Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their time as teammates was amazing, each weekend felt like they were at the top of the world. Might be because they were together, might be the car, might also be the tifosi. They experienced a high like no other; and yes: winning races was thrilling too, but their interactions, their anecdotes, their flights back, their time shared in the sim racing one another, nothing could compare.

They came to understand one another as drivers, as teammates, and as friends. When asked in interviews, Carlos will always say he has no friends in Formula 1, but people close to him know behind the facade, the rivalry, the paddock: they are Carlos’ friends.

Race debriefs used to be boring. But since 2021, since their first weekend as teammates, they have been more enjoyable. Charles talking, Carlos making an awkward face to distract him. Or even when an engineer is speaking, and as Carlos is so focused on what’s being said, Charles will take a sneaky picture of him, and send it to Carlos, and they both laugh, saying sorry for the interruption.

Going on vacation together was a challenge, and something that didn’t really happen (as much as they wish it did). Their PR teams advised them not to be seen together outside of track, it could “hurt Ferrar’s integrity and look”, whatever that meant.

As each of them went with their families, spent time away from one another, they felt… off. Not “off” as in weird, but off as in “I’m sick, I can’t get out of bed or I’ll vomit.” They always thought it might be stress, stress they kept on the back of their minds, finally catching up to them when they were relaxed, so it was never mentioned.

They also traveled to and from races together, spent as much time as possible together, because they knew: teammates are temporary. They could be split any time soon.

And they were.

On a quiet morning in February 2024, Lewis Hamilton, seven time world champion, a man who spent more than a decade in Mercedes AMG, made his announcement, he was leaving his black-dressed team, to join the red horse.

On a quiet morning in February 2024, Carlos Sainz, at the time a two-time race winner, who spent the previous three years developing an amazing car for this season, was told he was being replaced by one of the best, by the man whose reign was only defeated by Max Verstappen. 

Carlos knew, he knew deep down, that if Ferrari was replacing someone it would’ve been him, but he didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did, when he finished developing one of the best cars he had driven.

He frantically texted Charles, he needed to know if his teammate knew anything about this, if he had kept this secret from him, for how long. Charles took nearly an entire day to reply, but when he finally did, he said he only heard rumours, but trusted what the team had been telling Carlos, that ‘it was almost a set contract’, that they ‘needed to update a few lines and he could re-sign’, he could continue to drive with his best teammate, his best friend.

But that didn’t happen. And now Carlos was a Williams Racing driver. Dressed in blue, while his teamma– ex teammate, still wore red.

Bumping into each other in pre-season testing was interesting, neither of them comfortable enough to have a long talk, but exchanging pleasantries, expectations for the season to come. Maybe they weren’t as close as they thought. Why was this so awkward?

It took the Australian air to bring them back to their old selves, to how their friendship used to be, how it was supposed to be. Talking on the drivers parade they realized that no matter the color they were wearing, a magnet pulled them together. It did take the press by surprise, seeing them together, they all believed it was PR… looks like it wasn’t.

Weekend after weekend. Race after race. They talked, bumped into each other. But nothing compared to the amount of time they spent together –stuck together– these past four years.

Their talks on the paddock, on the drivers parade, on the flights back home, on the drives to the hotel… they lacked something, something neither of them mentioned, because it seemed insignificant, it really did.

It happened to both of them, when races had a week of rest in between them, but still, it was never mentioned. They remembered they felt similar years prior, remembered this off-putting feeling, the one that laid on the pit of their stomach, the one they referred to as ‘stress’.

It got worse somehow, they felt off but now the world around them felt off too. They trusted their partners (Rebecca and Alex) with this information, describing the feeling as ‘meaningless’ and ‘very strong’ – referring to the world and body, respectively. They felt ill but had no fever, had a stomachache but no vomit or problems in the bathroom.

