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It started innocently enough over beers and a lazy Monaco sunset.
Carlos tossed a peanut at Charles’s face and said, “You need to get laid.”
Charles choked on his drink, spluttering as the peanut bounced off his cheek. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious,” Carlos said, grinning. “You’ve been mopey, grumpy, and you keep saying no to nights out. You need… a distraction. A good one. And I, your best friend and favorite teammate ever, will help.”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t because I beat you in quali, is it?”
Carlos rolled his eyes. “You wish. No, it’s because I care about your well-being. And your dry spell is concerning.”
Charles laughed, flushing a little. “Fine. But if you’re playing matchmaker, you better not screw it up.”
Carlos gave him a wink. “Operation: Get Charles Laid begins now.”
.....
The first setup was a Ferrari mechanic named Luca. Tall, broad-shouldered, flirted like he was born doing it. Too much cologne, but Charles seemed amused.
Until Carlos inserted himself halfway through the conversation.
“He has a girlfriend,” he lied casually, sipping his drink. “Pretty sure I saw them together last week.”
Luca blinked. “I’m single.”
Carlos shrugged. “Huh. Must’ve been someone else.”
Charles pulled him aside, frowning. “What was that?”
Carlos smiled innocently. “Just looking out for you, mate.”
The next one was worse. A bartender named Matteo with a charming smile and arms covered in tattoos. Carlos sat two stools down the whole time, arms crossed, glaring like Matteo had insulted his mother.
By the fourth attempt, an actual sweet, funny engineer from McLaren....Lando caught on.
He cornered Carlos after dinner, arms folded, eyebrows raised.
“You’re sabotaging your own operation.”
Carlos scoffed. “I’m just being careful. Some of those guys were sketchy.”
Lando leaned in, voice low. “Or maybe you don’t want him to find someone. Maybe you want him to find you.”
Carlos froze.
Lando didn’t push. He just patted his shoulder. “Think about it, carlos.”
.....
Carlos did think about it. Every night. Every time Charles smiled at someone else. Every time his laugh lit up a room. Every time Carlos realized he was watching Charles instead of whoever he was supposed to be flirting with.
He told himself it was just protectiveness. Friendship. Nothing more.
Until Charles met someone, an Italian doctor named Luca (yes, another one).
They hit it off. Went out for coffee. Smiled at each other in ways that made Carlos’s chest ache.
So when Charles showed up to dinner in a button-down and a nervous smile, Carlos lost it.
“You’re going out with him again?” he asked, voice too sharp.
Charles blinked. “Yeah. He’s nice.”
“He’s boring.”
Charles’s expression dropped. “What’s your problem?”
Carlos stood, agitated. “You can do better.”
Charles’s voice was low, hurt. “Why do you even care? You don’t want me to be happy unless it’s on your terms?”
“Because I know what you deserve!” Carlos snapped.
Charles stared at him, eyes wide.
Then he said it.
Softly. Carefully.
“You’re the only one I wanted to kiss anyway.”
And then he left.
......
Carlos didn’t sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, Lando’s words ringing in his ears. You want him to find you.
He’d ruined it. Everything. The friendship. The setup. The unspoken thing between them.
But maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late.
So he made a plan. One last setup.
He texted Charles: One last match. I swear this one’s perfect.
Charles hesitated, but he came. He always did.
The rooftop was quiet, lit with warm fairy lights and candles. Two drinks sat on a small table. The breeze was soft. Monaco glittered below.
Carlos stood there, hands in his pockets, heart pounding.
Charles stepped onto the rooftop, visibly confused. “Where’s the guy?”
Carlos turned. Met his eyes.
“Right here.”
Charles didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Carlos swallowed. “I was wrong. About all of them. Because none of them were me.”
Charles stared at him.
Carlos stepped forward, voice shaking. “I was jealous. And stupid. And maybe I screwed everything up. But if there’s any chance you still want to kiss me....”
Charles surged forward and kissed him.
Slow. Certain.
Soft fireworks went off somewhere down the coastline. Carlos didn’t care. He only felt Charles’s hands in his hair, Charles’s breath against his skin, Charles whispering:
“Took you long enough.”
.....
Later, curled up on Carlos’s couch, Charles rested his head on Carlos’s shoulder, content and warm.
“So,” Charles murmured, “was the operation a success?”
Carlos laughed, kissing his temple. “Eventually.”
“Hmm,” Charles said. “Next time you want to date me, maybe just ask.”
Carlos smiled. “Where’s the fun in that?”
......
When Charles and Carlos finally go public, holding hands at a sponsor event like it’s no big deal...Lando almost dislocates his jaw with how wide his grin is.
He marches straight up to them with one eyebrow raised.
“Took you two idiots long enough.”
Carlos groans. “Please, don’t.”
“Oh no. You don’t get to shut me up now.” Lando pokes Carlos in the chest. “I named the operation. I watched you sabotage your own setups. Do you know how painful it was to witness? I was this close to shoving you two in a closet like some shitty high school rom-com.”
Charles laughs, unbothered. “Should’ve done it. Would’ve saved us weeks.”
Carlos hides his face in his hands. He will never hear the end of this.
“I expect godfather rights,” Lando adds, “for the future baby Ferraris you two will inevitably produce.”
Carlos makes a strangled sound. Charles just winks. “We’ll consider it.”
.....
Monza, podium celebrations. Charles finishes P2, Carlos P3. The crowd is screaming, tifosi everywhere.
Carlos turns to hand Charles a bottle of champagne. But Charles grabs him by the collar instead, leans in, and kisses him on live TV....just a brush of lips, but it’s enough to send the crowd into hysterics.
Carlos stands there dumbfounded, lips tingling, face split in a grin he couldn’t wipe off if he tried.
Later, in the cool-down room, Max just sips his water and says, “Cute.”
Charles smirks. “Jealous?”
“Of Carlos?” Max snorts. “Never.”
.....
Dinner in Monaco, whole grid present. Halfway through the evening, Lewis raises a glass.
“Let’s toast,” he says, “to the worst-kept secret in Formula One finally being confirmed.”
Everyone laughs, clinking glasses.
Daniel Ricciardo leans over and whispers loudly, “Honestly, we had bets going.”
“Oscar won,” Lando adds, sulking.
Oscar shrugs. “I just had faith in true love.”
Carlos groans. Charles kisses his cheek in front of everyone, shameless.
“Never living this down, am I?” Carlos mutters.
“Nope,” Charles says cheerfully.
And honestly? Carlos wouldn’t have it any other way.
....
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