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It always started the same way, quietly, carelessly, like neither of them noticed the line they were crossing until they were already halfway over it.
Tonight, it was the motorhome hallway after media day in Singapore. Hot air pressed against the walls, the last engineers’ footsteps fading somewhere behind the hospitality area. Carlos was already halfway out of his Ferrari polo, the collar unbuttoned, hair damp from the lingering heat, sticking to his forehead. Oscar was still wrapped up in his papaya colored team kit, shirt neatly straightened, posture easy but correct either way. It was something so typically Oscar that it made Carlos's chest tighten just by looking at him.
They weren’t supposed to be here alone.
They weren’t supposed to be doing any of this.
But Oscar had followed Carlos like gravity, and Carlos? Well, Carlos didn’t pretend he wasn’t aware of it anymore.
Oscar didn’t say anything at first, he never did. He just looked at Carlos, an unreadable expression in hazel eyes that always made Carlos feel like he was being seen too clearly. Something that unsettled him, but at the same caused his body to buzz with anticipation and want.
Carlos exhaled, low and unsteady as he looked at Oscar. The youngers back was pressed against the wall of the McLaren hospitality building, big brown eyes looking up at him. “We can’t keep doing this.”
Oscar’s brows lifted, the faintest spark of dry humor touching his expression. Carlos eyed him carefully.
“I wasn’t aware this had turned into an us thing.” Oscar replied easily, without hesitation.
It was deflection, simple, clean, efficient.
Classic Oscar.
And it was the way he said it that made something in Carlos spark with frustration.
“Don’t do that,” Carlos said, stepping closer. “Pretend like there’s nothing happening.” He quickly added as he saw the look on Oscar's face.
Oscar shrugged, a barely-there lift of his shoulders. Another thing that sometimes annoyed Carlos. “We talk. Sometimes. You steal my snacks. You send me memes at one in the morning. Doesn’t mean it’s—”
“It is something,” Carlos interrupted, sharper than he intended.
Oscar blinked in surprise, and for a moment, the composure cracked. Not much, but just enough that Carlos saw the truth flicker underneath: worry, confusion, want.
The same things that had been tugging at him for months.
“Carlos…” Oscar said softly, eyes dropping to the floor. “You have a career. I have one. Our teams would-”
“Kill us?” Carlos finished with a wry smile. “Sí, I know.”
Oscar didn’t smile back. Instead, he swallowed, jaw tightening the way it did when he was trying to hide his nerves.
“This isn’t sustainable,” Oscar murmured. “Whatever… this is.” He made a weird hand movement between them to emphasize his words.
Carlos stepped even closer, the air between them warming.
“You say that,” he replied quietly, “but still, you never walk away.” He stated matter-of-factly. He was right.
Oscar’s breath hitched. Carlos noticed. He noticed everything about him.
Too much, maybe.
Oscar took a small step back, needing space, but his back hit the wall of the hospitality with a small thud. Carlos didn’t follow. Not yet.
“You’re impossible,” Oscar muttered, looking up at Carlos again.
“And you’re avoiding the question,” Carlos countered gently. “You always do. So I’ll ask again.” He tilted his head, studying him. “What do you want this to be, Oscar?”
Oscar tensed.
Not visibly, not to the media, not to McLaren, not to anyone who wasn’t close enough to know his tells.
But Carlos felt the shift in the air between them immediately.
“Don’t,” Oscar whispered. “Don’t make me say it.” It almost sounded like he was begging him.
Carlos stepped forward now, slow enough to give Oscar time to pull away. But he didn’t. He couldn't. Not when Carlos looked at him like this.
“If you don’t want this,” Carlos said, voice barely above a whisper, accent thicker than usual, “tell me. And I will stop.”
Silence.
A long, heavy silence that hid a thousand unsaid things. Did he really want Carlos to stop? Was he worth the risk?Oscar looked up, eyes bright with something fragile and fierce all at once. He exhaled shakily.
“That’s the problem, Carlos. I… don’t want you to stop.” He finally admitted. The confession hung in the air like electricity. Carlos felt it hit him, sharp and clean. He stepped close enough that their foreheads nearly touched, his voice low and tender.
“Then let it be an us thing.” It made Oscar want to fall straight into his arms and never let go again. Oscar’s breath faltered. “This could get messy.” He whispered, more to himself than to Carlos.
Carlos huffed a quiet laugh. “Life is messy.” He shot back. And he was indeed right. “And you’re trouble.” Oscar’s lips tugged upward, finally, subtly.
“Only for you,” Carlos murmured. Oscar’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, quick, involuntary. Carlos inhaled hard.
If they were going to cross this line right now, there would be no going back. And Oscar knew that, every instinct telling him to move away from Carlos and make the right decision. But they had been dancing around each other for so long now, that every rational thought had left his brain the moment Carlos showed up in the hallway.
Oscar’s voice came out small, almost defeated by how much he meant it. “I don’t know how to do this.” He admitted silently. Carlos lifted a hand, slow enough for Oscar to pull back, but Oscar didn’t. Fingers brushed his jaw, gentle, grounding.
“You don’t have to know,” Carlos said. “We figure it out together.”
Oscar closed his eyes, leaning just barely into the touch.
“Carlos…”
“Yes?”
“We can’t keep doing this.” But this time, it was not a protest. It sounded more a plea. Carlos smiled softly. “Then let’s do something new.” Oscar opened his eyes, and whatever had been holding them apart dissolved in that instant.
