it. Even smell it. He liked Charles’ shampoo; it smelled like cherries and roses.
Carlos’ eyes became dreamier at his own thoughts.
Would Charles call him weird if he asked him to do it? Probably. He could blame it on the anaesthesia, though.
“Just going to order something and sleep,” Charles answered, stretching his arms above his head. The Spaniard followed every movement, noticing how his muscles flexed so gorgeously. It even lifted a bit of Charles' t-shirt, exposing part of his abdomen, smooth and without any scar.
Carlos nodded, eyes still on the hem of the other's t-shirt, where his skin had been showing just a moment ago.
Carlos was dying a little to touch it.
Would it be as soft as he imagined? And mind you, he had imagined it a lot.
It would probably be softer.
The thought alone made him sigh moony.
It was ridiculous how much he wanted his teammate. All of him. Even the most mundane things.
Carlos wanted it all.
“You sure you don’t need anything else?” Charles watched him, the concern still obvious in his gaze and Carlos felt his heart throb in his throat at how much Charles cared for him. Again, Carlos shook his head and Charles sighed, going over to where only Carlos’ eyes were showing. The Spaniard looked up and he clenched his hand, preventing himself from grabbing Charles and making him stay for the night.
He knew that he just had to ask, and Charles would stay.
No one knew it, but Carlos was needy.
Needy for Charles’ touch. Charles’ care. Charle’s attention. Just… Charles.
But if there was something he wasn’t, it was selfish. Charles had already done more than he needed to, and Carlos didn’t want to take advantage of his golden heart much more.
“I’m at the end of the corridor, okay?” Carlos hummed and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally appearing. “You call me right away if you need anything, you understand?” Another hum. Then silence.
Carlos wasn’t sure how much time had passed or if he was alone in the room but just as he was about to touch Morpheus’ arms, it happened.
A light kiss on his forehead. A hand posed on the side of the cheek. And delicate fingers tracing his cheekbone, sweetly. Carlos wanted to purr. And maybe he did if the small laugh he heard was any indicator. “You’re a piece of work, mon coeur.” Carlos heard far away. He wanted to react, but he was falling even deeper into his sleep thanks to the voice. Then, he heard a giggle, this time not from him. “An attractive one.” Silence. Then a whisper. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
So despite Carlos being closer to unconsciousness than anything else, the deepest part of him knew.
Something had changed after that.
Or maybe it hadn’t.
Maybe it had always been there but now Carlos could finally see it.
Because now he knew.
No one was surprised by the way Charles had been taking care of Carlos after that night. No one flinched or batted an eyelash at the fact that they came as a pair wherever they went. Even if they weren’t scheduled together, Charles was always there, despite the number of times his PR had scolded him about not disturbing Carlos’ interviews or videos.
Charles would only frown, obviously not liking one bit having to leave the Spaniard's side, but he followed the orders, unwillingly and with his eyes always on him to make sure he was okay, but he did.
It only worsened the ache Carlos had for the Monegasque.
He had dangerously grown accustomed to the other’s presence. By the way he only had to tilt his head to see those blue-greenish eyes on him. By the way he made sure Carlos took his medicine and ate regularly, even if he didn’t have appetite. Even by his presence at Carlos’ training.
There was where Carlos could feel anxiousness rolling off Charles in waves.
Hell, he had even argued with Rupert when Carlos had groaned in pain because of an exercise. It had taken him a lot of convincing, but Carlos had succeeded in not letting Charles rip out his trainer’s head.
Rupert’s expression had been of utter horror at the things that pretty mouth had said to him. ‘Who would’ve known he could get that batshit?’ He had asked him once Charles had gone to the bathroom.
Carlos shrugged.
It only made him like the man even more.
‘I’m not crazy! I’m just worried!’ Charles had argued with him once they were alone, a cute pout adorning his lips. ‘He could’ve really hurt you.’
‘I’m not complaining.’ Carlos shrugged. ‘I like you being protective of me,’ had been Carlos’ only response before smirking and leaving behind a flustered Charles.
Fuck.
He wasn’t even sure it was only like by now. The feeling was too strong. Too aching. Too delightfully hurting but so right.
