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Chapter Text

Part 1 :

Silverstone, After the Race

Silverstone was still glowing with post-race euphoria. Lando had won. At McLaren, excitement was high, but beyond the garages, the party had shifted to a spacious hotel room they’d booked last minute to celebrate with friends. No press officers. No cameras. Just them.

Charles, Carlos, Lando, Oscar, Pierre, and Max — all sprawled between the bed, the floor, and a few armchairs around the room. Champagne bottles were scattered everywhere, and the glasses were constantly being filled and emptied.

— “It’s like Lando just won a championship,” Pierre joked, laughing.

— “You’re only saying that because you didn’t win it,” Lando shot back, laughing, clutching a pillow to his chest.

— “He’s acting like Lewis after a pole,” added Oscar, eyes gleaming.

— “I am Lewis now. Minus the dogs, but with the style,” Lando replied, striking a ridiculous pose.

Laughter erupted again, sparking another round of jokes between tired, tipsy friends. And as often happens in these suspended moments when nothing feels serious anymore, the game began — almost naturally.

— “Alright guys,” Max said, straightening up a bit, “let’s play Never Have I Ever.”

— “Oh no,” grimaced Charles. “That game always ends weirdly.”

— “Exactly,” Carlos said with an enigmatic smile. “We need a little weird.”

They settled in, closer together. The game started off light.

— “Never have I ever crashed a car on a race weekend.”

— “Easy,” Oscar grinned, raising his glass.

— “Never have I ever lied to an engineer about my tyres.”

— “You really went there,” Charles chuckled, taking a drink too.

— “Never have I ever fantasized about another driver,” Pierre threw out, a little bolder now, eyebrows raised.

A short silence.

Oscar and Lando drank again. So did Carlos. Charles stared at his glass.

— “Damn, you guys didn’t even hesitate,” he whistled, mock-shocked.

— “The real question is: why didn’t you drink?” Carlos teased.

— “I’m just careful. Apparently, I’m very straight.”

— “Very?” Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a job.”

— “I’m just not... into guys. It’s not my thing.”

Carlos went quiet for a moment. Then, with that breezy tone that hid nothing, he said:

— “No kidding. You’ve seriously never kissed a guy?”

— “No.”

And then Pierre chimed in, smirking:

— “Never have I ever kissed a boy.”

Oscar raised his glass.
Lando did too.
So did Carlos.
Charles didn’t move.

— “Seriously, Charles?” Carlos said, surprised. “Not even for fun? At a party in Monaco? On a dare? Nothing?”

Charles shook his head, a sheepish smile on his face.

— “Nope. Never. I know, I’m super boring.”

— “It’s not boring,” Carlos replied, scooting a bit closer, eyes locking with his. “It’s just... a shame.”

— “Why a shame?” Charles asked, tone a bit sharper, a little too defensive.

Carlos held his gaze. He was still smiling, but something in his eyes had shifted.

— “Because some things are worth experiencing at least once. Even just to understand.”

— “What is this, a TED talk or—”

Carlos leaned in. A simple, fluid motion. And before Charles could react, he kissed him. A light touch. Just a quick peck, almost innocent. But too precise to be accidental. Too real to be a joke.

Charles barely pulled back, his face flushed.

— “You’re insane… That was ridiculous.”

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. Everyone burst out laughing. The awkwardness drowned in banter and teasing.
Except Charles wasn’t laughing anymore.
He wasn’t listening either.

He was thinking about one thing only.

Carlos’s lips.

That brief moment when something in his chest completely shifted.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t recognize himself.

The next Grand Prix was in Austria — barely a week after Silverstone.

Charles had arrived earlier than usual. He wanted to isolate himself, focus, forget. But more than anything: avoid Carlos.
It was ridiculous, of course. They shared the same team. The same meetings. The same hospitality area. And yet, Charles was doing everything to maintain an invisible but constant distance.

Carlos, on his end, didn’t push. He hadn’t even brought up the kiss again. As if it hadn’t meant anything. As if nothing had happened.

