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It's not that Charles doesn't like snow. This is just..... not very fun snow. It's slushy and wet. He can't make snowballs (or angels) with it. He wants the powdery, soft snow, but Sebastian said that doesn't come til later in the season.
Still, it isn't too bad. Worth braving to go feed the chickens, anyway. It's been his "super special task" all winter break. He'd been a little nervous of them at first but Sebastian insisted they were friendly. Something about being specially bred for docility. Chicken breed knowledge seems like the exact kind of thing he'd get into now that he's retired, but honestly Charles didn't catch much of it beyond "won't bite you." And that's been right so far. In fact, the hens have all been rather affectionate. Quietly talking to them as he fills the little seed trays has been one of his favorite parts of this extended vacation. He had even been brave enough to pet one yesterday. Very carefully. He's on his way back to the house, chickens fed and coop securely latched, when tragedy strikes in the form of slippery not-quite-snow.
The fall isn't hard. The real shock is the cold that suddenly lights up his entire body as he'd landed in a puddle of the slush. His mid-level winter gear isn't suited for such a soak, so there he sits. Drenched. Cold. Edging towards tears. Charles gingerly gets to his feet, the cool air immediately chilling his wet clothes. He moves very carefully to the backdoor of the house, not wanting another slip. This is terrible. What if he freezes? He's heard hypothermia sets in pretty fast. His icy state is made worse as the tears finally start to roll down his bright red cheeks, salty flashes of cold on his skin.
With a shaky hand, he opens the door and steps inside. The warm air is nice but doesn't do too much to improve his situation. He closes the door behind him to cut off the wind chill at least, and he wants to move further but... his boots are all wet and muddy. And his clothes are dripping. Surely Sebastian wouldn't want him leaving a soggy trail on the nice hardwood floors. But his arms and legs are starting to feel tingly so he takes a wobbly breath. He needs help or he's gonna freeze to death, right here. A Monegasque popsicle. There's a whine in his voice, an edge of panic as he calls out;
"Daddy!"
Thankfully his rescue comes quick. Sebastian's visibly caught off guard by the situation, but it only takes a moment of hesitation and a "I'm gonna freeze to death" from Charles to get him moving again.
"Calm for me, mäuschen." Sebastian tuts, getting to work on stripping Charles of the cold wet clothes. The jacket is gone first, but unfortunately the shirt under is a little damp as well. He sighs.
"Lewis! Can you come here, please?"
Charles whines; "Cold. Want daddy, please."
Seb cracks a smile at the way the boy keeps his manners. He gently presses his hands to Charles's shoulders, urging him to take a seat on the the little step that connects the landing to the somewhat lower floor of the rest of the home. Charles goes easily and Sebastian has one boot off when he hears steps approaching.
"Hey, what's-- Charles, darling, what happened?" The concern laces quickly through Lewis's words. It sets off more tears, but the boy is blessedly still as Seb works.
"I fell and-- and my clothes are wet and I'm," a sniffle and a rise in pitch, "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna freeze to death and die and nobody will be around to feed the chickens!"
There's a restrained cough as Seb chokes down a laugh. Not helpful right now. His poor sweet boy. But he can't resist....
"We wouldn't let the chickens starve, Charles."
A fresh round of tears and a disapproving look from Lewis.
"And* you aren't going to die. I'll be right back with some dry clothes." He's hurrying off before he even finishes the sentence. Sebastian idly thinks he could marry Lewis someday.
Quickly done, Charles is stripped down to just socks, boxers, and his (thankfully still dry) thermal undershirt. The shivering hasn't stopped, but he suspects a major part of that is Charles is still convinced he's going to belatedly freeze all at once. Sebastian sighs and rubs the boy's arms to try and get some heat going before he gets him back to his socked feet and ushers him towards the couch. The knitted blanket (thanks Val) draped over the back is quickly pulled around the boy.
"Cold, need daddy." He insists, and Sebastian isn't one to say no to him in any case. He sits with Charles, drawing him close. Still, the boy whines.
"Nooooo."
"Your clothes are coming, sparrow, it's alright."
That earns him a huff.
Thankfully, Lewis saves them from frustration becoming full blown stress tantrum. He's got a bundle of green in his arms, something fleecy and--
Sebastian groans. "Why that?"
Lewis laughs right at him, the bastard.
"Hush. It's soft and warm and has the cute footy pieces. You're just jealous."
Further conversation is cut off because the second Lewis is within reach, Charles launches at him. Lando is usually renowned for his spider monkey skills, but he'd have a real run for his money right now. The shivering slows. Charles sighs, still a bit shaky but full of relief.
"Warm."
This leaves Sebastian to negotiate the clingy boy into the offending garment, prying fingers loose and really being shoved into the bad guy spotlight. Oh well. He takes Charles's socks off quickly because Lewis is right: the footy pajamas have that covered. With plenty of whining and Lewis's decidedly unhelpful giggling, he eventually gets it done and zipped up. He can't deny the cuteness of the replica Aston Martin racesuit onesie. But that doesn't mean he can't be annoyed at the big 14 printed on the back, an homage to the gift giver himself. Whatever. He's just glad Charles is finally warm and dry once more. Lewis shifts the two of them to better fit on the couch and Seb takes the hint, dimming the living room lights.