It seemed to go away on race weekends, so it’s not like it affected their work. The girls were worried though, and tried their best not to show it. They remembered talking about these before, but they never expected it to get this bad. They saw their boyfriends laying down, unable to get out of bed, unable to eat, and unable to pay attention to the current show they watched.

Spa weekend is now over, and Charles invites Carlos to fly home with him, and who is Carlos to decline?

“Back on the podium, it feels good,” Charles comments, admiring his trophy and handing it to Carlos. “I’m sure the next race, or next half, will get better, Carlos,” he adds, remembering his friend’s season.

“Don’t worry, Perceval, I knew it would take time,” Carlos says softly, weighing the trophy before placing it on the table in between them.

“Is everything okay? You have that look on your face,” Charles frowns and analyzes Carlos, “What do you want to say?” he finally asks, and Carlos looks at him, serious, lips pursed, eyes squinting slightly, thinking how to put words to his thoughts.

“I’m not looking forward to this break, to be honest with you,” and to Charles’ confused expression he continues to explain, “Every time we get a break, more than a few days in between races I–” he pauses, still looking for words, looking at his hands, “I just feel off, I feel ill… Am I addicted to racing? Am I getting abstinence symptoms? I can’t even describe the feeling,” he pauses, looking up at Charles, who is staring back with… empathy? Understanding?

“Like– Like you can’t get out of bed? Can’t eat? Can’t concentrate on Rebe?” the monegasque asks, receiving a very confused nod back, “Carlos, I– The same has been happening to me! Alex has been so worried, but every time she checks: no fever… so there's no medication to take, no steps to follow,” he shares, “it somehow clears up when I get to the hotel for the race weekend.”

“Yes! Are we both experiencing the same symptoms? That’s–” Carlos gets cut off by the pilot announcing the landing, but as they walk out Charles offers Carlos to ride back together, so they come up with a plan.

The plan they end up writing down in Charles’ notes app is simple enough: if by week two of the summer break they feel like that again, they… they are looking for a tarot reader.

‘What an unexpected turn of events!’ Charles texts Carlos, and Carlos is about to send him a picture of him bedbound, when Charles double texts: ‘Ibuprofen isn’t helping, I think it’s time…’ and to that, Carlos agrees.

They wanted to act like everything was okay, so when looking for a tarot reader, they asked on the drivers’ groupchat, saying their girlfriends were interested in that sort of stuff.

‘Be careful about all that, it can mess with your energy,’ Gabi replied immediately, his brazilian instincts overpowering him, he grew up surrounded with all the “witchy” stuff. ‘Gabi, it’s okay, my people do it all the time– and we won a World Cup!’ Franco texts back.

‘I’m sure it isn’t that deep, I think Carmen might have a friend that knows someone, I’ll send you their contact info on private Carlos,’ George saves the day, ‘Thank you Mr.President!’ Carlos jokes as he waits for George to text him.

A few hours later everything is set up, the only thing missing is what to ask, but they end up coming to a very obvious conclusion: if it’s a good tarot reader, they will ask the correct questions, and give them the correct answers.

The day finally comes, they are standing outside the apartment, having just knocked on the door. “Hello guys! You’re right on time, please come on in,” the woman says as she opens the door. They walk inside, almost in sync, and sit down on one side of the table.

“Well, is there anything you want to know? About your love life? Your future in Formula 1? The gender of your future kids?” she asks them, and they look at each other for a few seconds.

“Actually we uhm– That all sounds really tempting but we have an… issue,” Carlos starts, and as she raises her eyebrows he explains their symptoms, how they feel awful, how once they are back at the paddock they feel great again. Charles adds that this hadn’t happened before, not at this scale at least, and how he felt confused about both of them having the same symptoms.

The woman nods, listening intently. Then she grabs her deck of cards, and shuffles it.

