Work Text:
Carlos was happy.
It was good to feel that so securely. Frequently, that feeling of happiness was hampered or tempered by some other feeling or act—focus, caution, anxiety—but tonight, Carlos was just happy. He was sat beside his husband, surrounded by his family and best friends, the live mariachi music making his eardrums gently thrum. He had just won a grand prix, potentially his last with Ferrari, and he was happy.
...he had just won a grand prix, potentially his last with Ferrari.
And he was happy.
He was happy.
He was–
"Hey."
Carlos looked up. He didn't realize that he had been staring at his plate. In front of him, scant inches away from his face, was Lando's. He had calculated concern on his face, enough that Carlos understood he was worried but not enough that it would trigger a chain reaction (and Carlos loved him, loved that Lando knew him this well, knew Carlos wouldn't want the whole table derailed).
And he was beautiful, his Lando, his body at ease as he chatted and laughed with Carlos' family and friends, only his present concern for Carlos marring his enjoyment of the night.
Carlos smiled at his husband. "Hey."
"You good?" Lando murmured, leaning closer to Carlos. Carlos sat back in his chair and threaded his fingers into the curls at the base of Lando's skull, his thumb caressing the skin behind Lando's ear. Lando shivered almost imperceptibly, and Carlos smiled wider.
"I'm good. Just thinking," Carlos said, and he knew Lando would understand.
"Terrible idea," Lando said, and Carlos agreed. So he pulled Lando in and kissed him deeply, ignoring the sudden crest in teasing attention that garnered from their companions. When Carlos pulled back, Lando was bright red and beaming, but he pushed Carlos away.
"Keep it in your pants, Sainz," Lando muttered contentedly. And then the mariachis drew closer to their table, and a familiar melody began playing.
"De la Sierra Morena, cielito lindo, vienen bajando," began the singer, and Carlos lit up. He sat forward in his seat, eager and happy, grasping Lando's hand in his own.
"You know this one!" Carlos said excitedly to Lando, and Lando rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I do," Lando said, as Carlos joined in the singing with his tolerably tuneless, delighted voice.
And if his own cielito lindo scooted his chair flush against Carlos' for the rest of dinner, that was neither here nor there.