-----
Lewis can feel when Charles starts to wake. Some squirming and a little grumble. He soothes the boy, gentle fingers combing through messy curls. He wants to shush him back to sleep and let him get all the rest he wants. The weight of him is centering, the scent of him honey-sweet from the bubble soap Sebastian had poured generously into yesterday's bath. But more powerful than that scent is what's floating on the air from the kitchen.
"Come on, Charles, it's time for dinner."
He keeps his voice soft but not too quiet, all too familiar with the boy's ability to fall right back to sleep. The hands that had been loosely on his chest prior now tighten, wrinkling the fabric there. Lewis fights down a wince.
"Daddyyyyy." Charles whiiiiines into his chest.
"No, poppet, he's in the kitchen. He's got dinner all ready for us."
That only garners him more huffing and grumbling. Charles shakes his head for good measure and Lewis can see the boy is very purposefully squeezing his eyes shut.
"Can't get up." The younger insists. "Legs still frozen...."
Well. Lewis bites his lip, head tilting back and gaze finding the ceiling. He has to contain his chuckle or Charles will take the victory and run with it. After a moment, he chooses a course of action. Whatever Sebastian has waiting for them is worth some hurrying along, and he has been skipping his workouts during the break so...
Carrying the boy is definitely justifiable.
He sits up, which shifts Charles from draped on top of him to sat in his lap. It's enough to make the boy lean back in confusion and finally peek his eyes open. There's still bags under them, a seemingly permanent fixture on the younger driver, but Lewis is hopeful that with some more rest they can become a bit less pronounced. He presses quick kisses there in turn before sliding his arms around Charles and rising from the couch with an encouraging "up, up."
Thankfully Charles clings readily and Lewis's core is still practiced enough for the action. The boy's face finds his neck immediately with a content little sigh.
Sebastian starts in on his chiding as soon as the pair enter the kitchen, though by now he's mostly resigned himself to being the only one who actually cares about the status of Lewis's back. He's already got the table set so Charles is quickly seated with only some mild complaints. Quickly enough the trio is sat together with the youngest in the middle, plates full.
"Meatballs and spaetzle. Vegan, of course, though I think I have many good German cooks rolling in their graves." It's said with that coy little smile Lewis is so used to. Memories of media obligations flood in, as it's the same smile that got him in trouble for so many years of giggling at the expense of reporters.
"Pardon."
The quiet French is a mostly usual interruption. This version of Charles seems to sometimes like the simplicity of returning to the familiar language. Lewis has never been great at learning new languages, having already struggled and given up once on French, but he's set his mind to figuring out at least a bit more before their time as teammates begins. For now, Sebastian leads.
"Yes, Charles?"
"Coupez pour moi?" He slides his plate forward a touch, then adds a quick "s’il vous plaît" as he remembers his manners. The boy sometimes strays towards compulsively polite.
"Bien sûr, oisillon.*"
Sebastian takes the boy's plate and cuts the chunky meatballs in half. It's not a common request from Charles, and the meatballs certainly don't require it, but after the boy's rough day it isn't entirely surprising. Lewis wonders for a moment if he might also ask to be fed, which is rarer by far, but once the food is cut up he thanks Sebastian and picks his fork back up, tucking in.
There's occasional conversation as they eat, Charles chiming in with quiet French, very mindful of not speaking when he's got food in his mouth. It strikes Lewis how different that is from the times he's watched Lando.
Plates are nearly clean when Charles taps his now empty cup against the table.
"Daddy, cup's empty."
"I'll fill it when me and Uncle Lew are done eating, okay?" Sebastian assures him. But that doesn't seem to be the right answer, as Charles makes a sound remarkably similar to an annoyed cat, punctuated with some writhing about in his seat.
"Not what I want." He mumbles. It's an attempt to communicate, if kind of an unhelpful one in terms of clarity.
"Patience, Charles." Seb encourages.
Lewis reaches over and gives the back of the boy's neck a gentle squeeze. He leans into it and settles enough for them to finish eating. The pair of them stand from the table when their done, Lewis gathering up the plates and silverware to fulfill his half of "you cook, I clean." Charles tries to hand him the empty cup.
"Your cup doesn't need washed yet, Charlie. Thank you for trying to help though."
He huffs and thrusts it out a bit more insistently.
"Daddy fill."
"He will, love." Lewis tries to assure the seemingly very impatient boy, pecking his cheek before he heads to the sink with the dirty dishes.
That was not the correct move, apparently. He glances back in time to watch Charles writhe around again, sliding low in the chair. The cup is unceremoniously dropped on the table and Charles roughly scoots the chair back, getting up. He is clearly trying to stomp his way to the living room, but the soft footy pajamas mute his efforts. They both watch the scene in silent surprise as it's all so out of character for him. Sebastian looks back to Lewis, who just shrugs. Evidently they're both at a loss on this one. Lewis can see the emotions pass over Seb's face, clearly wanting to chastise the boy before deciding against it. The "tough day" grace continues as Seb lets it go, instead joining him at the sink.