A few cards fall out, and after looking at them she says: “You guys– Guys, there is no easy way of saying this but, it seems like it’s a proximity curse,” she pauses, sighing, she has seen this before, but with ex-lovers, not teammates. “It means when you are together you feel okay, but the more time you spend away from one another the symptoms worsen,” she points to one card and looks up at them, “If you get too far… you could go into a coma, or die,” she finishes off.

“H-how is that possible! Why are we just seeing the signs?” Charles asks worriedly, his brows furrowed in confusion and worry. “You were teammates, you spent every week together, you were right next to each other, so the symptoms weren’t as strong,” she tells them.

“There has to be a way of breaking this curse right?” Charles is just pleading now, this can't ruin their careers, can’t ruin their lives, “We will do whatever you tell us, I’m sure there’s a solution,” Carlos adds.

“Well…” she shuffles the cards again, this time pulling one out, and her eyes widen, and then she knits her brows, as if wondering if this was really the only way out. “The solution is– you won’t like it but, the solution is to be as close as possible, to be uhm… intimately close to one another.”

Carlos chokes on his own spit, and Charles hasn’t caught on yet. “Thank you ma'am, we will be taking our leave now,” Carlos stands up, leaves 200 euros on the table, and grabs Charles’ wrist, pulling him out of his trance.

‘Come home with Alex, we found a solution but we need your approval.’ Carlos texts his girlfriend.

Chapter Text

When both drivers arrive at Carlos' place, the girls are already at the door, waiting. The four of them go inside, and sit at the table. Carlos goes over what the woman told them, their girlfriends listening to every word, every pause, every sigh.

“That’s what she meant by that?!” Charles asks loudly, standing up, “No, Carlos, there is no way we are doing this, man,” he starts pacing around, “No, Carlos, I’m not– I– We are very good friends but I don’t know if I can go that far!”

“Charles, baby, calm down please,” Alex says, grabbing his hand, “I’m sure Carlos thinks the same, right, Carlos?” but when Alex turns to Carlos, seeking his agreement, Carlos is smirking, a raised eyebrow; so she turns to Rebe, but Rebe doesn’t look the least bit surprised.

“Carlos, what does that smirk mean…” Charles sounds almost scared.

“We’ve been friends for a while, so there’s no hurt in telling you– and Alex.” Carlos looks at them as Charles sits back down. “Guys, I’m bi,” Carlos tells them, and as Charles is about to say something, the Spaniard keeps going, “No, Charles, I’m not into you. Yes, you’re a pretty man, but I have a girlfriend! I’ve known for a long while now– and now you know why me and Max got along in Toro Rosso despite the rivalry,” he laughs, but Charles isn’t laughing. He just gets up and leaves the room, heading into and opening whatever door gets him alone.

Alex, Carlos, and Rebe stay there, discussing, and after ten minutes (when Charles finally comes back) they are silent, having come to a conclusion. “Sit down, baby, let us tell you what we talked about,” Alex calls out to him as he closes the door to what he now knows is Carlos’ office.

“Well, me and Rebe are okay with you guys being… intimate,” she sighs, grabbing Charles’ hand. “Both of us want you guys to be healthy, to be able to enjoy your time off.”

Rebe follows with “And, to take some weight off your shoulders, we thought the best course of action would be starting with something small, easy, like a kiss,” she says, looking back at Carlos, who is staring right into Charles’ soul.

“If that doesn't work,” the brown eyed man says, “We move on to something more intimate, like touching each other.”

“And what if that doesn’t work? Huh? What then?” Charles’ voice is shaky, nervous, “We end up fucking?”

And the room falls silent, Alex and Rebe look at each other, and Carlos’ lips twitch up, suppressing a smirk. Well, that worked out well for the monegasque.

The girls leave, going to Alex’s place to watch some TV. And the men are alone, sitting next to each other on the couch.