Things got a little better once the doctors assured Charles that Carlos was better and that if he did what he had to, he could race in Australia. Because yes, now Charles had replaced Caco’s place as his companion to his revisions.
Thank God his cousin hadn’t minded that much because he was sure Charles wouldn’t have taken a no for a response. And that only made Carlos’ smugger. Caco had only asked Charles to report him everything they said, and Carlos was pretty sure Charles had been just a step away from doing a whole presentation of it.
Carlos was needy, and Charles was indulging him without even knowing. He was creating a monster, really.
“C’mon Calamar. It’s just one dinner. I feel like I haven’t seen you in months!” Pierre said, almost begging.
Charles turned his eyes blank and continued giving Carlos all the mushrooms on his plate. The Spaniard gave him a suspicious look, but he didn’t stop him. “What? You need to eat them.”
Carlos squinted his eyes not buying his excuse. “I’m pretty sure now you’re only using that to get rid of all the food you don’t like.”
Charles’ ears turned pink. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmured, to which Carlos snickered but let it go.
“Hello?” asked Pierre, a hand on his waist, watching them exasperated. Carlos nodded at him, letting Pierre know he had acknowledged his presence but continued eating all the mushrooms on his plate. Charles just frowned.
“I already told you I can’t.”
Pierre looked dumbfounded and gestured with his arms. “I think it’s more like you don’t want to.” When the other didn’t deny it, Pierre sighed. “You can bring him too if you want,” he said, signalling to Carlos, who shot his eyebrows in surprise. Why was Pierre bringing him in all this?
Charles’ face hardened, wearing a serious expression now. “I know you, mon ami. And going out with you always ends up with us in a club and Carlos must take it easy. Nothing of alcohol.”
Carlos’ eyes moved from Pierre to Charles like a ping pong match while he munched on his food. He wasn’t sure If barging in would do any good to him. Especially not with Charles’ mood lately. He was not up to discussion. Not when it was about Carlos, which the Spaniard found pretty adorable.
‘Whipped’ Lando had said.
“He doesn’t even have to drink! Jésus, you make me sound like I’m going to shove a bottle of champagne down his throat.”
“You did it once with me,” Charles said as a matter of fact, irritating Pierre and making Carlos let out a choked laugh. Immediately, the Monegasque's eyes were on him, preoccupied, but Carlos threw him a small smile.
“Really, Calamar. Carlos has been good for days now. He doesn’t need you controlling him like a helicopter mother or a crazy nurse,” explained Pierre, crossing his arms.
At that, Carlos’ saw the creep of doubt make his way into Charles’ eyes for the first time since he had taken the role of, well, Carlos’ nurse, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not when Charles scowled, clearly repeating Pierre’s words in his head, and not fighting him back.
“I like having you as a nurse,” Carlos deadpanned, leaving no room for argument. And just because he could, he leaned over Charles’ ear. “You’re a sexy nurse,” he whispered, clearly failing to do it, when Pierre let out a high scream clearly done with the two of them.
Charles seemed so loss of words that Carlos took advantage of his shock, grabbed his chin and forced him to eat a mushroom. It was clear the other didn’t like them, the disgusted expression being proof of it, but he chewed it anyway, eyes lost behind Carlos’ face, still grasping what he had said.
“… so you have to be extra careful in this curve, Carlos.”
The named nodded distracted, not listening entirely to his strategist. He should. But his attention couldn’t waver from where the Monegasque was, surely listening to the same thing as him, except for the ‘be careful in those turns because you’re probably gonna feel an uncomfortable tightness’. Charles' forehead was put on a frown, clearly distressed and his eyes were stuck in no point in particular. He was chewing on the straw of his bottle absently and Carlos had to stop from smiling the moment the other seemed to catch his eyes.
The Spaniard winked at him, trying to ease some of the tension but Charles’ frown only deepened, which made Carlos grimace. Goal failed, then.
It wasn’t until he was about to put on his balaclava that Charles finally approached him.
“You know…” He started, casually looking at Carlos’ car. “No one’s going to judge you if you decide not to race.”