He's about to shoo him away and insist he doesn't need the help, but Seb clearly isn't here to be anything but a pest. He settles behind Lewis, arms wrapping around his waist and chin hooking over his shoulder as he starts washing up.
"Softie."
Seb's silent chuckle tickles his ear.
"What were the words you used? Gentle parenting? I am gentle parenting, Lewis."
"Mm. The gentlest." He agrees.
Lips find his throat. What a pest.
"Do I not look busy?"
"The busiest. Very domestic. My house husband."
He rolls his eyes out of his skull. Those annoying (lovely, soft, warm) lips are still teasing quick kisses along his jawline.
"We aren't even married."
"We could be."
Before he can even begin to form a response to ]that, a call comes from the living room.
"I drew pictures!"
Lewis scoops some suds from the sink and pokes Seb's nose, leaving them there
"Please make sure he actually used paper this time."
Last time he and Mick colored, the walls had proven a too-tempting canvas. He gets one more kiss, surely an excuse to pass the bubbles right back, and Seb hurries off to fill the cup and check on the artist in the living room.
---
Dishes are done quickly, Lewis joining the other two after everything is set up in the drying rack on the counter. He's greeted with the lovely sight of Charles indeed drawing on paper. A glance around the room doesn't reveal any crayon laden walls, so this counts as a win. He sits next to Sebastian on the couch, leaning forward to look over what Charles has done so far.
"Is that a dragon?"
He points to the paper set to the side. It's a curving sweep of green and red, the face sharp toothed and fierce.
"For Mick." Charles answers, not looking up from his current work in progress. That one is currently sporting... red dogs? He doesn't think Sebastian has ever shown the boy Clifford....
Lewis hums affirmatively.
"He'll love it. We can put it on the fridge so he can see it when he gets here on Monday."
Charles mumbles what Lewis is pretty sure is some sort of French gratitude. Seb suggests a movie then bed, which meets no argument, but Charles also isn't much help at all in choosing what to watch. Can't go wrong with Paddington. Watching Charles try to split his attention between coloring and the movie is bonus entertainment.
The bear is giving a man a particularly bad haircut when Charles turns to face them and holds up his finished piece. The two red animals, one clearly larger than the other, are now more detailed and labelled. Daddy + me, respectively. Lewis is pretty sure they're goats, based off the larger one's horns. Sebastian gently takes the paper so they can have a closer look.
"Aw, is this us?"
Before Charles can confirm, Lewis offers his thoughts.
"You are pretty similar to an old goat. Grey, hairy, a little smelly..."
Sebastian scoffs and cuts off any further comparisons with a kiss. But even those efforts are quickly thwarted as a third body joins them on the couch, squirming right in between them right a tongue sticking out in disgust.
"Too much kissing."
"Oh?" Lewis raises a brow. "Is someone jealous?"
"We can't have that!"
Charles yelps as the two set in on him, peppering kisses all over the boy's face and in his soft hair. He quickly falls to squirmy giggles and Lewis dives in with the tactical strike: both hands dancing up the boy's sides in a tickle. He shrieks at the sudden attack, batting at the hands.
"Stop! Daddy noooo!" He begs.
"Hey, leave me out of it! I would never attack my little boy." Sebastian defends himself in between more kisses to the boy's cheeks and forehead.
Charles whines and gently grabs Lewis's wrists, looking him in the eyes, still fighting his own laughter.
"No more tickles, daddy."
It might be a bit of an exaggeration to say time freezes. But, well, something certainly changes in the air, and Lewis's hands still immediately. It's like the tickling inflicted on Charles is suddenly crawling up his own throat. God, don't cry. Don't cry. Sebastian, the bastard, is simply grinning at him from the other side of the couch. He has to take a deep breath.
"Okay, baby. No more."
The hands on him don't exactly leave. Instead, they move to just hold one of his hands. Charles quickly locates which of the rings is a spinner. He only wears it when he knows he'll be around one of the boys. He stays still, relaxing more as Charles plays with the fidget ring and moves his fingers around, his attention otherwise floating back to the movie. Seemingly unaware of the effect he's had on Lewis. A few minutes ago by before he pipes up again.
"Can we have hot chocolate? I'm still a little frozen...."
Very convincing.
Wordlessly, Sebastian gets up to go fulfill the request. He shoots Lewis two very blatant thumbs up on his way to the kitchen. It's corny but Lewis appreciates being given the moment with Charles. He's lucky to have Seb as his.... future husband, he supposes. It's a lot to think about.
With his free hand, Lewis picks the drawing back up to give it a closer look.
"You like it?" Charles asks, wide eyes on Lewis now. "Me and you. Goats."
He looks quite proud of himself as the joke clicks for Lewis, who huffs out a laugh.
Daddy + me.
"Yeah, Charlie. I love it."