Carlos leaned in, not kissing him, not yet, but just close enough that Oscar could feel his breath against his own lips.
“Tell me to stop,” Carlos whispered. Oscar didn’t.
Instead, he reached up, fingers curling into Carlos’s shirt, pulling him in like gravity had finally won. The hallway suddenly felt too small, too quiet, too charged to hold them.
Oscar’s voice came out hoarse, honest, raw.
“I don’t want you to.”
Carlos finally closed the distance. And somewhere between the heat of Singapore and the warmth of Carlos’s hands on his waist and the quiet, breathless sound Oscar made against his lips, it became an us thing after all.
And they knew that the kiss was never supposed to happen.
Not here, not in the middle of a quiet hallway with team personnel somewhere nearby, not with two drivers who should have known better. Whose careers ran on nothing but precision and control.
But the moment Oscar pulled him in, control snapped like a wire stretched too tight.
Carlos kissed him slow at first, careful, coaxing, like he was inviting Oscar to step over a line he’d been straddling for months. Oscar responded with a quiet, startled sound that shot straight through him, fingers fisting in the fabric of Carlos’s Ferrari shirt.
When they separated, breath hot and uneven between them, Oscar didn’t step back.
He looked shaken. And impossibly real right in front of Carlos.
Carlos rested his forehead against Oscar’s, exhaling through a trembling smile. “Okay,” he whispered. “Now we are definitely doing this.” Oscar huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, the kind that told Carlos he was overwhelmed but not regretting it.
His grip loosened on Carlos’s shirt only so he could slide his hands lower and underneath the material, brushing fingertips against Carlos’s skin, making the older tremble underneath his touch.
That tiny touch nearly unraveled him. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” Oscar murmured, voice more breath than sound. “Me?” Carlos lifted a brow, amused. “You kissed me back.” He leaned his body firmer into Oscar's touch.
Oscar’s cheeks flushed, subtle but unmistakable. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, eyes flicking away from Carlos's face and focussing on his hands underneath the red shirt.
Carlos slipped a finger under his chin, guiding his gaze up again. “I’m going to remind you very often.”
Oscar swallowed hard, and his breath caught again, the exact same way it did in a braking zone when something unpredictable happened on track. That momentary loss of control. That surrender.
“You’re too confident,” Oscar said, quiet but not cold. Carlos smirked. “You like that.”
Oscar opened his mouth, clearly intending to deny it, but nothing came out. He shut it again, cheeks heating further.
Carlos’s chest tightened at the sight. This careful, composed rookie, who kept his emotions tucked away like spare parts in a garage, was looking at him like he was something breakable and necessary all at once.
“Come here,” Carlos whispered.
He didn’t kiss Oscar again. Not yet. He just wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of damp hair. Oscar leaned in, instinctive, letting his forehead press against Carlos’s collarbone like he needed the contact more than oxygen. And maybe he did, but he wasn't going to tell Carlos that.
“Carlos…” Oscar’s voice cracked faintly. “This is insane.”
“Probably,” Carlos agreed softly. “But nothing about this should feel this right, and yet it does.” Oscar’s breath stuttered against his collarbone.
“You’re making it harder to think,” he whispered, a little ashamed. Because never in his life did he think he would ever admit that to anyone, let alone Carlos freaking Sainz. “And I really need to think right now.” He finished. Carlos smiled into his hair. “You think too much.”
Oscar pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Not thinking is how we ended up here.”
“Lying to ourselves is how we ended up here,” Carlos corrected gently. “This? This is just… the truth.” Oscar didn’t have an answer. But his hand, still resting on Carlos’s skin, tightened.
A beat passed.
Then two.
The quiet between them felt louder than the paddock generators outside.
“Okay,” Oscar said finally, voice so soft Carlos had to lean in to hear it. “If we’re doing this… if this is… real, then what happens now?”
Carlos cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the faint stubble there. He looked at Oscar like he was learning him in real time, mapping him with his eyes and touch. “What happens now,” Carlos murmured, “is that we stop pretending we don’t want each other.”
Oscar inhaled sharply.
“Then,” Carlos continued, leaning in until his lips hovered a breath from Oscar’s, “we figure the rest out, together.”
Oscar’s eyes fluttered shut, just enough for Carlos to see how much he wanted the contact but was still trying to be cautious. Carlos paused there, ghosting the edge of Oscar’s mouth, waiting.
Oscar whispered, barely audible, “Don’t tease.” Carlos laughed softly, warm and rough. “Oh, cariño… I haven’t even started teasing.” Oscar reached up, grabbing Carlos’s wrist, grounding him.
“This is all new, okay? For me. For us. I don’t want to mess it up.”
Carlos’s expression softened instantly.
“This,” he said, brushing their noses together, “is the one thing I’m certain we won’t mess up.”
Oscar didn’t argue.
He leaned in the final millimeter and kissed Carlos again, stronger this time, less hesitant, a quiet surrender wrapped in heat.
It felt like a promise. A warning. A beginning.
When they finally parted, both breathless, Oscar whispered: “Then… I guess we’re an us thing now.” Carlos smiled, slow, bright, and impossibly fond of the aussie in front of him.
“Sí,” he murmured, pulling Oscar close again. “We are absolutely an us thing.”
And with that being said, he wrapped Oscar up in his arms and just held him there.