“Perceval listen,” Carlos looks at him, “Symptoms usually start five days after we see each other right?” and Charles nods, unable to speak, “So, lets just– kiss. And we won’t see each other for those five days. If we feel like shit, let's get back together, and keep going, okay?” and Charles just nods again. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, if you want to stop, just tell me,” he looks into Charles’ eyes, placing a hand on his thigh, “Yell at me, hit me, run away. We both want this to end, so let's try to end it.”

Carlos moves closer, moving his hand from the other’s thigh to the small of his back, and Charles lets it happen, lets Carlos get closer, until he can feel the spaniard lips’ on his. It feels weird at first, he doesn’t know what to do, as if he never kissed anyone in his life.

But Carlos grabs Charles’ hand, and makes the younger man grab his hair, to help keep him grounded, in the present, and that’s when Charles feels more comfortable, confident enough to kiss Carlos back.

And when he does? He can feel Carlos smirking into the kiss, this cocky motherfucker. He fell right into his trap, didn’t he? 

Trap or not, he was now enjoying the moment, and opening his mouth enough for Carlos to slip his tongue in.

They wouldn’t be able to say how long they spent kissing, but a knock on the door made them stop. They pulled apart, both breathless, chests rising and falling. Charles hadn’t noticed until then, but his legs were somehow resting over Carlos’ left thigh. 

“Let me get that,” Carlos said as he stood up and shuffled his hair, trying to hide whatever Charles did. “Oh, hello babe, come in,” he opened the door for Rebe, pecking her lips, and she was met with an unexpected view: Charles, flushed red on the couch.

“So you did it,” Rebe states. “No, no, we just kissed. Five days from now we should be cured, and if we aren’t… well…” he turns around to wink at Charles.

All the monegasque does in response is stand up, grab his phone and hoodie, and walk out saying his quick goodbyes.

“Seems like someone enjoyed it more than they should’ve…” Rebe laughs, hugging Carlos.

“Who? Me?” Carlos’ smirk is back. “Yes you mister,” Rebe kisses him, still laughing, “I can feel you, you know?” she says while lifting her knee, rubbing it slightly against Carlos’ strained jeans.

FIve– No. Six days go by, and Carlos hasn’t heard a peep from Charles. But Carlos feels like shit, so he assumes Charles does too. He does the most logical thing: call Alex and tell her he’s heading to Charles’ place, and to leave if possible.

“Okay, tell them they can come up,” Charles tells the doorman over the phone, after being told a big package arrived, and the delivery man offered to take it upstairs. He just leaves the door open, and sits back down on his chair, doomscrolling on Twitter.

“Excuse me?” Carlos says after walking in and closing the door behind him. “What the fuck, Charles? You were supposed to text me!” Charles is surprised, he never heard Carlos this mad before.

“If you’re afraid you can just tell me, aren’t we friends? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you to be uncomfortable?” He's walking towards the table. “If you are grossed out by another man’s dick, I–” he stops himself, maybe that’s too much.

“You what?” Charles asks, now curious. He hadn’t texted because he– he won’t admit it out loud but, after getting home, he locked himself up in his bathroom and–

Carlos doesn’t reply, he just grabs the back of the chair and turns Charles. “Can I?” he asks, his voice deep, calm. “Yes…” Charles says, and Carlos drops to his knees, opening Charles legs and placing his body in between them.

“Please, just say stop and I will,” Carlos says, looking up at Charles, placing his hand over the green eyed man’s clothed cock.

After a few seconds with no complaints, he motions Charles to lift his ass a bit, so he can take his pajama shorts off, finding nothing under them. “Such a shy man I see,” he jokes before moving his hand close to the length.

Carlos had blown men off before, but never someone he knew as much as Charles. His nerves dissipated as he felt a slight twitch when he started to move his hand, his mouth almost watered at the sight, he hadn’t done this in so long.

“Okay I’m gonna start now Perceval, if you’re nervous I won’t be able to do much, you know that,” he mutters before pulling the foreskin back, exposing Charles’ head. Slowly but surely, his touch was affecting the other man… and himself too. He hadn’t done much, but he felt his own cock getting harder.