Carlos turned to face him and despite Charles’ efforts to sound as chill as he could, Carlos could see past that. The poor man was going to lose all his nails if he continued like this.
“I’m pretty sure some wouldn’t be too happy about the last-minute notice,” Carlos replied with a sly grin and nudged Charles’ side, making him finally raise his eyes. The Spaniard let out what had to be the thousandth sigh since Saudi Arabia and this time he didn’t stop his hands to smooth the tense area between Charles’ forehead, erasing the wrinkles.
“But you still could,” Charles argued back. “Honestly, Carlos, it’s okay if you’re not totally ready. Ollie is here, it wouldn’t be that—”
Without letting him finish, Carlos grabbed his arm and dragged him to the closest empty room he could find. They didn’t have time for this. They had to be in the car in less than five minutes. But Carlos wasn’t going to let Charles drive in this state. God knows he could end up against a wall again.
Once the door was closed with a soft click, he spun towards Charles, who continued being the human representation of worry.
“Charles, I’m okay,” Carlos tried to reassure him, voice steady and serious, but the other didn’t look convinced at all. Before he could continue chewing his fingers off, Carlos grabbed his hand and pulled him against him. “What do you need?” He asked, softly caressing the back of his hand.
Charles knitted his eyebrows, not understanding but not pulling away from Carlos’ hold.
“What do you need to calm down and believe that if I wasn’t feeling capable, I would tell you,” Carlos said, his other hand gripping tightly Charles’ hip.
Charles didn’t seem to mind their proximity too much and Carlos just had to indulge himself a little. He inhaled deeply, trying to get a whim of his shampoo, a warm feeling on his belly at the smell of it.
“I—I don’t know,” Charles whispered in response, unaware of Carlos’ tactics. The Spaniard had to stop when those blue-green eyes collided with his. And maybe he was imagining things, but he could swear the other’s eyes were imploring him. Pleading him.
But for what? Not to race? Not forcing himself too much? Stop being stupid and miss just this one race? For him?
Carlos wasn’t sure he was strong enough to deny him that. Or anything he asked for the matter.
“Hug me?” Charles asked seconds after, instead. His voice had come out so low and so scared that Carlos’ heart hurt. The Spaniard’s brain might have taken its time to register his words but his body only took a moment to do so.
Once Charles’ face found the crook of his neck, Carlos felt him breath relieved, the buzzing feeling in his body finally melting away. The Spaniard’s arms held him close enough he could hide his nose on the other’s hair, almost nuzzling it.
God, he loved him.
Carlos didn’t want to move.
Fuck the race. Fuck everyone.
He only wanted to be there with Charles, the two of them alone and holding each other.
Carlos could die pretty content like that.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Charles murmured, hiding in his neck, the honesty in his voice clearer than the sea in Majorca. Carlos felt his skin prickle at the ghost of Charles’ breath against him and he felt a shiver. He then rubbed his palms against the other’s back, trying to relax him all he could.
“I promise I’ll do everything I can, querido,” he finally answered, hugging him closer, loving the way Charles felt against him and the force in the other’s hands against his shoulders as if he was trying to anchor Carlos in his place just so nothing could happen to him.
Both jumped startled when a knock on the door came, followed by a voice warning them they didn’t have much time left.
“Just a minute more, please,” Charles pleaded him, rubbing his nose in Carlos’ neck.
The Spaniard kissed his hair in response.
Because he knew.
“We won! We won, Carlos!” Charles' excited jumps took a laugh out of Carlos, who watched him enchanted by the happiness on his face.
Carlos had seen Charles happy over the days. It wasn’t like he was miserable while taking his duty of taking care of Carlos very seriously. But there was always a lingering preoccupation underneath him.
Now, the only thing Carlos could see was an addictive happiness and he loved that look on the Monegasque.
“P1, Carlos! P1!” Charles shook his shoulders and the Spaniard just laughed at his excitement. “Merde. Do you know how fucking crazy it is to win a race after only two weeks of recovering from an operation?” Charles' eyes shined, thrilled by the fact they had just won.
