Archive of Our Own

Since the start, it has always been Oscar and Logan. Logan and Oscar.

During their PREMA days, Fred would joke, telling Oscar, “You will both make it to F1 together, the same way you are always together.” It was funny then, but now it was different; it felt real – surreal – and a dream.

Oscar had always wanted to be by Logan’s side, inseparable, keeping him safe and protected. Talk to him, laugh with him, make him smile and celebrate with him. By his side, always.

So when they get into F1 together, fresh adults who have no clue what they are doing, in different teams of different potentials and a strong history holding them tight, Oscar comes to three conclusions.

One is that he wants to keep being friends with Logan, even if one of them is forced to leave. Two is that he wants to podium with Logan, one day, in their brand new shiny cars and with real champagne sticky in their hair, sticky on their skin. And the third, most important one, takes his breath and keeps it; holds onto it like a prayer, tucked away in his chest.

The third one is how much Oscar loves Logan. Wants him to be with him together, forever, by his side and inseparable.

—

When he comes to the third revelation, Oscar calls Fred in a panic, puts the volume on his phone as loud as possible and chucks it next to him on the hotel bed like it burnt his hands with fire.

“Oscar?” Fred says, tired but concerned. “Are you okay? You never call-”

“I’m in love with Logan,” Oscar rushes out. There is a silent, static noise from Fred’s end, filling Oscar’s lungs with more anxiety that he had misjudged their relationship; maybe Fred was homophobic? They were not actually this close? He had read the entire situation wrong-

“You mean you did not know?” Fred says, carefully. “Are you so loud about this?”

“I- what do you mean I didn’t know?” Oscar asks.

“That you are in love with Logan,” Fred tells him. “I think we all thought you were. Just as a… feeling already.”

“You vibe checked that I’m in love with Logan?” Oscar says. “Even before I- this is crazy, Fred, maybe you need some more sleep.”

“You just woke me up from my nap,” Fred grumbles, and he hangs up before Oscar can say anything else. Oscar sighs, adrenaline spike running out.

Maybe he needed to talk to someone else.

—

“This is new?” Zhou asks. Oscar resists the urge to facepalm, the comedic repetition between Fred and Zhou sticking out to him almost like a joke.

“You and Fred are the same,” Oscar says. “You both thought I’d know if I’m in love with Logan?”

“Are you not?” Zhou says.

“I am,” Oscar says. “I am. That’s my crisis. I’m in love with Logan.”

“But why is it,” Zhou starts, thinking. “Why is it a cry-sis?”

“Because I don’t know what to do,” Oscar mumbles. “Am I meant to, I don’t know, confess now? Court him? There’s so many layers; what if he doesn’t want to date me? What if he wants to date me but he doesn’t want to be mates-”

“You are cycle partners anyway, no?” Guanyu says. At that, Oscar blushes, red in his cheeks. Zhou hisses, half-angrily, “Do not tell me-”

“We pretend,” Oscar whispers. “We… We lied about that.”

“So you do not- anything? At all?” Zhou asks.

“Well, yeah,” Oscar tells him. “We don’t talk about that at all. We just… we agreed to pretend to be each other’s cycle partners just so we didn’t have to, like, talk about it…”

“Coward,” Zhou says, shaking his head. He sighs, looking down at the table between them as if it had personally offended him. “You should first ask him about that.”

“About his heats?” Oscar says. He lifts his hands up in surrender, almost defensive. “Mate, I don’t think that’s-”

“About courting,” Guanyu states. “About mates. Do you not learn this? How to court?”

“I know how to court,” Oscar says. “Don’t you just, like, give flowers or something?”

Zhou facepalms, pointing a finger scoldingly at Oscar. “I am not even an alpha and yet I know this.”

“Yeah well,” Oscar says, “you’re the smartest, aren’t you?”

“Flattery goes nowhere,” Zhou says. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want Logan to know,” Oscar says, firmly. “I want him to know I love him.”

“Then go from there,” Zhou says. He smiles, trying to seem assuring. “Jiā yóu.”

—

(“Logan,” Zhou says gently.

Logan takes a while to reply, folding his tongue over and concentrating over the syllables. “Guan-yu.”

Zhou laughs, shaking his head. “Remember how you told me you love Oscar?” Logan looks up at him, eyes wide.

“I do,” Logan admits. “I… what is it?”

“What would you do if Oscar loves you too?” Zhou asks.

“Uh, I,” Logan sputters. “I mean, I don’t want to. Think about it, yeah? Don’t wanna… you know?”

“That is okay,” Zhou tells him, reassuringly. “It is alright.”

“You know you can use contractions, right?” Logan says. “In this context. Like, instead of ‘it is okay’, you could say ‘it’s okay.”

Guanyu looks at him, blinking in confusion. “The two words… together.”

“Yeah,” Logan says.

“It’s okay,” Zhou repeats. “It’s alright.”

“See!” Logan says. “More smooth, too. Feels more casual as well, since we’re talking as friends.”

“Ah,” Zhou says. “That is good. That’s? Good.”

Logan smiles. “Thanks, dude.”

Guanyu smiles back, equally fond. “Anytime.”)

—

“Hey Loges,” Oscar greets, smiling. He has a grin that is wide, soft, calm and yet so bright. It makes Logan’s stomach feel gooey and his heart beat a little faster; like a teenager, young and hormonal, giggling at the slightest touch. “Wanna get ice-cream?”

Logan laughs, shaking his head. “I doubt my diet allows that, man.”

“Come on, they don’t have to know, right?” Oscar says. “Just one ice-cream.”

“But-”

“I’ll pay,” Oscar says. He puts his hands on Logan’s shoulders, heavy and warm. “Come on, please? To celebrate.”

“Fine,” Logan says, trying to sound stern; but he smiles, pure and happy. “But you pay?”

Oscar nods. “Zhou told me there’s a good place around here,” he says. “We could walk.”

“Alright,” Logan says.

—

The ice-cream parlour is a small, family-oriented shop that has a rickety, off-white sign and a plain, black logo. The owner, a kind, elderly gentleman, gives them extra scoops for free and a small, chocolate flake to the side, at the mention of Zhou’s name.

“He is such a good kid,” he tells them, brushing off their refusal. If anything, it encourages him, adding on some sprinkles along with a small chocolate bite. “If you are his friends, you must also be good kids.”

They sit outside, together, under a shabby umbrella and the ice-cream melting all over their fingers, sticky and childish. “This is good!” Logan says. He waves through the glass to let the owner know, smiling enthusiastically and giving a thumbs up.

“I know,” Oscar tells him. He laughs when a large blow of wind passes them, splattering ice-cream over Logan’s shirt. Logan glares at him, grabbing a tissue to dab at the stain. “Well, look at that,” Oscar says. “What a sight of the great Logan Sargeant.”

Logan laughs too. “Well, you should look at that,” he says, pointing just over to his right. The sun is a mellow red, sky around it smudged with yellow in a faded background of blue. “What a view, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes out. Logan ignores how Oscar is still looking at him; so close, so close. “Beautiful.”

—

(“What do you think F1’s gonna be like?” Logan had asked Oscar, back when they were younger, naïve and unsuspecting. Laid down next to each other on the grass of the track, staring up at the sky and seeing the patterns of stars blur together. “The people. The places.”

“Dunno,” Oscar said back, sounding foggy and tired. He had yawned, folded himself against Logan’s side, tucked his face into Logan’s shoulder. He remembers from the way he felt his heart flutter, stomach churn, brain blank out. “As long as we do it together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan breathed out.

His breath made smoke in the air, tracing an imaginary path as it floated away.)

—

Carlos goes over to Logan’s hotel room during testing to introduce himself, knocks on the door late enough into the night that Logan nearly ignores it. Lazily, Logan sprays scent neutralisers on his neck, small enough it would wear off within minutes but enough it hides the smell of his pre-heat, thick and strong.

“Hey?” Logan says, opening the door. Carlos Sainz Jr, in all his glory, t-shirt and shorts and an awkward smile on his face.

“Hey,” Carlos answers. “I just wanted to say hello. To welcome you. Hope we have good races together.”

“Thanks,” Logan says. It feels rude and awkward to just linger at the doorway, or shoo Carlos away for the night. “Uh. Did you want to come in?”

“Can I?” Carlos asks, eyes wide. “I do not mean to-”

“It’s fine, dude,” Logan tells him. He opens the door wider, encouraging Carlos to enter. “Wanted some company anyway.”

“Right,” Carlos says.

When he enters the room, his face almost dampens with disappointment, taking in the sheer commonness of Logan’s hotel room.

Logan laughs. “Not what you’re used to, hey?”

“It is not,” Carlos starts, defensive, waving a hand dismissively. “I just have not. In a while.”

“Sure,” Logan scoffs. “I still have a few drinks in the fridge, though. Want a coke?”

Carlos stares at him. “Yes please.”

Turns out, in the economy-class mini fridge, the soda selection is only rip-off products seemingly bought last minute at the introduction of a celebrity name. It makes Logan hold back a laugh, watching Carlos’ disdain at the hot pink can of cola.

“You were right,” Carlos says. “I am not used to this.”

Logan smiles. “Darn right I was,” he says, cracking open a can for himself. They sit on the foot-end of the bed, a ginger distance placed between them. “Did you just come here to say welcome?”

“Hm?” Carlos says, throwing back a sip of the soda. “Ah, yes. Before the season started. I wanted to congratulate you on getting to F1, and to welcome you, sí.”

“Well thanks,” Logan says. He lifts his can up like a salute, cheering. “But we’re meeting up in a few days or something anyway, aren’t we?”

Carlos laughs, a sound that resonates like a deep, rounded warmth; it stutters Logan’s heart and his pre-heat-induced brain yearns to pur at the noise. “The meeting later is a George Russell special,” Carlos informs him. “He likes to do this every season start. Make sure we are safe, know rules, talk about driver association stuff, things like this. He even adds you to the group chat officially.”

“Wow,” Logan says. He takes a particularly long sip of the cola, lets the syrup sizzle at his teeth and sting his tongue. He has to force himself to swallow to avoid the urge to nest, wrap himself around Carlos, to ask him inappropriate things, to-

“Logan,” Carlos suddenly says, the name funny on his tongue. He puts his can down on the floor and signals to his neck, clear and obvious. “Are you…?”