The man on the floor decided to gently kiss the other’s tip, and when a hand was placed on his shoulder, he took it as a sign to keep going. He placed his lips around, and moved slowly, up, and down. Up, and back down.

As it got harder, he got bolder, trying to go as far as he could. When he heard a small gasp, followed by a shy and quiet moan, he pulled off, looking up, and Charles had his eyes closed, focusing on keeping silent

“Hey there,” Carlos giggled, and Charles opened his eyes, looking down where Carlos never stopped his stroking, “We are both supposed to enjoy this, you know? Don’t restrain yourself, whichever noise you make, whatever you decide to do, it stays between us.”

Now Carlos was back to sucking, but Charles… he was now enjoying the sensation, and the show. Carlos’ plump lips were wrapped around his cock, moving up and down. And Carlos’ big deer eyes? Staring right up at Charles, waiting for his reaction, the results of his work.

When Carlos’ cheeks hollowed, Charles moaned, his hand tangling on Carlos' hair, like it did when they kissed, but now Charles was guiding Carlos up and down his length.

He felt good, really good. Better than he expected. As though it had a mind of its own, his right foot lifted off the ground, and got closer to Carlos’ dick, still clothed, still confined to his jeans. When the bridge of Charles’ feet reached its destination, Carlos groaned into Charles’ cock.

The vibrations were unexpected, but surely welcome. They both kept going, both moaning, but you could only hear one of them.

“Ca- Carlos I–” Charles cried out, Carlos could feel the cock inside his mouth twitching, and he had no intention of stopping,

The hand on Carlos’ scalp pulled him impossibly closer, impossibly deeper. He almost gagged, but as he was about to, the man sitting in front of him collapsed. The younger man released Carlos’ hair and placed his hands on Carlos’s shoulders, trying not to fall on top of him.

Now, when Carlos pulled off, his mouth was full, but before Charles could notice, he swallowed, and smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?” Carlos laughed.

Charles was… stunned. He never expected to be sucked by a man, even less by Carlos, and even less to– enjoy it? “That–” Charles tries to speak, but he’s out of air by now.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna use your bathroom now,” Carlos stands up, grabbing his crotch. “Wait I– I’m not sure I can suck it but you– you did this for me, let me do something for you now,” Charles says, unsure of his words, but happy to try.

“Okay then!” Carlos sounds more excited than he intended, “Just– Do whatever you like to do when masturbating, cocks aren’t as difficult as vaginas, so don't be afraid.”

And that's how they spend the next ten minutes after moving a chair in front of Charles’, and taking Carlos’ pants off. Carlos guides him at first, but Charles gets confident soon enough.

His movements match Carlos’ groans and squeezes on his shoulder. What he thought would be an awkward moment, turned to a symphony for Charles’ ears. He felt like a hypnotised snake, moving along to the sounds of Carlos’ moans.

“Keep going pretty boy,” was Carlos’ way of warning Charles that he was about to come, he placed a hand over Charles’, and they stroked together until Carlos’ movements faltered, and the monegasque took over.

“Lets talk again on the paddock, okay? I think this was intimate enough to extend the time a bit,” Carlos says, remembering they would see each other in the Netherlands. He cleaned both chairs and before opening the door to leave he heard Charles’ reply:

“Yeah, sounds okay to me, we’ll talk soon I guess,” was heard from the couch, as Charles was drinking the affogato Carlos made for him, using the Lec pistacchio icecream.

Chapter Text

Charles wouldn't describe his feeling about spending a night together with the word “fear”, he wasn’t afraid, he was nervous, scared, flustered. Carlos on the other hand… he remembers some one night stands he had with men, but he had to stop those when he got to Formula 1. Told himself it would be bad press– it was 2015 after all.

Almost ten years later, and he would be with a man again. And the man? A gorgeous monegasque, a skilled driver, and one of his best friends.