Carlos, being the little shit he was, shrugged. “What can I say? It was a smooth operation.” He smirked when Charles threw his head back with a groan.
“Mate, you are the worst.” The Monegasque shook his head, but the fond look on his face gave him away.
“I’m pretty sure you weren’t saying that just two seconds ago.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “Changed my mind. You’re a pain in the ass.”
Carlos barked a laugh and not really knowing what he was doing, he lifted Charles despite the sore feeling in his abdomen. The other let out a high-pitched scream and quickly embraced his arms around Carlos’ neck.
“Carlos! Put me down! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Charles ordered, so agitated that Carlos didn’t have much option than to do so.
Once he was put down, Charles’ finger immediately pointed at him, a little frown already adorning his forehead. Carlos was growing fond of that sight.
“Don’t do that again! You hear me, Sainz?”
The serious tone in Charles' voice made Carlos smile like a fool, not minding one bit being scolded like a little child. “Yeah, my sexy nurse,” Carlos teased, loving the way Charles' cheeks flared up.
“You’re an imbecile,” Charles muttered back, his arms still around Carlos.
“But you wouldn’t have me any other way, don’t you?” Carlos asked, partly teasing, but partly dying of nerves after saying it. He wasn’t even sure if that had happened in the first place or if it had been his imagination playing tricks on him, but he thought it was worth taking a chance.
Charles’ mouth hung half-opened and that was the only answer Carlos needed.
He slowly traced the side of the other’s cheek, being as careful as he could, not wanting to scare him away. Charles swallowed hard but leaned against his palm, almost as if he was dying for Carlos’ touch.
The Spaniard felt himself get lost in the way those eyes were looking at him. So smitten. So dreamy.
He was pretty sure it was the same look he was giving Charles.
After those weeks, Carlos had given up trying to hold back his feelings from showing. What was the point? He wanted to love Charles in the open. He wanted the other to know. To never doubt him.
“Thank you,” Carlos stated, the point of his finger tracing Charles’ bottom lip.
The Monegasque exhaled shakily and after his eyes wandered shortly to Carlos’ lips, he asked. “What for?”
Carlos gave him a soft smile. “For taking care of me.”
This time it was Charles’ beaming smile that blinded him. “I loved doing it,” he confessed, almost shy, the blush back on his skin. “Even if sometimes you were kind of a pain in the ass,” he teased.
Carlos let out a bubbly laugh, which Charles followed right away. They looked high on something, but they hadn’t even drunk that much champagne and much less had gone out to celebrate their win. They were just in Carlos’ hotel room, finally alone.
“I loved you doing it, too.” Carlos eyed him, searching for anything that could tell him that Charles wasn’t in this as he was. When all that he found was certainty, he felt his fear dying. He cleared his throat, and ignoring the knowing smile on Charles’ lips, he confessed. “I love you.”
And Carlos wanted to say much more.
He wanted to say that what he felt for the Monegasque he had never felt it for anyone before. He wanted to say that he didn’t know how, but since the first moment he had laid eyes on him, he had known. He wanted to say that there wasn’t a single day Carlos didn’t want to spend with Charles. That he loved their constant teasing, their chess plays on planes, the way Charles made him a better driver and a better person. How he dared him to prove himself that he could. No matter what.
He wanted to say he was head over hills for him. For his eyes, for his smile, his touch, his care, his attention, and his pretty accent when he said his name. That there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t longed-for Charles. That he loved his golden heart. And that he wanted to be the one to take care of it.
He wanted to promise Charles he wasn’t going anywhere. That if he wanted, Carlos would always be there. He just had to ask him, and Carlos wouldn’t think twice.
Because it was with Charles where he belonged. Where his heart belonged.
And he didn’t want it any other way.
But maybe he didn’t need to say it. Because by the way Charles’ eyes were glassy and filled with so much adoration and love, Carlos knew.
“I love you too,” admitted Charles, soft as a breath of wind.
Yeah.
Carlos had known for a while now.
But with the soft press of Charles’ lips on him and the hum of satisfaction both of them let out at the contact, Carlos confirmed it.
That Charles was madly in love with him as he was with the other.
That Charles was his future.
His beloved forever.