“Fuck,” Logan says. He drops the can of soda onto the floor, using his hands to cover his neck; as if it would stop his scent from leaking out, soft and dizzy with desire. “No, shit-”

“Do you have a partner?” Carlos asks, like it pains him to. “I can-”

“You’re an alpha, right?” Logan blurts out. “I trust you, if you want to, like, stay or something? I know it passes better with alphas, so if you wanted to, I dunno, you can. You have my consent.”

“Logan,” Carlos says, his voice stern. “You do not know-”

“Please, Carlos,” Logan pleads. “I don’t- please? If I ask, you can, that’s all I’m saying.”

Carlos swallows, hard. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, but only if you ask. And I will ask again.”

“Thank you,” Logan says.

“Are you on-?”

“Yes, yes, on the pill yeah,” Logan breathes out. He feels the heat overwhelm his body, sweat sticking to his clothes and body fever warm. “Are you-”

“I am clean,” Carlos tells him. “No partner, no anything.”

“Good, yeah,” Logan says. “Can you-”

“Lay back,” Carlos says, gently pushing Logan’s shoulders onto the bed. “There. It is more comfortable lying down, sí? Careful.”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Yes it is. Can you lie down like, not on top of me, but like…”

“Yes,” Carlos says, leaning until his chest is resting on Logan’s and his knees are on either side of his hips. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “It’s better like. Warm. Comfortable.”

“Do you need to nest?” Carlos asks, eyebrows furrowed. From below him, Logan looks up and sees the way his eyes are soft and careful, feeling the tone of his voice stream content through him. “My scent. Is it-”

“I can’t smell you,” Logan blurts out. “I can’t- can you take it off?”

“My scent?” Carlos says. “You want to smell me?”

“Yes, please,” Logan begs, almost, feeling shame at the whimper he lets out when Carlos’ scent bursts from under the scent patch; orange, spicy and sweet, so strong and yet so gentle. “Fuck me, Carlos. Please, take care of me, alpha, I’ll do so well-”

“So good, amor, you’re so good,” Carlos praises him, brushing away the strands of hair that are sticking to Logan’s face. “You are okay? Does it hurt a lot?”

Logan shakes his head, pulls at Carlos’ shirt so that Carlos falls onto him and their hips align. “Please,” Logan pleads again, grinding his hips upward. “Need.”

“Joder,” Carlos says. He grinds his hips down against Logan’s, swallows his moans when he captures Logan’s mouth in a hard kiss, teeth and tongue colliding. “You are in heat,” Carlos bites out, trying to resist. “It does not-”

“I said earlier,” Logan groans, fingers pressing into Carlos’ skin, “that I want you. Please. Please, Carlos, alpha, please-”

“Sí, yes,” Carlos sputters. He moves, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s ear when he cries out. “What do you need?”

“You,” Logan lets out, pushing his hips upward to meet Carlos. “Oh, need you so badly. Mate me, make me yours, please-”

“Yes, yes,” Carlos says, carefully kissing Logan on the mouth. “Todo va a estar bien. But I will not mate you Logan, okay? You must be careful with that.”

“Right, yeah, please just,” Logan stumbles over, trying to say everything at once. “Need you to be so close. Need you.”

“You don’t need me,” Carlos mumbles to himself as he rubs his neck against Logan’s, scenting him. “You just need an alpha.”

Logan does not hear him, too busy trying to pull him closer.

The closeness barely lasts the night.

—

The morning after the start of his heat, the sun wakes Logan up, shining through the blinds and burning at his skin. Groggily, he rubs his eyes, stretches his arms out, hisses when the pain hits him from his legs.

“Fuck,” he swears to himself, eyes wide. Panicked, he turns to the other side of the bed, seeing the space filled with emptiness instead of Carlos. “Fuck.”

When he tries to breathe in, shaky, he feels his chest spike with pain and his feelings wobble out of control. Dizzy, uncontrollable thinking that swirls in his head, twists all his thoughts until they go from circular to spiky, poking at parts of his mind he tries to shut down. Heart beating loud, stuck in his head, pounding under his ribs.

Logan enters the next phase of his heat with his head tucked on the sheets of Carlos’ side of the bed, nose bundled in the smell of freshly sprayed and bland, deafening scent blockers; the faint taint of orange beginning to fade.

(Not like he can smell properly anyway, too busy trying to suck in air to focus on anything else.)

—

“Hey, you alright?” Oscar asks, worried, when Logan opens the door. “You didn’t answer your phone yesterday, or the night before.”

“Oh yeah,” Logan says. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, sheepish. “I was… it was a heat.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, but his face looks blank and he does not sound surprised. “Oh, right. You… you feeling better?”

“I am, thanks dude,” Logan tells him. He smiles, tries to lift the mood, bumping Oscar on the shoulder. “Ready to go meet the rest of the grid?”

“Technically already met them,” Oscar says, deadpan, and Logan laughs, tries to sound natural even though his throat is sore and his mouth is dry. “Sure. Zhou’s there, right?”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “C’mon.”

—

“To the rookies, welcome!” George chirps. “To the others who are still here, welcome back!”

“You know,” Oscar whispers into Logan’s ear, lips grazing, “this reminds me of Fred’s-”

“Rookies!” George says, and Oscar pulls away, the contact against Logan’s skin leaving behind a trace of cold. “Nice to meet you. Think of this as an annual pre-season meet-up where we discuss the season and just be good mates with each other; like pack bonding. Learn to chill off-track and focus drama solely on-track instead, allowing us to work well during the season and still be pack after.”

“You both look like good mates, anyway,” Lewis tags on. “Doubt it’d take little to break you two.”

“So this is, like, a bonding thing, right?” Logan asks, and a few drivers seem to laugh at him.

George scowls, recapturing their attention. “Hey.”

“But!” Lando whines, and Logan tries to ignore how casual he seems when he leans back into Carlos’ side. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one who thinks the accent’s just a bit weird, right? Like we’re just not used to it, no offence!”

Logan swallows, tries to hide the shame weighing in his stomach. “Oh,” he says, attempting to sound polite. “It-”

“Oi, that’s bloody rude,” Oscar points out. “What, gonna laugh at my accent too, mate?”

“Well, we had Daniel…” Lando starts, before fading off. “I mean.”

“Righty-o, so, continuing on,” George says. “The first part of today’s meeting is the essential, nitty-gritty of heat and rut cycles.”

Charles groans, shaking his head, eyes wide. “Please, George, can we not do this again-”

“What’re your designations, gang?” Lando says. “George boy here just needs to know, to make sure you’re safe during the season.”

“I’m not sharing that,” Oscar grits out.

Lando points at him, grinning. “Alpha, right?”

“Lando,” Zhou says, carefully.

“He just said he wasn’t gonna share th-”

“Omega,” Lando says over Logan. “Done, dusted.”

“Lando,” Carlos says, eyes drifting over to Logan. “Calm down please, cabrón.”

“Yeah, Lando, please,” George says, rolling his eyes. “Also, Oscar and Logan, don’t worry about telling me your designations. Don’t need it. Just an announcement I make every year about making sure you’ve got a contingency plan in case it comes during the season, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Logan says, but his tongue feels heavy, stomach still queasy at Lando’s observations. “So?”

“Just need to know if you’ve got a heat or rut partner,” George says, “and if you’d message me their contact. In case of emergencies.”

“I,” Logan starts, unsure. Unwillingly, his eyes drift to Oscar. “I don’t-”

“I’m his cycle partner,” Oscar says for him, unflinching when the drivers around them stare. “We’re each other’s.”

“Oh, right,” George says. “Right. Cool, then. Moving on, anyone wanted to do the honour of adding these lads to the group chat? We-”

Noise bursts out from the drivers, a bunch of suggestions and offers thrown at George.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees Carlos turn his head away, knuckles white.

—

“You lied to me,” Carlos tells Logan, standing outside his door. “You said you did not have a partne-”

“I didn’t,” Logan says, correcting, “I don’t.” He feels restlessly defensive; like Carlos has a right to know, like he has an obligation to let Carlos know.

Carlos scoffs, shaking his head. “Well, Oscar-”

“We do it every time,” Logan confesses. It makes Carlos stop, staring at him with careful eyes. “Whenever our teams ask, or anyone really, we just say we’re each other’s partners. It. Makes things easier, I guess.”

“But you do not spend it with each other?” Carlos asks.

“‘Course not,” Logan says, hesitating as he adds, “We’re just good mates.”

“You are more than that, do not lie,” Carlos says, blunt.

Logan shakes his head. “No, we’re not,” he insists, adding like a bitter blow, “And you left me right after, anyway, so.”

“It was a mistake,” Carlos says, and for some reason, Logan feels like his heart stops. “I mean, we do not know each other very well. We had just met. It was weird, it should not have happened.”

“Yeah, well, thanks, I guess,” Logan says. “But it still sucked that you left.”

“Then can I-” Carlos starts, sniffing. “Logan. Did you clean your room?”

“You sprayed it pretty good, dude,” Logan tells him, but he feels the familiar symptoms aching his body once again; knows what Carlos is implying.

“No, mate, I mean-”

“I know,” Logan grits out. He pushes the door wider, offers, “Either come in and help me or you’re banished outside.”

“Sí, sí,” Carlos says, shutting the door behind himself as he pushes Logan further into the room. “I can- do you need…?”

“Just please don’t leave again,” Logan begs. “Please stay. Please don’t say it’s a mistake.”

“Okay,” Carlos breathes out. “Okay, I promise.”

—

When the first wave of his heat breaks, proper and clean unlike the previous one, Carlos points out, “Your heats are very often,” softly adding, “Does Oscar know?”

“My heats are very often, yeah,” Logan says, still groggy. “They’re twice as often as an average omega’s. And, by the way, no, Oscar does not know. He does not need to know-”

“If he is pretending to be your heat partner, he should know,” Carlos tells him. “It would be bad if he did not know, and something were to happen.”

“It’s not his business,” Logan argues weakly.

Carlos furrows his eyebrows. “If you choose to lie,” he stresses, “you must lie well.”

“Well yeah, no shit,” Logan says. “But, even so, it’s been working so far. So I don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Carlos says. “But what if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’ll tell him,” Logan says. “Why’re you asking?”

“Can I be your heat partner?” Carlos asks, quiet. “You can be my rut partner, no? Like a… a deal.”

“A partnership?” Logan offers.

“Sí, yes, a partnership,” Carlos affirms. “We can do that, yes?”

“Maybe,” Logan says. He shifts in Carlos’ grip, shuffles so that the blanket covers his feet.