And yet, every time their eyes met, Charles felt his heartbeat stutter… then speed up, violently.

They sat side by side during the technical briefing. Talked strategy, tyres, weather. As if everything was normal.

But nothing was.

That evening at the hotel, Charles locked himself in his room.
He had faked a headache to skip dinner with the team.
It wasn’t true.
What hurt was his chest.
Not physically. More like a pull.
A question he couldn’t find the words for.

He had never seriously considered… this.

He had dated girls. Real relationships. He liked women. He knew that.

But Carlos…

Carlos was something else. A crack in the surface. A mystery.

Someone knocked gently at his door.

— “Charles?”

It was Pierre.

— “You asleep?”

Charles hesitated, then opened the door.

— “I figured something was off since Silverstone,” Pierre said as he stepped in without asking.

— “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

— “Dude… we’ve known each other for what, ten years? This isn’t just tired. You’re doing everything to avoid Carlos. And you stare off every time someone says his name.”

Charles sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

— “It’s stupid. It was nothing. A dumb party thing. He kissed me and… I don’t know why it’s messing with my head so much.”

Pierre frowned slightly, then sat down too.

— “He kissed you? So? Did it gross you out?”

— “No.” Charles lowered his eyes. “That’s the problem.”

Silence. Then Pierre exhaled:

— “You like him.”

— “That’s not it.” He rubbed his face. “I’m confused. I don’t know what I feel. He’s my teammate. And… he’s a guy.”

— “You know, you don’t have to label it. You’re allowed to be confused. To want to figure things out. And more than anything, you’re allowed to feel something for someone — even if it’s not what you imagined.”

Charles slowly nodded. Pierre’s words were simple, but true. And they helped.

— “You think he’s waiting for me to say something?”

— “I think he’s waiting for you to look at him like you used to. Because ever since that kiss… you’ve been running. And he feels it.”

Charles let out a long breath.

— “I’m scared it’ll just make everything even weirder.”

— “And what if it makes things clearer instead?”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Pierre stood up.

— “Get some sleep. And stop fighting yourself. You don’t have anything to prove, man.”

When the door closed behind him, Charles felt a different kind of pressure in his chest.

Not lighter.
But clearer.

Chapter Text

Part 3– Just the Two of Them

The next Grand Prix, in Hungary, was supposed to be just another stop on the calendar.
But for Charles, everything felt different.
He had decided to stop running. He didn’t quite know what he was going to say, didn’t fully understand what he was feeling. But he knew one thing: he wanted to see Carlos again, talk to him, understand what that strange feeling in his stomach meant.

On Saturday evening, after qualifying, Lando suggested hanging out in his room with some snacks and a console.
Carlos and Charles agreed. Oscar, tired, declined.

The three of them settled in the spacious suite, Lando on the couch, game controller in hand, focused on a racing game.

The lighting was soft. The mood light. Lando was commentating his own driving, laughing.

— "Did you see that? I own turn 5."

— "You almost ended up in the wall," Carlos said mockingly.

— "That’s called aggressive and desperate driving. Verstappen school," Charles teased.

Lando laughed, but the mood subtly shifted, the tension quietly building. He could feel something passing between the two Ferrari teammates. Glances. Pauses. A strange tension—not unpleasant, but electric.

After an hour, he stood up with a mischievous smile.

— "Alright boys, I’m gonna leave you. I need sleep… alone. Goodnight."

He left without pushing it.

And silence settled in.

Charles remained seated on the bed, legs crossed. Carlos, leaning against the wall, watched him.

— "Lando’s not dumb," he murmured.

— "No. He sees everything," Charles replied.

Another silence. Heavier. Denser.

Carlos finally moved, slowly approaching and sitting next to Charles—without touching him.

— "You’ve been avoiding me all week."

— "I know."

— "And now you're here. You want to talk?"

Charles took a soft breath.

— "I don’t understand why that kiss shook me so much. It was nothing, right? A joke. A dare."

— "Not for me."