A few days before they were to meet on the paddock, Charles texted Carlos: ‘hey so… yeah, i’m no better than last time’ and Carlos replies ‘I was right about us being healthy for longer tho… ;)’ .

And they set a… date. A wonderful occasion, and this way, Charles would be able to save money on a present this year. 

Rather coincidentally, Carlos birthday was coming up, and the spaniard found the idea of fucking Charles as his birthday present oh-so-funny. Charles agreed because– well, they were still trying to break this curse.

The weekend went… not as smoothly as they hoped. A good quali, mostly for Carlos, but the race ended terribly. With the regular Liam fuck-up and an unsurprising rookie mistake, they decided to just vent on the jet back home, and finally do this.

Still, Charles needed to go to his place to leave his belongings, and Carlos agreed, that way he could cook something while Charles drove over.

He settled on some pasta and chicken, set the table, and cleaned his bedroom. Was he nervous? This would be the day the curse would break, finally.

Charles knocks, unsure, but when Carlos opens the door, wearing a button up shirt, top three buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, with a faint smell of pasta and leather. Yeah, his mind is clear of all doubt. 

They sit down, have dinner, talk, and laugh. This could honestly look like a private birthday dinner, if not for the more-than regular amount of white wine they are both drinking.

The white wine had set into Charles’ bloodstream, he knew it made im horny, that's literally why he brought it.  And suddenly the conversation shifts.

“Say Carlos,” Charles slightly slurred his Rs, his french slipping, “What’s the most you’ve done with a man?” Carlos was taken aback, they were just talking about Leo’s new toys, about the Leclerc’s time on Charles’ yacht.

“I– Well, I have fucked with men before, if thats what you’re asking me,” Carlos replies, “But that was ages ago.”

“So you haven’t fucked Max?” Oh. That’s why he’s asking this. “No, most me and Max did was kiss and masturbate each other, why? You jealous?” Carlos was entering dangerous territory here, knowing Charles’ competitive side.

“Not jelly, just wondering…” And Carlos knew Charles wanted to say something else, so he waited, “And… have you ever been fucked?” Is this what drunk Charles is like? Carlos wondered.

“No Charles, I’ve always fucked the other men,” Carlos sounded proud, drunk and bold.

“So you’re gonna fuck me?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “Perceval, is white wine-drunk you a horndog?” Carlos laughed as he asked, but when Charles smiled back, and his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, Carlos understood.

You could ask either of them, but neither would be able to explain how they got to the couch, with Charles straddling Carlos’ lap as they kissed. They were both laughing into the kiss, enjoying themselves, but Charles was leaving behind his alcohol-drunk self, for a Carlos-horny self. Drunk on Carlos’ masculine perfume, on the way his shirt revealed the top of his pecs, the way his sleeves looked like they were about to burst because of Carlos’ muscles, the way his lips looked slightly bigger due to the intense kiss.

“Perceval you–” Carlos says, breaking away from the kiss as he feels Charles grinding down on him. “Take me to your bedroom Chilli,” is what Charles asks of Carlos before being picked up easily, like he weighed nothing. Still kissing, as the owner of the flat took him to the bed.

Carlos feels like a starving man, like all he needs is the man now under him, the man now laying on the bed. The man both his heads told him was too clothed for the occasion. The spaniard’s hands move on their own, he’s taking the younger man’s clothes off.

First the shirt, which gets him a wonderful sight. Slightly tanned skin, a six pack. He was mesmerized, but he needed to continue before Charles got cold feet, that's what got him the most nervous.

Charles’ pants were off, and when Carlos grabbed the hem of his boxers, Charles spoke up “Why am I the only one getting naked?” to which he received an eyebrow raise, and a sly smile. Carlos took a step back, and unbuttoned his shirt at a slow pace, giving Charles a show.