Carlos hums. “We talk about this later, afterward.”

Lazily, Logan nods, leaning closer.

“Will you tell him that I am your heat partner now?” Carlos asks. Logan shakes his head. “Right.”

“I won’t tell him yet,” Logan reiterates.

“But why do you have-”

“Have you never heard of privacy?” Logan asks. “Can you not even be sensitive about this?”

“Heats and ruts are things nearly every omega and alpha go through,” Carlos tells him. “Why must it be a sensitive subject?”

“Okay then, fine,” Logan says. “I have heats twice as often as other omegas because I’ve got two internal sets of… y’know…” He gestures vaguely to his stomach.

Carlos stares at Logan for a while, as if trying to decipher the message. “You have…” he starts, trailing off with realisation. “But why?”

“I don’t know,” Logan says exasperatedly. “I found out only after I presented. Apparently it’s not super rare but it’s not that common either.”

“Two…” Carlos says. “So you can…?”

“Do not mention pregnancy,” Logan tells him sternly. “If you fucking-”

Carlos holds his hands up in surrender. “I did not say anything.”

“Fine,” Logan says. “You better shut up about it though. Or I’m not helping you with your rut.”

“Would I be able to have twice as many ruts?” Carlos asks curiously. “Or would that mean I need two-”

“Shut up!”

—

Pulling on his shirt, Carlos asks, “What rules?”

“Rules?” Logan asks, tilting his head. “I don-”

“To be cycle partners,” Carlos explains. “What rules did you want?”

“Oh,” Logan says. He picks up a stray sock from the floor, tosses it into the laundry basket next to him. “Uhm. Like, break it off when courting someone, those kinds of rules? Or like, kinks and bedroo-”

“Let us start with the first one,” Carlos says, slowing Logan down. “I think that is good. If we find someone else, we must break this off first.”

“Obviously,” Logan says.

“And you are in love with Oscar, while being a coward, so I should not expect that from you, yes?” Carlos says, grinning. Logan purposely ignores the comment, turns around to look for more pieces of clothing scattered around his room. “I also think you must tell Oscar.”

Logan scoffs. “I’ll tell him when I want.”

“Of course,” Carlos says, sounding surprised at his vigour. “I meant, it would be good for you to tell him at some point. That is all.”

“Right,” Logan says. “And you?”

“I have no best friend I am hopelessly in love with,” Carlos says. “I have very healthy friendships.”

“Lando?” Logan throws out, guessing. Carlos immediately shakes his head, making a gesture that tells Logan to shut up.

“Disgusting,” Carlos says. “He is like a brother, Lano is.”

“Fine then,” Logan says. “Anything else?”

Carlos stares, looking contemplative. “I will tell you if I think of any more.”

“Cool,” Logan says. “Same, then. I’ll show you out?”

—

Logan is in his driver’s room, trying to get used to the new space of his own, when a knock comes on his door. “Come in,” Logan says, seeing Alex come through with a spiky grin and a gentle gaze.

“Could have been a stalker,” Alex jokes; which must be British humour from how crude it makes Logan feel. “Can’t just let the randos in, right, mate?”

“Uh, yeah, uhm,” Logan says.

“Just messing with you,” Alex tells him. He sits down on one of the chairs, face turning more serious; a careful, caring kind of serious. “Hey, Logan, I know we haven’t really got the chance to bond and stuff, but just wanted to let you know I really look forward to this season with you and am here for whatever you need, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Uhm, thanks a lot, mate.”

Alex laughs, and for a moment, it makes Logan feel self-conscious of his accent.

“Hey, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Alex tells him. “My driver’s room is always open, in case you need it. And there’s the pack, too, of course.”

“Not for stalkers though, right?” Logan says, trying out the joke. Alex looks at him funny, as if considering what Logan said, so serious that Logan can only hope to one day understand his sarcasm.

“Not quite, no,” Alex says, and Logan thinks he is joking. “Anyway, got to go, but I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thanks,” Logan says again. Alex nods, grinning as he salutes him goodbye, shutting the door behind him.

—

After the first race of the season is over, the next one still a good two weeks away, Logan gets a reminder that Carlos set on his phone for his rut, address printed neatly on the top of the notification. It takes Logan a day to fly out and a few hours to reach Carlos’ place, rushed and without any arrangements, feeling embarrassed when waiting for Carlos to open the door.

When Carlos does, he looks at Logan in surprise.

“So,” Logan says awkwardly. “Are you still up for me helping you with your rut?”

“Sí,” Carlos tells him, checking down the corridor, before turning back to Logan. “Are you still okay with this?”

“Yes,” Logan says, trying not to sound excited. “I am.”

“It was not your first time, right?” Carlos asks. “Just… checking.”

Logan scoffs, trying to sound confident when he says, “You weren’t. No way.”

“Good,” Carlos tells him. “Come in.”

Carlos’ apartment is massive, clean to every corner and marked with inexpensive furniture that was probably worth more than Logan’s salary. He catches a glimpse of several bedroom doors just making his way to Carlos’, feels the tiles beneath his feet and the look of carpet so clean and undisturbed.

“You live here alone?” Logan asks, awkward. Carlos settles at the foot of his bed, staring at him almost amused.

“Yes,” Carlos says. “Why?”

“That’s a lot of rooms,” Logan tells him.

“Did you want to stay with me?” Carlos says, smile on his face, sounding almost genuine. “You can if you want.”

“Uhm, fine, thanks,” Logan coughs out. “So, uh. Is your rut like. What is it like?”

“Sit here first,” Carlos says, patting the spot next to him. “Yes, my rut is strong. I am very coherent, however. I can still act very sober. I do say… I think questionable things that when you are here I might say; may make you uncomfortable.”

“Like…?” Logan asks.

Carlos clears his throat. “I might say that I want… want pups,” Carlos says, and Logan flushes, resists the urge to cover his stomach with his hands. “Want to mate with you. The… typical alpha stuff.”

“Right,” Logan says, because the only alpha he is close with is Oscar; Oscar who never talked about these things with him. “Sure.”

“My rut lasts anything from one day to three days, and I usually get very protective,” Carlos tells him. He eyes Logan up and down, gaze jarringly empty yet wild. “Seeing you did not bring anything, I am assuming you are okay with wearing my clothes?”

Logan hesitates. “Sure,” he says eventually. “If that’s alright.”

“Of course that’s alright,” Carlos tells him. He furrows his eyebrows, as if thinking about something, turning his head away in contemplation. “I am trying very hard to resist doing anything right now, like growling in case I make you uncomfortable, but I feel it coming on now. My, uh, pre-rut. It usually is a few hours before. Did you want… early?”

“Start early?” Logan asks, joking. “Want to warm up first?”

“Yes,” Carlos says, laughing. It forces the wind out of Logan’s chest, making him want to hear the sound forever. He pulls Logan down on top of him, kisses him gently on the mouth in a tender, loving way; like something secret, sweet, and worthwhile. “Warm up.”

And oh.

—

“I should give you my number,” Carlos tells Logan, standing just outside the apartment. Logan blinks, stares at Carlos’ outstretched hand, before realising to give him his phone. Carlos laughs at it, endearingly, and it strings at Logan’s heart until he fears it could snap. “There.”

“Thanks,” Logan says. “Uh, so, next time?”

“When is your heat?” Carlos asks. “For, uh, next time.”

“In a month, give or take,” Logan says. “If you… if you were alright with that.”

“Of course,” Carlos tells him, unwavering and affirmative. “Would they both come at similar times?”

“Oh, uh, maybe?” Logan says. “I don’t… I guess it depends.”

“Okay,” Carlos says, nodding, serious. “Then I will see you at the race first, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Logan breathes out.

Carlos smiles, turning Logan’s insides gooey, making him feel hot and flushed. “I will see you then, amor,” Carlos tells him, and he kisses Logan softly on the cheek; intimate and fragile, almost like a domestic ritual. “Goodbye.”

Logan is glad when Carlos shuts the door, too flustered from the kiss to say anything else.

—

Logan finds Oscar in his driver’s room, Oscar looking up from his phone the moment Logan enters.

“Logan,” Oscar says, grinning.

“Hey?” Logan says. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to say hi,” Oscar tells him, pulling him down to sit next to him. “And also that you’re working too hard. Come on, let’s have fun, yeah?”

Logan tries not to grit his teeth, burying the frustration underneath because of course Oscar would not get it; Oscar is in a better team, has a good car, is part of the pack, is a good driver.

“I’m not working too hard,” Logan says. “I’m not working hard enough.”

“Logan,” Oscar says, grin fading. “You-”

“I’m underperforming, Osc,” Logan says, the anger bubbling at the back of his throat, raw and upcoming. “I’m underperforming in a fucking Williams!”

“Exactly,” Oscar says, like trying to get a point across. It makes Logan feel even more annoyed, hormones still spiked from his most recent heat, trying to ignore the itch in his mind that calls for Carlos’ comfort and the ache in his bones that want Oscar to hug him numb.

“Get out, please,” Logan says.

“Log-”

“Get out,” he says again, firmer. “I don’t- I can’t be a good friend to you right now, Osc, I’m sorry.”

Oscar’s face changes, becoming more gentle; soft and caring, so full of love it makes Logan want to keel over and beg. “Don’t be,” Oscar says. “I’m here if you need me, alright, mate? I’ll be just one call away.”

When the door shuts closed, Logan falls down, trying to make his crying stop.

—

(In the pack room, it is almost eerily quiet. Oscar sits down at the couch, alone and frazzled from his interaction with Logan, feeling his heart beat frightingly fast and heat burn at his skin.

“Are you alright, cabrón?” Carlos asks him, settling down next to him. “You do not look very well.”

Oscar scoffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Well thanks,” he says. “What are you, the cops?”

“I am just asking,” Carlos says, half-growling, clearly in a state of pre-rut of some sort; hormones high, alpha instincts strong. “I am concerned.”

Oscar hesitates at the earnesty of Carlos’ response, turns to look at him. Sees Carlos’ careful stare, the gentle, distanced touch of his hand on his arm, the look of his hair tossed about and his lips pressed tight together.

“I just needed to cool off from something,” Oscar decides to tell Carlos, letting out a deep breath. “Thanks, mate. Sorry I snapped at you.”

Carlos offers a kind smile. “Good to hear,” he tells Oscar, unfazed. He removes his hand from Oscar’s arm, and the loss of contact feels more unwelcomed than the weight of its touch. “I hope it stays well.”)