Charles turned his head toward him.

— "Oh."

— "And for you?" Carlos asked gently. "What was it?"

Charles took a moment to answer.

— "Too short for me to be sure. But enough to haunt me."

Carlos gave a soft, tender smile.

— "Do you want to do it again?"

Charles stared at him, surprised. He didn’t reply. But he didn’t back away either when Carlos leaned in a little more.

— "I don’t want you to do it just to 'try' or out of curiosity," he whispered. "I don’t want to be a test. I want you to kiss me only if you want to."

— "And if I’m scared?"

— "Then I’ll wait."

In the quiet, in that softly lit room, Charles reached out. He placed his fingers gently against Carlos’s cheek.

— "I do want to. Even if I don’t understand everything."

And he leaned in.

The kiss was slow. Different. Deep.
Not a jolt, not fireworks. A shiver. A soft certainty.

Carlos responded with startling gentleness, his fingers slipping behind Charles’s neck, his lips brushing his as if it were sacred.

When they pulled apart, Charles kept his eyes closed.

— "Why did it take me so long to understand..." he whispered.

Carlos smiled, resting his forehead against his.

— "Because your heart is careful. But now, it’s speaking."

They stayed like that for a long time. Looking. Breathing the same air.
And that night, nothing more happened. Not yet.
Just a kiss. And the certainty that neither of them wanted to run anymore.

The next Grand Prix was in Spa.
It rained often. A fine, constant drizzle.
The days were long and cool, and the evenings even quieter than usual.

Carlos and Charles had seen each other again since that night.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss.
But everything had changed. The glances lingered. The movements slowed. The air between them felt charged.

And then one evening, after a late meeting, Carlos approached Charles in the hotel hallway.

— "Wanna come up? I’ve got a room with a balcony. We could have a drink."

Charles didn’t hesitate. He nodded softly. And they went up, without another word.

The room was quiet, cozy. The lighting dim. Carlos poured two glasses of whisky—one for Charles, one for himself. Then he sat down on the couch.

Charles stood a few seconds, watching him. Carlos looked calm. But his fingers gave away a hint of nervousness.

Eventually, Charles joined him. Slowly.

— "I can’t stop thinking about it," Charles said, barely above a whisper.

— "Me neither."

Silence settled again. But this time, Charles leaned in first. He placed his glass on the coffee table. Then his hand on Carlos’s thigh.

And their lips met again.

This time, it wasn’t a test. Not doubt.
It was a need.

Carlos kissed him back with equal hunger. The kiss deepened. Charles leaned into him, his chest pressed to Carlos’s. Carlos wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

Their tongues found each other. Charles gasped softly when Carlos’s fingers slipped under his shirt.

— "Carlos…"

— "Tell me to stop if you want me to."

— "I don’t want you to stop."

Clothes fell, slowly. They took their time, discovering each other with a reverence that felt sacred.
Carlos touched Charles’s skin like he’d been waiting a lifetime. Charles shivered under each movement, each warm breath on his neck.

When Carlos laid him down on the bed, Charles pulled him close, their legs tangled, their breaths mingled with soft moans.

— "It’s strange…" Charles whispered. "I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be."

Carlos smiled against his skin.

— "Me too."

They explored each other gently. No rush. No urgency. Just a desire to be close, to feel, to stop thinking.

Their bodies moved together with a fluidity that surprised them both.
They listened. Guided each other. Searched for each other’s gaze between every movement.

Charles, eyes half-closed, traced Carlos’s back with his fingertips, his hips moving with him in slow rhythm.

They made love the way people reveal themselves—shy, burning, as if they were balancing between confusion and clarity.

And when it was over, when their breaths slowly calmed in the warmth of the room, Carlos kissed Charles’s temple.

— "I think I love you," he whispered.

Charles turned to him, eyes intense, heart full.

— "I think I love you too."

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, naked in tangled sheets, the world outside meaningless.

No one would ever know.

They had nothing to prove.
Nothing to hide.
And yet, everything to keep—just for themselves.