Charles grabbed his junk, and touched himself over the underwear. Carlos looked ethereal, his muscles flexing with every movement, his smile never faltering, his eyes switching between Charles’ eyes and the hand lower, where he wanted his to be.

Charles could see small hairs growing on Carlos’ recently shaved chest and arms. His abs, looking almost as perfect as his… man boobs, is all that Charles’ mind can come up with to describe his sight.

Both men were only on their boxers, their cocks trapped, stretching the material as they grew bigger.

Carlos walked towards the bed again, “Can I take them off now?” he asks Charles, tugging on the underwear. “Please do,” is all he can reply before Carlos does so. The older man grabs Charles’ legs, placing them on his shoulders as he kneels on the floor, and scoots Charles closer to the edge of the bed.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Charles asks, propping himself up with his elbows, looking at Carlos’ head in between his thighs. He was confused, Carlos seemed… away from his dick.

“Shhh… Give me a second,” Carlos says, grabbing something from under his bed, “Say Ray-Ban if you ever want me to stop,” Charles is about to laugh when he hears a bottle opening. Lube.

Carlos squirts some on his fingers before placing them over Charles’ hole, which takes him by surprise, but not in a bad way.

He expects Carlos to put a finger inside, but he twitches when he feels a kiss, and then a tongue. His thighs close subconsciously, but Carlos doesn’t seem to care, as it brings him closer to Charles’ ass.

Then Carlos tries for the first time, to delve his tongue in, instead of lapping it over the hole. It takes a few seconds, even a minute, but Carlos is steadily tongue-fucking Charles.

“I’m gonna try to put a finger inside, okay? I don’t want to hurt you when I try to fuck you,” Carlos cooed. “Y- yeah g- go for it,” Charles tries to reply, but it comes out as a whisper.

Carlos grabs the lube again, and just– goes for it, as Charles said. Starts easy when he has one finger in, but when he tries to get the second one, a hand grips and pulls his hair, as a whimper escapes the younger man.

“Remember the word, Charlie,” Carlos says as he slowly tries again. Not hurrying. He knows it’s for the best, but when a minute goes by, he feels Charles trying to match his hand’s movements, to make his fingers go deeper.

Three fingers were all it took for Charles to become an impatient, panting mess. “Try to fuck me, I’ll tell you if it hurts,” Charles pleads. He feels Carlos’ shoulders drop lower, his legs still over them, and when Carlos comes back up, he has a condom in his hands, and he puts it on, pumping himself a few times.

When Carlos’ tip touches Charles’ ass, a quick thought goes through both men’s minds: Why have we never done this before? But it leaves as quickly as it came, because now Carlos is entering Charles, stretching him, and Charles feels tingly all around.

Minutes, hours, who knows how long, and how many positions they had fun trying, how many condoms were in the trash can, and how many times they came. But they were laying down on Carlos’ bed, sweat making their hair stick to their foreheads.

“Is the curse broken?” Charles asks, laying his head on Carlos’ chest, both men still naked.

“That’s a question for our tomorrow selves. And If it isn’t… we just set another date, maybe even invite the girls to join,” Carlos says, and Charles’ laugh sounds… like he may be considering it.

Charles glanced over at the clock on Carlos’ bedroom wall, September 1st, 12:55am. He looked up from where he laid down on the spaniard’s chest, “Happy birthday Carlos,” he patted the birthday man’s pec, and left his hand there.

“Happy birthday indeed,” Carlos replied, placing his hand over Charles’ and squeezing a bit.

“Hey, wanna shower? Sleep? Eat?” Carlos asks before joking, “Well, I should carry you wherever you want to go, I don’t think you can walk yet… I can feel your legs, still shaking.”

“Hey!” Charles playfully hits Carlos, “Lets just rest for now, and hope your cleaning lady asks no questions when she has to take these to the laundry,” now Charles felt like a comedian too.

And that’s what they did, not moving even an inch. Falling asleep.