—

“Are you busy?” Oscar asks, already making his way into Logan’s hotel room, unbothered and clearly not waiting for an answer.

“Does it matter?” Logan jokes, exasperatedly, sitting down next to Oscar. “What’s up?”

“Just felt like we haven’t seen each other in a while,” Oscar says. He pouts, almost childishly. “Come on, I’m your best friend, and it’s been, what, two weeks since we last saw each other?”

“Kyle is my best friend,” Logan tells him, taking out a can of beer from the pack Oscar brought. Oscar nudges him, hard, on the shoulder. “Fine, Zhou is my best friend.”

“Come on Loges, we both know that’s not true,” Oscar says. “So?”

Logan rolls his eyes, smiling to himself. “Fine, Oscar, you’re my bestie.”

“There we go,” Oscar says, grinning. “Want take out with the beers? I’ve got a recommendation for a place near here.”

“Oh?” Logan asks. “What is it?”

“Carlos told me there’s some good Chinese food just down the road,” Oscar says, taking out his phone. “Apparently even Zhou liked it.”

“Carlos?” Logan says. He takes a long sip of beer right after, trying to hide the heat that creeps up his neck.

“Yeah, Sainz,” Oscar says, always obviously. “He’s a dick on track but he’s not too bad off it, I guess.”

“You’ve been to the pack room?” Logan asks.

Oscar nods distractedly, presumably placing an order, before putting his phone away. “Take out is in six minutes,” he says.

“Right, cool,” Logan says.

“You haven’t been coming to the pack room,” Oscar notes.

“I- what?”

“You haven’t,” Oscar says. “You’ve been, like, avoiding it or something. I don’t know, man. Is something wrong?”

“No!” Logan says quickly. “I just, I haven’t found the right time.”

“Any time is the right time,” Oscar tells him, frowning. “It’s the pack room.”

“Yeah, I know, but,” Logan says, trying to string up a coherent lie, “I guess I just miss the old pack.”

Oscar scoffs at his answer, as if he knows the layers beneath it. “Fine, we won’t talk about it,” Oscar says, softly adding, “but you can talk to me about it, if you want to. Later, or whatever.”

“Thanks dude,” Logan says, trying to hide his face behind the can. “But no problems here.”

“Sure,” Oscar says, still sceptical.

“Can we talk about something else now?” Logan asks, pleadingly.

Oscar stares at him, unblinkingly, as if trying to pry back Logan’s skin. Then, suddenly, smiles, says, “Lando’s obsessed over this new game.”

“Oh?” Logan says. “What’s it called?”

“Apparently it’s about farming?” Oscar says. “But he also talks about how you have to kill people to get stuff, so I actually don’t know.”

“Nice,” Logan says, even though it feels nothing like it.

—

Logan tries the pack room a week after Oscar suggests it, feeling lonely by himself and the quiet, long chats with Zhou no longer a usual ritual. It takes him a while to trudge his feet to the door, and he opens it with a dimming confidence.

No one is there. It is silent and empty, cushions thrown about and a random pile of blankets dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the room. It looks abandoned, almost, but Logan smells the intense, heavy scents that are entangled everywhere and it must be most recently used.

Maybe it was bad timing? Maybe he had just come when they were all out. And-

“Hey, look who decided to turn up,” Max says, tapping Logan gently on the shoulder. He smiles at him warmly, as if a familiar, empathetic thing. “Sorry for the mess. It is not mine, anyway.”

“Right,” Logan says. He tries grinning back, hoping it does not turn out weird. “Bad timing?”

“No, no,” Max says seriously. “It is fine. The pack room is here for a reason, you are always welcome, hm?”

“Thanks,” Logan says. It feels good, to hear it. Feels nice to have the confirmation.

“So I- hey Max,” Lando greets. “What’s up?”

Following him is a bunch of other drivers, clearly distracted in conversation and their scents all well revealed. “The sky,” Max says dryly. “Where is Charles?”

Lando rolls his eyes playfully. “Of course you only want Charles. He’s-”

Someone then shouts over Lando, trying to get Max’s attention, and it is chaos from then on.

Logan manages to slip away quite easily. Maybe he will try again next time (if there is a next time).

—

Logan invites Oscar out for lunch at a restaurant Zhou told him is good for break-ups. It comes as a silly thing, taking in that recommendation to heart, taking Oscar to a quiet, private place to break the news to him. He feels bad when Oscar seems so excited to see him, happy that Logan has finally initiated a meet-up; face dented just slightly at the mention of having to tell him something.

It is the first personal decision Logan has made for himself in a while; he decides it is necessary to break it clean with Oscar.

(Their friendship was already going down the drain, anyway, was it not?)

After friendly banter turns awkward and their food transfers from cool to cold, Oscar clears his throat.

“So,” he says. “You had something you wanted to tell me?”

“Right,” Logan says. He puts his fork down, tries to ignore the urge to fidget with it. “Uhm. It’s about… it’s about the cycle thing. The cycle partners?”

“Oh?” Oscar says.

“You don’t,” Logan breathes out, nervous. “You don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Hm?”

“We don’t have to pretend,” Logan says. “Like, I’ve got… I have a heat partner now, so you don’t have to pretend.”

“You…” Oscar says around the word, like a mouthful of sand. Even in all his insecurity, Logan does not miss the way his voice cracks. “You have a heat partner now?”

It knocks the wind out of Logan’s lungs, makes him want to turn back time and take his words back. He closes his eyes, does it as he says, “Yes,” trying his best to sound confident. It hurts, makes him regret things that he knows is just a deep, longing guilt speaking. “Yes, I do.”

“Who?” Oscar asks, small. “Not, that, you have to, like, answer or any-”

“Carlos,” Logan says. He almost flinches when he says the name, feels it spike like a sour taste on his tongue. “It’s Carlos.”

“...Sainz?” Oscar asks. “Junior? Ferrari driver?”

“Yes,” Logan says, trying to sound firm; failing just by the tip of it. He opens his eyes, sees Oscar looking away and brushing at his own face. “I… is that okay?”

“Is it- of course it’s okay!” Oscar rushes out, almost like he is telling himself. “It’s- it’s fine, you know? You’re allowed to- it’s fine.”

“Yeah?” Logan says. “Because I know that you’ve been there for me the whole time and all I just-”

“I get it, don’t worry,” Oscar says. He looks up from staring at the table, eyes red and gaze hollow. “I just… is that all? Do I need to, did you want-”

“Yeah that’s all,” Logan tells him. “I… I just felt like I should tell you.”

“Thank you,” Oscar says, swallowing. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Right,” Logan says.

“Uh, thanks for the food too,” Oscar says, giving a weak smile. “It was good. But I think I’ll…” He points vaguely toward the exit, Logan catching the way his fingers tremble at the slight gesture.

“Right,” Logan says.

Oscar gets up and leaves without saying goodbye.

For the first time in a while, Logan thinks that maybe Oscar could love him.

—

Someone knocks on his apartment door at midnight, and Logan trips over his feet trying to answer it, thinking Carlos is finally here; his heat getting so close it was almost delirious.

“Oscar,” Logan breathes out.

“Lo,” Oscar whines, face flush and breath smelling like alcohol. Logan sniffs, smelling a scent seeping from Oscar; strange and unfamiliar, considering that he wore scent blockers almost unhealthily. The smell is tingly, a tangy ripeness to it that chips away at Logan’s cache. “Why Carlos?”

“What?” Logan says hesitantly. He tries to resist leaning in to smell Oscar a little closer, pushing back his instincts to the back of his mind. “Oscar, you’re drunk.”

“Why Carlos?” Oscar says again, disgruntled. He flails his arms around, sloppy, and Logan leans back to avoid getting hit. “You are so handsome and young and kind and so, so fucking good he’s just- he’s so mean. He’s an asshole, Logan, he’s a fucking jerk!”

“Oscar,” Logan hisses, because the corridor carries their voices down; neighbours who could hear all this aired like dirty laundry. “Also, I thought you said he was nice off-track, don’t you re-”

“He’s so much older than you, Loges,” Oscar tells him, and it hits Logan like a freight train. “He won’t care ab- he won’t care about you like I do.”

“Oscar,” Logan says, trying to sound firm, but the doubts swell in his mind; change from lingering to full, blown to reality. “You’re drunk.”

“I know,” Oscar says, mumbling. “I know, and you probably won’t listen to me because I’m drunk because you never do when I’m drunk but Logan I can treat you so much better I can be such a good partner I really love you and you-”

“Oscar?” Carlos says. Logan blinks, turning his head to the side to see Carlos approaching his door, a bag slung over his shoulder. “What are you doing here, cabrón?”

“Oh fuck off, Sainz,” Oscar tells him.

“Oscar,” Logan says, because his heat was preening now, hot and fresh, yearning for Carlos to come closer.

“I’m leaving anyway,” Oscar says, sounding miniscule. He seems to drop in all his reservation and turns on his heels, stumbling away before Logan can even hold him back.

“Osc-”

“Logan,” Carlos says, drawing back his attention.

“He’s drunk,” Logan tells Carlos, who just shrugs and makes his way through his flat, casual and undeterred. “I don’t…”

“You want to take care of him, cariño?” Carlos asks him, almost blunt and dismissive. He pulls Logan by his waist, tugging him closer, foul with how smooth he manages to move him. Logan, docile and sickened with hormones, falls into Carlos’ arms, preening with want. “You are in heat. I can smell it. If he could, he would have left earlier. Or stayed.”

“He said he loves me,” Logan whines, unwillingly, head cloudy with smoke.

Carlos’ breath hitches, and he tucks his head into Logan’s neck. “Sh, let me take care of you first,” Carlos tells him. “We can talk about this later, yes? If you want.”

“No, no,” Logan says, shaking his head. He wraps his arms around Carlos’ heat, securing him to his neck. “Just take care of me, please.”

“Of course, mi amor,” Carlos whispers, like a promise. He pulls back, kisses Logan’s complaints away with a gentle, soft touch.

Logan wishes Carlos was less of a gentleman and wilder than this. Logan wishes Carlos would bite.

—

An impromptu trip to Sheffield takes him up to Zhou’s flat, barging on the door with a shake in his body and anxiety growing in his lungs.

“Log-”

“Zhou, can I come in?” Logan says. “Please I need to talk to someone, anyone, can I-”

“Come in,” Zhou tells him, shutting the door behind him. “Logan, mate, do you-”

“Hug me please?” Logan asks, quiet. “I just… panicky, please?”

