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When Carlos finally pulled back, he couldn’t help but marvel at a job well done. A thin string of saliva trailed between their lips, Charles’s hair mussed against the pillow and sticking up every which way, his cheeks flushed and red. And next to him, Lando, much the same, curls sticking to his forehead from both the shower and the sheen of desperate sweat over his tanned skin, eyes hooded as he stared up at Carlos, lips parted in a silent moan as the fingers move tortuously slowly inside him.
Smug. That was the only word Carlos could think of to express how he felt. Fucking smug.
Well, not the only word. There were a million words tumbling through his head as he stared down at his two boyfriends. Lucky, honoured, grateful, just so fucking shocked he got to have this. He wasn’t sure he could think of anything better in that moment – a podium that meant the world and his two lovers splayed out on the mattress below him.
Carlos, Lando and Charles and their various encounters. Each chapter is relative to a race, this season and last. Out of chronological order. Now updated with Abu Dhabi 2025...
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