“Oh,” Zhou says. Gingerly, he places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, uses his other arm to wrap around his back. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Logan says. He keeps his nose near Zhou’s scent gland, close and familial. “You…”

“Hm, don’t worry,” Zhou tells him. “Just old blockers. Did not wash off yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan whispers into Zhou’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do not apologise,” Guanyu says, sternly. He pats Logan on the back, awkward but kind. “What is it? Talk or-?”

“Talk,” Logan breathes out. He tightens a grip around Zhou’s waist. “Is it okay if I…”

“Sure,” Guanyu says. “You are like a koala, mate.”

“It’s about Oscar,” Logan says. “And Carlos.”

“Carlos?” Zhou asks. “Carlos… Sainz? Junior?”

“Yes, Carlos Sainz Junior,” Logan tells him. “I… you know how Osc and I always pretend to be cycle partners?”

“Yes?” Guanyu says dubiously. “Even though I think it is stupid and-”

“Well,” Logan interrupts, clearing his throat. “I… it’s Carlos.”

“You- with Carlos?”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Kind of like. A deal.”

“Did he… take advantage of you?” Zhou asks, pulling back to check Logan’s reaction.

“What, no,” Logan sputters. “No, he- I asked him to. When. We were hanging out, and I knew, so I… I asked him to.”

“Right,” Zhou says. He narrows his eyes, analytical and aback. “But what about Oscar?”

“What about him?” Logan says, then he scoffs. “Look, if this is about the time we slept together but he didn’t remember, then it doesn’t matter.”

“He loves you,” Guanyu tells him like a fact.

“Do not say that, please,” Logan begs. “Do not tell me that. I don’t want to. Later, please?”

“I thought you loved Oscar?” Zhou asks instead. “I thought you love him.”

Logan takes a deep breath, hesitating. “I do,” he admits. “I do, I do, I love him so much.”

“But why?” Zhou says.

Logan buries his face into the crook of Guanyu’s neck yet again. “But I think I also love Carlos.”

“Oh,” Zhou says. He pulls Logan back into the embrace, pats him comfortingly on the back. Softly, he adds, “And that’s okay too.”

—

Zhou makes them a pot of tea, hot and sweet unlike the almost-tasteless, bittered teas that Logan was used to.

“So,” Zhou says. “What happened? Something must have triggered this, right?”

“Well, I had a heat last week,” Logan starts. “And just before that, I told Oscar that Carlos and I were cycle partners.”

“Oh?” Guanyu says. “How did he take the news?”

“Guessing from how he reacted the other day, pretty bad,” Logan says. “He came just when my heat was starting, and he was drunk, and he said a bunch of things about how it should be him instead of Carlos and he…”

“Logan?” Guanyu says, encouraging.

“He said he loves me,” Logan whispers. “And then Carlos got there and my heat really hit me then and I just tried to, like, forget it, but I can’t and Carlos knows I love Oscar and it really sucks because I don’t want to let either of them go.”

“Logan,” Zhou says. “Slow down.”

“Right,” Logan says, taking a deep breath. “I mean… am I being greedy? Is it just, like, a designation thing? Because they’re both alphas. Or a sexual thing? I mean, do I love Carlos, or is because he took care of me during my heats-”

“Have you had any non-sexual heats with him?” Zhou asks.

Logan pauses, stares at the table in consideration. “Once,” he says, finally. “That, like, really bad one with cramps. He was so kind, so caring. Hugged me the whole time, made me warm drinks, cooked me food. He didn’t….”

“Did he ask for sex?” Zhou asks. “Did he force you to do anything? Did you do anything?”

“He kissed me on the cheek,” Logan says. “And hugged me, yeah. But that’s… that’s it.”

“Then that is your answer,” Guanyu tells him. “Simple.”

“Simple?” Logan asks. “That is no way simple.”

“The tea is now ready,” Zhou says instead. He lifts the lid, and takes out a cup. “Want some?”

—

“You know,” Zhou starts saying, between sips of his tea, “about ‘grid dads’?”

“Grid,” Logan says. “Grid dads?”

“Yeah,” Zhou says. “Like parents. But on the… on the grid. Do you not know this?”

“I mean, I’ve heard it, but like, not really dude,” Logan says. “I’m not, I’m not really there with them, you know?”

“Right,” Guanyu says. He takes another sip of tea, long and considerate. “I will choose to focus on that issue later. But, do you know my grid dad?”

“Your…” Logan says. “You have a grid dad?”

Zhou rolls his eyes, playfully. “Yes,” he says. “Fernando. Alonso. You know him, yes?”

“Of fucking course I do!” Logan says. “You- Fernando Alonso is your grid dad?”

“Yes,” Zhou says, sounding serious. “I think you should talk to him.”

“I should- you think I should talk to Fernando Alonso about my love life?” Logan asks.

“Sex life, love life,” Zhou says, unbothered. Then he adds, more carefully, “You should talk to him. It is good to talk to. He is… he is the pack omega, you know.”

“Oh,” Logan says, softly. “He’s… he’s the pack omega?”

“Grid pack omega,” Zhou elaborates. “He… he is very kind. Please, Logan. It is not good to isolate like this. Fernando can offer advice. He is… you know how he is with Lance?”

“Yes?” Logan says. He feels a weight in his chest from Zhou’s words, almost like being reminded of something he was trying to forget.

“Ask him about that,” Guanyu says. “It is very helpful.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan blurts out. “I feel like I’m always just, like, burdening you with-”

“Do not say that,” Zhou scolds; even stern, he sounds gentle. He waves a hand dismissively, gesturing over to Logan’s cup. “You always like to think that you are a burden, or worthless, or useless. Logan, you are not any of that. You are a good person, a friend. You are talented, and worthy and deserving of only good things. Now drink your tea. You’ll feel better.”

“Contractions,” Logan says, grinning, ignoring the rest of Zhou’s words. He lifts the cup to his lips, sips almost tentatively, and sputters when the heat melts into his mouth. “Fuck, I can never drink this.”

“Just try again,” Guanyu says, taking another sip from his own cup. Logan can hear his smile.

—

When he asks Fernando if they could meet up to talk, Fernando invites him to a small, quaint restaurant off the edge of the urbanised sprawl, hidden and reserved that Logan thinks it was almost made to offload celebrities. There, Fernando orders Chinese tea for them, specifically asking for them to be served as close to cold as possible.

The teapot comes lukewarm and the cups are dry, Logan watching Fernando blow on his tea until it surely must be cold.

After a while of silence, tea cooling under their patience, Logan asks, “How did you do it?” Even after feeling isolated from the grid for the entirety of the season, Fernando was pack omega; someone who Logan could talk to. Feel comfortable asking for. “With Lance.”

Fernando looks at him carefully, as if considering his words. It intimidates Logan, makes him take a long, awkward sip of his tea – holding back from choking when the unexpected heat hits the back of his throat –, waiting before Fernando asks, “Love him? Mate with him? Care for him?”

“I mean,” Logan tries, mouth dry even with the steam still wet on his tongue. “How did you… how did you both get together?”

“Oh,” Fernando says, softening. “I thought you were about to say something rude.”

“Oh,” Logan says. “Uhm.”

Fernando nods, as if agreeing to Logan’s nonsensical sounds. “The people who know always ask if I love Lance because he is Lawrence’s son,” Fernando says. “But if not for F1, I would only want to impress Lawrence because he is Lance’s father.”

“You love him because he’s him,” Logan says. “Not because he’s your boss’s son.”

“Exactly,” Fernando says. “Many people do not understand.”

“And when you got together?” Logan asks. “Did Lance understand?”

Fernando laughs like spitting out a bitter taste. “We were courting before I came back,” he says. “Then, when I was given a seat, he had stopped. Asked if I only let him court me because I wanted to impress his father.”

“But of course not,” Logan says, feeling surprised at his own conviction. “You loved him then too, right?”

“Of course,” Fernando says, nodding. “But no one has been kind to Lance, except his father. Even in the team, there is sometimes noise. It is hard when your father loves you so much he wants to help share your dream. It does not help that I am part of that plan.”

Logan hums. “And…”

“There were many problems already,” Fernando tells him. He stares at his own cup of tea as if it held the words to his story. “To let him court me, he had to convince me he did not care about the age. I am old, no?”

He pauses, expecting Logan to answer, laughing when the latter just chorts out an aborted cough.

“It is a funny question, I know,” Fernando says. “I am old compared to Lance. He does not care. It took a while to move from that. But then, of course, the team. His father. It was a secret courting, in case it got out. When he stopped, it had hurt. That he would think so low of me, but also so low of himself. It took many months to recover from that.”

“And then you mated?” Logan asks, hesitant. It is impolite practice to ask so bluntly about something so intimate, so personal; but Fernando was pack omega, was Logan’s only connection to safety, only place to run to.

Fernando looks up from his cup, as if sensing Logan’s hesitance. “You can ask me, yes,” he says, smiling softly. “We did mate a few months after he had injured his wrists. It turns out, in our courting, we already had bonded. Just no bite. Uncommon, apparently.”

“That’s sweet,” Logan says.

Fernando grins even wider, just like a gremlin’s antics. “Why do you ask? Are you interested in someone?”

Logan feels the blush on his cheeks, warm and red. “I just. Was. Curious, you know?”

“Right,” Fernando says, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. “You were just curious?”

Logan nods, tight-lipped.

“Then I trust that I can give you some advice,” Fernando says. “I have been around a long time. Not just in life, but also in racing. At the end of the day, you must choose. It is hard, yes, but the choice should always be life. You must always love life more than racing, and must always love life more than your mate. It does not matter that you are mated or not; if you love a person, make sure you love your own life without them before adding them to it.”

“Okay,” Logan says. He disguises his face with another sip of tea. “Thanks.”

“I trust you,” Fernando says, and he too hides his face behind his cup. Logan imagines him smiling as he says it. “You will make a good choice.”

—

In his driver’s room, Logan feels his pre-heat coming on, long, painful cramps holding his back hostage and his stomach flaring in pain. He knows, just by instinct, that this heat was not going to be a fun one; rather, filled miserably with cramps and tight muscles and fever. It hurts even more when someone knocks on his door, almost tauntingly.

“Who is it?” Logan asks, trying not to sound too strained.

“It’s Oscar,” comes the answer, and Logan stumbles, trying to open the door as fast as he can. “Lo-”

Logan pulls Oscar into the room and shuts the door behind him, instincts preening to hold onto him even more. “Osc,” Logan breathes out. “Wh-”

“You’re in heat,” Oscar says, eyes wide. He tries to move around Logan, to exit. “Look, I wanted to talk, but if you’re in heat-”

“Why are you surprised?” Logan says, trying not to roll his eyes. “I know you’ve been tracking my heats.”

“I-”

“Oscar,” Logan says, trying to sound firm even in his dazed phase.

Oscar sighs, looks around the room to avoid Logan’s eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Back in Prema, when we shared a room, remember?” Logan says. “I saw. You had a notes page, and on it were all these dates and you even had little comments on my symptoms and stuff.”

“You saw?” Oscar asks.

“Of course I saw,” Logan says. “We basically lived out of each other then, of course I saw it.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Oscar asks.

Logan winces when his brain registers another cramp, tries not to flinch at the sensation. “Look, it felt nice, like you were caring for me-”

“This is the second heat, isn’t it?” Oscar says. “You… you always had this irregular pattern, where you would have a heat, and then like, another one right after.”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Yeah, you-”

“Do you…” Oscar starts, as if just noticing the pain that Logan is in. “Do you need me to get Carlos?”

“No, it’s okay,” Logan says. “Carlos is, uhm, out with friend-”

Oscar scoffs. “What, can’t even prioritise you?”

“Osc-”

“What do you need?” Oscar asks, gentler, like Logan was the only thing worth being calm about. “Can I… can I help you?”

“Just hold me?” Logan asks, risky and hesitant. “Like we used to, when we were younger? You just hug me and I’ll feel better already, I promise.”

“Oh, okay,” Oscar says. He takes a step forward, awkwardly holding his arms out. “I don’t… we haven’t hugged in a while, Lo.”

The nickname strikes a chord in Logan’s chest, hits him hard as his heart pushes back out.

He steps forward into the gesture, wraps his arms around Oscar’s shoulders, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Like this, Osc,” Logan whispers.

“Hm,” Oscar says, just as soft, keeping his hands at Logan’s waist, placing his own chin on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you want to lay down?”

Logan shakes his head, hair getting into Oscar’s mouth. He laughs when Oscar pretends to gag, smiling as he presses his face against Oscar’s scent gland. “Your scent,” Logan says. “Is it eucalyptus?”

“You can smell it?” Oscar asks.

“The other day,” Logan says. “It smelled good.”

Oscar just tightens his grip around Logan, warm and close. Lures Logan into a sleep, pain healing from his bones, muscles loosening at the intimacy.

Oscar leaves without waking Logan up. It gives him a sense of deja vu, and Logan’s second wave hits, this time mind bundled with the smell of eucalyptus leaves and the ghost of Oscar’s touch.

(It seemed so easy to leave him.)

—

The following weekend has no race and Logan slouches on his couch, bored out of his mind, the television in front of him streaming a random British comedy rerun from at least two decades ago. He picks at the stray chips that fall from the journey between the packet and his mouth, cursing when one of the smaller pieces mashes into his sweater and warps into the wool.

Logan sighs, reluctantly gets up to get tissues to clean the mess, when a knock at his door makes him straighten up. It could be anyone, realistically; his neighbour, the landlord, perhaps just a random person who got the wrong address.

But there are two people in particular that Logan does not quite fancy seeing right now: Carlos and Oscar. And-

“Hey,” Logan breathes out.

Carlos waves at him, almost awkward; except his natural charisma seems to make the casualty seem like a total failure, charming and pleasing. “Hello, Logan,” Carlos greets him, smiling. “Come on.”

“For?” Logan asks.

“We are going out,” Carlos tells him. “I have not taken you out yet, so I decided that I should.”

“Aren’t you meant to be in Spain, right now?” Logan says. “Did you not-”

Carlos laughs, shaking his head. “I did say that, no?” he says. “Well, it was a surprise. Will you come now? There is a good restaurant I must take you to.”

“Here?” Logan asks. “Now?”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “Sí, we must leave now to make it on time.”

“You have a reservation-?”

Carlos sighs, just grabs Logan’s arm and pulls him, the latter landing against Carlos’ chest like an attempted embrace. Logan sputters, tries pushing himself off, when Carlos whispers, “Cariño.” It is the sweetest, quickest way to calm Logan down, adrenaline rushed into trying to maintain his sanity at the pet name; endearing, so wildly, making his chest constrict and his lungs feel empty. “Vamos, hm?”

“Okay,” Logan says, blur. “Let’s, uhm. Yeah, let’s go.”

—

The restaurant, as it turns out, is a proper private, romantic establishment tucked away in the corner of a refurbished apartment building, hidden like a pot of gold for only the rich. It is upper class in the way Logan can only dream of, makes him seep with a nervousness when Carlos casually takes them to a room and beckons glasses of wine.

“Carlos,” Logan says. “This is-”

“Enjoy yourself,” Carlos tells him. “It will be nice, no?”

The food is nice, although restrictive considering his diet, too many carbs around and too little protein. If Carlos notices how Logan takes a while to order his food or seems to count things under his breath when eating, he does not comment, instead smiles charmingly and offers Logan the option of dessert.

“I’m good, thanks,” Logan declines, trying to sound nice. He thinsk about the weight he might put on from the sugar or the diet he should be sticking to right now. “I mean, it’s good and all, but I’m just full.”

“Ay, you can never be full for dessert,” Carlos tells him. “Just a cake or something, no? Light and easy. Also good for the stomach.”

“... we can share?” Logan asks.

Carlos smiles, soft, as if Logan would break if he did anything else. “Of course.”

—

Carlos only takes Logan back to his apartment when the night around them is a dark, endless blanket, letting the stars trace imaginary lines and the moon gleam with a hallucinative smile.

“I hope you enjoyed today,” Carlos says, still holding Logan’s hand.

“Uh, I did, yeah,” Logan says. He smiles, tries to seem as grateful as he can. “Thanks a lot, Carlos. I really enjoyed it.”

At that, Carlos’ face beams. “Really?”

“Yes,” Logan tells him. “Loved it.”

“Oh, that is good,” Carlos says. “I, uhm, also wanted to give you-”

“What?” Logan says. “Carlos, you’ve already done enough, do-”

Carlos holds out a small, tiny box, laced with gold patterns around it. Logan recognises what is happening almost immediately, albeit reluctantly, trying to bathe in ignorance for a little bit longer.

“Logan,” Carlos whispers. “Please accept my gift?”

“Carlos,” Logan says. “You can’t be ser-”

“It is a courting gift,” Carlos says, like it is not already obvious enough. “It is a flower that smells like you, and with the scent of citrus. Please, will you accept my gift?”

“Carlos,” Logan says again, jaw tight. He sees the hope in Carlos’ eyes. “You know…”

“Oh,” Carlos says.

“You should know,” Logan tells him, trying to sound confident, avoiding Carlos’ eyes out of fear of the disappointment. “When we…”

“I know,” Carlos says. He puts the box away, and Logan mourns the sight, misses the feeling of Carlos’ hand warm against his; dropped in a hurry to hide away his failures. “I’m so sorry.”

“Carl-”

“I will see you at the race next week,” Carlos tells him, sounding so professional and distant. Faraway enough that he probably does not hear Logan call after him, walking away with a posture stiff and firm.

Logan thinks it could be raining, because if not, he had just cried again.

(Pathetic, sad, loser.)

—

Carlos knocks on Oscar’s door with all the anger he could possibly muster, leftover grief from Logan’s rejection and the boiling stance of discomfort from insecurity gathered in his strength. Oscar answers the door with a vague greeting, looking upwards to be met with the sight of Carlos.

“Sainz,” Oscar bites out. “What do you want?”

“You must confess to Logan,” Carlos tells him. “Offer to court him. Ask him out. You must-”

Oscar scoffs.

“I love Logan,” Carlos confesses. “I know you also love Logan. But what you must know is that you are the only one Logan would-”

“Logan loves you,” Oscar says. “Don’t play dumb with me. He wouldn’t talk to me about his heats or anything and then suddenly he tells me he’s got a heat partner. And-”

“When I was out with Lando, you went to his driver’s room,” Carlos says. “He was in his second heat, yes? The one you have been trying to track.”

“So?” Oscar says. “What, are you jealous? That he spent the first wave with me? That-”

“He did not let me help him for the rest of it,” Carlos says. “He was in pain, but he said that he did not want my help. He only let me near him long afterward.”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything,” Oscar says, small.

Carlos snarls at Oscar’s dismissal, shoving him square on the chest. It makes Oscar stumble backward, and Carlos shuts the door behind him, anger raw and voice loud. “You cannot be this fucking stupid!”

“Oh?” Oscar says. “And you can’t either!” He shoves back at Carlos, his back hitting the door hard.

“Oh, fuck off cabrón,” Carlos spits. He moves forward, trying to grapple at Oscar’s shoulders. “You-”

The momentum of their bodies makes them trip and fall, Oscar’s back being caught by Carlos’ hands and their bodies colliding against each other as they tumble to the ground. “F-”

Carlos does not know why he does it, but he pushes down and kisses Oscar hard on the mouth, teeth clashing. He pulls at Oscar’s jaw with one hand, cupping his cheek and fingers digging into his pulsepoint, Oscar recipirocating with a heavy hand on Carlos’ neck.

“Fuck,” Oscar breathes into his mouth, breath hot. “Carlos-”

Carlos buries his mouth in the crook of Oscar’s neck and bites, close enough to his scent gland that it sensitive, burning out with a strong, heavy dose of arousal. Oscar bucks his hips upward, crotch flush with Carlos’, hips aligned. “Oh,” Carlos groans. “Do you-”

“Fuck me,” Oscar says. “Please.”

“Merde,” Carlos lets out, grinding down. “Okay, sí, yes.”

—

Logan makes the decision to talk to Oscar a week after he rejects Carlos, body preening for comfort but his mind aching for a decent conversation. He knows that talking to Oscar would be awkward; it feels like aeons ago when they were friends again, best friends, soaked in each other’s misery and heavy with each other’s happiness. But it would be worth it in the end; to have a friend again.

He knocks on the door to Oscar’s apartment, fully expecting Oscar to answer him with a groggy, half-awake stare, but instead the door opens and Logan regrets everything.

“Cariño, you are-” Carlos cuts himself off, laughter fading, staring when he finally registers Logan’s presence. “You…”

“Carlos?” Logan says, trying to sound strong, forcing his voice not to crack. He retracts as much of his scent as he can, forcing himself to be as neutral as possible. Carlos was here, in Oscar’s apartment, calling Oscar cariño, domestic and happy, smiles after he had seemed so-

(The smell of Carlos’ scent and the tangy, rich trickle of Oscar’s combined together makes him want to puke, as much as it makes him want to run in and beg.)

“I wanted to talk to Oscar,” Logan tells him, swallowing hard. “Is he here?”

“Uh, yes, he is,” Carlos coughs. Then his face softens, and Logan feels himself choke up, instincts screaming at him to bare his neck and kneel down. “Logan,” Carlos breathes out. “I-”

“Logan?” Oscar calls out, just in view from the doorway, shirtless and trousers half-done up. Logan can see the marks scattered all over his body; chest bruised in a satisfying pattern and his neck in fresh, red paint that seeps a possessive anger through his lungs. “Are-”

Logan clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’ll leave now, sorry,” he says. He feels guilty and greedy, waltzing to Oscar because he had lost the comfort of Carlos. He feels sorry for interrupting them; the two of them so clearly comfortable in a way Logan has not been with either of them.

He turns around to walk away, Oscar calling after him.

(He swears he hears Carlos’ voice too, but the whole thing was just a nightmare anyway. Dreams fade over time, right?)

—

“Logan,” Carlos says, like a friend. Like he has always been Logan’s friend, casual and comfortable, tone warm and dry. He grabs Logan’s arm like a friend does, fingers on his elbow, thumb in his skin. Close enough that Logan can smell oranges; close enough that Logan can smell the tinge of eucalyptus still strung to his clothes. “I heard.”

“Heard what?” Logan says, trying to dismiss him. He manages to shake off Carlos’ grip, but Carlos still stays, staring at him. Logan laughs, tries to diffuse the tension, trying to make Carlos back away. “What?”

“I heard that you might not have a seat,” Carlos says, simply. His eyes waver, just slightly. “I wanted to… offer my support.”

Logan scoffs, feels shame heat his neck and guilt swirl his mind. “Support?”

“Support,” Carlos repeats. His face softens, and he looks away from Logan. “I know what it is like to be in that position. I want to help you.”

“Help me how?” Logan grits out through his teeth, like sand is sticking in his gums, pulling and pushing at his tongue. “What could you possibly do? I don’t deserve it anyway, buddy, as much as I’d want it, so. Thanks.”

“You have been put into a Williams for your first season,” Carlos tells him. “Even George could not score points.”

“It’s a shitbox, yeah,” Logan says, and Carlos almost flinches, like he expected Logan to not swear; to still be calm, reserved, timid, just like he always seems to be. “Look. No matter how much I want to, I can’t keep blaming the car. So. Thanks. But I’ll pass.”

Then, when Logan turns around to leave, already feeling his chest grow in weight and lungs shrink in size, Carlos blurts out, “One year!”

It stops Logan in his tracks, forces him to take a deep, shallow breath. He turns around to face Carlos again. “One year?” he asks, voice weak.

“One year,” Carlos says. “I can try and get you at least that. Please, cariño.”

“Don’t call me that,” Logan bites out. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I- sorry,” Carlos says. “But I. One year, yes? I can get you one year.”

“Why though?” Logan asks him. “Why me? Why this?”

Carlos hesitates, jaw slacked and fingers trembling. “Porque te amo,” he whispers, faint and vulnerable. Logan sees the white of Carlos’ knuckles, feels the red of his own blush.

“What?” Logan asks, because he recognises two words from what Carlos said; two words which surely were wrong.

“Because I love you,” Carlos repeats. “I love you very much, Logan.”

“Shut up,” Logan says. “We. It was a mistake, okay? To spend my heat with you. All of the- all of them. I didn’t mean to, so you can- you don’t have to pretend, I’m not in heat anymore, I don’t. Don’t need you anymore, so you don’t have to pretend.”

“Oh,” Carlos says. He swallows, hard. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Logan says. “Right.”

He turns around to leave, and this time Carlos does not stop him.

—

The thing is, no matter how much Logan loves his life before Carlos and Oscar, it makes it so clear how hard it is to love it after. It was easy to love when he did not have them; did not know of it with them. But after adding them to it, after removing them from it, it is much different. Harder, emptier, colder.

Logan thinks about what Fernando said about life; it must always come first.

It stops Logan from jumping.

—

(At the end of the year, Williams offers him a one-year contract, just like Carlos said would happen. It comes like a neat, early Christmas present – an early birthday present – and Logan feels even smaller when he signs it, feeling regretful of how he got it.

Oscar messages him a congrats, and even with the bundle of emojis decorating the word, Logan reads it as calculated and cold; distant and a snarl. When the message comes through, Logan pukes, vomit spilling all over his room floor and his heart thudding to the pace of a race car; fast, loud, red.

He falls asleep in his bathroom that night, bathtub soaked in blankets.)

—

At the end of the season, Logan hears the doorbell ring. He groans, tosses on scent neutralisers just enough to keep the smell of his pre-heat at bay, the need for comfort and the pain in his body growing each second.

The person rings the doorbell again, at the time it takes Logan to pry himself off the couch and to wear a hoodie decent enough to greet a total stranger. Or in this case, the person he thought was his soulmate; romantic, platonic, close-

“Oscar,” Logan says, trying to sound stern. His heartbroken feelings resurface almost immediately, trying to force him to expose himself to Oscar, careless and flat. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, determined. He pushes past Logan and into his flat, calm and commanding, and the voice of his pre-heat instincts makes Logan want to follow without question; let Oscar take control of him, make him do anything.

As Logan shuts the door to catch Oscar, Carlos slips through, purposely not looking at Logan at all. Logan can only just stare; Carlos had the walk of a person familiar with this place, and yet his presence itself was strangely cold and alarming.

“Logan,” Oscar says, drawing him back.

There is an urge to pur at the tone of Oscar’s voice, soothing and encapturing of Logan’s attention. He fights the instinct to preen, carefully considering the situation, and meets them at his living room, standing tall and obvious.

“So, what do you guys want?” Logan asks, snappy. “You come in and just, what, say you want to talk to me-”

“You are having your heat soon,” Carlos whispers, voice shaky, “and I had just wanted to check that you are okay. You had blocked me, so I assumed you would not… but I had to check.”

“Amd Oscar?” Logan says, as dissmissively as possible, trying not to show how Carlos’ care makes him feel all so warm. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to make sure Carlos told you,” Oscar answers. “You love him, don’t you? I just want to make sure you don’t fall out over this misunderstan-”

“You mean the fact that you slept with each other?” Logan asks. He sees the obvious way Carlos’ flinches, and Oscar chews at his bottom lip at the accusation. “That you… move on like that?”

“Move on?” Oscar says, borderline angry. “Logan, I love you. I will always love you, and I will always want you, but before I was even a choice you chose Carlos!”

“I didn’t know I had a-”

“And Carlos loves you, Logan,” Oscar says. “He is here. He wants to court you. Wants to make sure you are safe, he’s always checking up on you, heck what happened then-”

“What happened, then?” Logan says, firm. He feels dizzy from his heat, trying to fight the layer of scent blockers coating his skin, sweat sticking to his clothes. “What happened between you and Carlos, when I… after?”

“It was my fault,” Carlos says. It is the first time Logan can see his face, see his eyes; red-rimmed, skin pale, lips chapped. “I did… I did not take your rejection lightly, when you refused my courting gift. So I had gone to talk to Oscar, because I know he is your best friend, and because I know…”

“You know,” Logan says.

“And we had fought,” Carlos tells him. “Like alphas do. And we had…”

“We slept together because it was the only way we stopped fighting,” Oscar explains. The wording makes Logan’s heart pang; fighting, of what? Sleeping together, when he was left out, trying to reason to himself why he would let them go.

“Oh,” Logan breathes out. “Okay.”

“But Carlos loves y-”

“Oscar loves you as well, Logan,” Carlos says, eyes catching his gaze. “You can do it too.”

“Carlos,” Oscar hisses, like a scolding. “What are you-”

“He’s saying I love you,” Logan confesses. Oscar freezes, looks at him so intensely it almost hurts. “He’s saying that… that I love you.”

“What,” Oscar says, “the fuck.”

“Osc-”

“No, shut up Carlos!” Oscar says. “What the- you can’t be fucking-”

“Logan,” Carlos says softly, catching back Oscar’s attention, a shout formed at the cliff of his mouth. “Should we leave?”

Logan whimpers, scent stilling in the air as a warm, overflowing spillover of his heat begins to flow. It stings, makes his body feel empty and his heart swell. He tries to keep his reserve, purring trapped in his chest, yearning soaking his lungs. Carlos, so close and yet so far; his first heat without him, if he knew how to stay away.

“I don’t want you to,” Logan whispers, voice breaking. He sees Oscar’s eyes widen in realisation, his scent most likely gaining enough momentum that Oscar could smell it too. “I want the both of you to stay.”

“Logan,” Oscar breathes out. “What do you need?”

“Stay,” Logan tells him. “Please just stay.”

—

“Carlos?” Oscar calls out, seeing Carlos’ figure in the dark. Instead of answering, Carlos continues to put on his clothes, tugging his shirt over his head and appearing to scour the floor for the rest of his things. He looks anxious, tired, his movements quiet and limited. Oscar sits up, careful not to wake Logan from beside him, shifting his weight as carefully as possible. “Carlos,” he says again.

The tone of his voice must change because Carlos stops, hesitating ever so slightly, a movement so minuscule but encouraging for Oscar to move again. He slides off the bed, careful not to make too much noise.

“Oscar,” Carlos whispers, like a plea. “Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?” Oscar asks, ignoring Carlos. Carlos, whose shoulders seem to shake as he breathes out, head turned so that Oscar can just see the outline of his nose and jaw, see the tremble of his body and the slightest fear in his posture. “Are you… leaving?”

“Sí,” Carlos replies, too fast to be the whole truth. “I am leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Oscar asks. “Will you… will you come back?”

Carlos sighs, turning away fully, focusing back on picking up his clothes. It frustrates Oscar more than he would like to admit, the ignorance, the insecurity, the fear that Carlos will never come back. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos-

“Why?” Oscar lets out, voice breaking. It seems to snap at Carlos like a whip, his body flinching like drenched in ice. “Stay. Please.”

“You do not want me,” Carlos breathes out, voice shaky. “When I leave, you will be happy, yes? With Logan. You and Logan do not need me-”

“You don’t get to decide that, Carlos,” Oscar says. He takes a deep breath, trying to hide the anger brewing in his lungs, frustration that feels so raw it makes his skin burn. He takes a step forward, toward Carlos, close enough that he could probably reach out to touch him. “Let’s go back to bed, hm? We can. We can talk about it later, right?”

Carlos shakes his head, but his body turns around to face Oscar, cheeks stained with tears and his eyes gloomy with red. “I am so sorry,” he says, like he had done something wrong.

“Oh baby,” Oscar whispers, cupping Carlos’ jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek, “it’s okay.”

—

When Carlos wakes up, sandwiched between Oscar and Logan, he keeps his eyes shut closed, tries to avoid moving in fear that he would wake them up.

“You tried to leave,” Logan mumbles next to Carlos’ ear. “Why?”

“You do not need me,” Carlos whispers, unsure if it was the right thing to say. “It will always be you and Oscar, no? From the start and now…”

“I need you,” Logan says. It makes Carlos open his eyes, forcing him to stare at Logan unblinkingly; scared. “And I think Oscar needs you too.”

“I do,” Oscar says. His voice startles Carlos, makes him tense under the weight of his words. “Carlos, we need you.”

“I love the both of you,” Logan confesses, small. He shuffles away from them as it to build protection; safety in the distance. “I’m sorry I treated you both like shit. I rejected Carlos’ courting and Oscar, I didn’t even… I didn’t try with you. But-”

“I love you too,” Oscar whispers. Logan’s head snaps up to stare at him, unblinking. “I love you so fucking much. And I’m sorry about that as well, yeah? I didn’t… I could’ve confessed too.”

“When,” Carlos says. He swallows. “When you two mate. It will be wi-”

“Three of us?” Logan says, voice cracking. “I want it to be the three of us. Together.”

“When we mate,” Oscar says, hooking his finger with Carlos’, “it will be the three of us. No compromise.”

“Compromise?” Carlos says, like it is a tough word he does not understand. “No…”

“Promise,” Oscar tells him, tightening his finger. “Like this.”

“And we can get married?” Logan asks. Even though he tries to hide it in his tone, his scent blockers are worn out enough that Carlos can smell the excitement, sweet and anticipating. “Bond. Have…”

“Pups,” Carlos blurts out. “You would want?”

“Oh wait, that’s,” Oscar starts. “We can have pups, yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan breathes out. “Pups. One big pack. Three of us?”

“Okay,” Carlos says, and Logan kisses him, hard on the mouth. It makes Carlos pull his hand away from Oscar to cup at Logan’s nape, fingers threading the tail of his hair. “Hm.”

“Me too,” Oscar says, hands on Carlos’ cheeks to pull him into a kiss, gentle and careful. “One day. I’ll let you bite me, too. Fuck me again if you want.”

“Mierda,” Carlos spits, pushing into Oscar’s mouth. “Same, same.”

It is hard to kiss after that, the three of them smiling too hard.

—

“Sometimes,” Carlos admits, “I am still scared.”

Oscar looks at him. “Scared?”

“That you will leave,” Carlos says. “That Logan will leave. That you will take…”

“Car, is that you or your instincts?” Oscar asks softly. He runs a hand through Carlos’ hair, careful. “Is it because we’re both alphas? That Logan and I have known each other longer?”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, cariño,” Carlos says. “Yes sometimes. When we have ruts. Or Logan is in heat. But. I am just scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Oscar says. “I don’t want you to feel scared.”

Carlos hums, leaning into Oscar’s touch. “It is not your fault.”

Oscar chuckles humorously. “It kinda is.”

“I love you,” Carlos confesses. Oscar’s hand stops in Carlos’ hair, fingers trapped in a knot. “I know it is early. That we are still… still new to each other. But I love you. I love Logan. I only want…”

“I love you too,” Oscar says. He leans forward, drops his hand to cup at Carlos’ jaw. “I love you.” He surges forward, kissing Carlos on the mouth, soft and sweet. “I love you very much.”

Carlos smiles, teeth cutting into Oscar’s lips. “Te amo.”

“Te amo,” Oscar tries, butchered by his accent, half-swallowed by Carlos. “Te amo.”

—

“It was not fair of me to reject your courting gift,” Logan admits. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay now, cariño,” Carlos reassures him. “I think I understand.”

“I was scared,” Logan says. “And I thought I didn’t deserve you. Or Oscar. And if you left me… I’d still be okay, you know?”

“You are very worth it,” Carlos says. “I will die a hundred times if it means you get to live once.”

“Please don’t,” Logan winces. “But I’d do that too, Los. I’d do it a million times.”

“I love you,” Carlos says. Logan flushes at the confession, cheeks reddening.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yes,” Carlos says. “Te amo, my Logie bear.”

Logan laughs into Carlos’ skin, holding him tight. “Can I accept your gift, now?”

“Hm?” Carlos says. “You really… you really want it?”

“I do,” Logan says. “Please?”

“I will get it for you from my apartment,” Carlos tells him. “Should I… do you think Oscar would like one, too?”

“He would,” Logan tells him. “You, courting the both of us. Hm? Spoiling your… boyfriends?”

“My mates,” Carlos says determinedly. “I will make the both of you my mates.”

—

“I want to mate,” Logan confesses. It catches Carlos’ attention and makes Oscar look up from his phone. “I know… I know we’ve only been together properly for a month, heck it’s really new, and we still have got a lot of shit to sort out but I just… wanted to let you both know. That I’m ready. And I’ll wait, or whatever.”

“Oh, cariño,” Carlos says, reaching a hand out to graze Logan’s cheek. “I want to mate, too.”

“Same,” Oscar adds, unromantically. “I don’t care that it’s only been a few weeks, or whatever. I know we should probably be more rational but I just. I need it, you know?”

“Mate,” Logan says. “We can mate?”

“Carlos?” Oscar asks. “You good with it?”

“Sí, I am very good with it,” Carlos says.

“How, how do we do this?” Logan asks, nervous. “Do we just…?”

“I believe it starts with biting?” Oscar says. “Like-”

“Like this,” Carlos says, leaning forward to nip at Oscar’s throat. “Except harder. And on the gland.”

“Wow aren’t you an expert,” Logan teases.

“I have nearly mated before,” Carlos states factually.

“You… what?” Oscar says.

“I- oh,” Carlos says.

“Carlos,” Logan says firmly, inner omega preening with sadness. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Carlos says, “that in my family, we have, ah, arranged meetings with other people. When we present, we are given a selection of potential mates and we court them and… mate with them.”

“But you…” Oscar says. He swallows. “You’re not mated, right?”

“Of course not!” Carlos says. “No, I did not mate, but I was to the stage where they taught me how to. And then I was in Formula 1, and I said no.”

“Oh,” Logan says, coming out like a whine. “But-”

“You are my omega, Logan,” Carlos tells him. “I will have no other omega. It is you. Only you.”

“Yeah?” Logan says.

“I will only want to love you, mate you, have pups with you, cariño,” Carlos tells him. “Only omega.”

“I’m your only alpha too, right?” Oscar teases.

Carlos grins. “Yes, yes you are,” he says. “No other alpha.”

“Good,” Oscar says. He intertwinces his fingers with Carlos’, rests their hands on Logan’s. “Let’s take this to bed?”

—

Carlos slides a few fingers in, pushing him open.

“Please, Carlos,” Logan whimpers, pressing back onto him. “Need you.”

“Sh baby,” Oscar says, kissing him softly on the shoulder. His hand on Logan’s inner thigh slides up, pressing down firmly, and Logan hisses in response. “That better?”

Logan groans, pushing up into Oscar’s hand, when Carlos stretches his fingers, pulling them back out. “Doing so well, amor,” he praises, Logan moaning at the movement. “Doing so well.”

“Oh,” Logan groans, hissing when Carlos pushes in again, knuckles deep. He presses his fingers tighter into the skin of Carlos’ back. “This is…”

“Is this your first time with Oscar?” Carlos asks, gently. He twists his fingers just as Logan is about to answer, nonsensical words spilling out instead.

“It isn’t,” Oscar whispers lowly, disguised in a kiss to Logan’s hair. Logan shudders, wiggles so that he can see Oscar’s face clearly.

“You remember?” Logan asks, and Carlos heeds his movements. “You…”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Oscar says. “I’d been wanting to have you for a long time, Lo. And the fact that I was drunk probably didn’t help but… I remember. And I liked it.”

“And you want more, sí?” Carlos adds, slowly moving his fingers again.

“Yes,” Oscar confesses, tugging at Logan. It makes Logan melt further against Oscar’s body, Carlos taking advantage of the relaxed state to line his hips up and push.

“Fuck,” Logan hisses.

Carlos kisses Logan softly on his forehead, pushing away at the strands of hair stuck by sweat. “Are you okay, mi rey?”

“Move,” Logan demands, and Carlos laughs.

“Do you want Oscar now too, or me first?”

“Both, please,” Logan begs. He whines when Oscar begins to move, hissing when he feels Oscar’s fingers. “Please, hurry, need-”

“Gonna mate you so well,” Oscar promises. “Gonna make you even prettier. Glow. Gonna feel us all the time, hm, baby?”

“Yes,” Logan breathes out. “Please.”

The moment Oscar settles in next to Carlos, self-control is lost and the gentlemanly act is over.

This time, Carlos bites. Teeth piercing Logan’s skin and scarring at his neck, blossoming as he feels Carlos’ thoughts enter his mind and the emotions of love, guilt, remorse, and care sting through his bones. Oscar bites right after, laid neatly next to Carlos’ mark and it washes over Logan with a cold, cold drench of warmth.

Carlos whimpers, and Oscar purrs – a sound that is so hauntingly beautiful, a painful act for an alpha but so truthful in his devotion – and Logan reaches up to pull them down, nips at their skin so lightly his marks on them look like fluttered bruises but it works; he feels the overflow of his thoughts to them and he sends love through their bond, strong and countless.

Oscar and Carlos bite each other right after, colliding with all teeth and the naturally competitive, alpha-spirit as they fight to bite first.

Logan has never felt so full. He has never felt so happy. He has never felt so worth it, than before.

(He is glad he did not jump.)