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Charles's fingers wrote lightning fast on his phone keypad, almost as if they were flying like the wings of a finch.
I'm outside your room.
It was the evening after French GP qualifying, a qualifying that had been nothing short of extraordinary for Charles, thanks to Carlos’s help. They had really brought to life a spectacle like not seen in a long time between two drivers belonging to the same team on the track.
The atmosphere at Ferrari was ambivalent, as it had always been that season: on the one hand, a timid relaxation after Charles' pole; on the other hand, anticipation due to Carlos' start from the back of the grid. His was going to be a complicated race, despite being the fastest of all on the track.
Everyone was resting, putting aside their energies for the tiring and intense Sunday that would be there in a while. A win would have been crucial to keeping the team’s hopes of keeping up with Max and Red Bull alive.
Charles didn’t even have time to put his electronic device back in his shorts pocket because Carlos' motorhome door opened and he appeared to him in all his glory and beauty.
He was breathtaking as usual. His new haircut suited him perfectly: he gave him that good boy look, but he had in his eyes a deep look that promised many other things. And this made Charles absolutely feral.
There was nothing sexier for him than the manly firmness and seriousness that Carlos conveyed in every single gesture. It was like being constantly protected by a shield placed around him, and Charles loved it.
After qualifying, he and Carlos hadn't been able to spend a single moment alone. Between interviews and briefing, it was difficult to carve out precious minutes together - and Charles was literally dying to be with him.
So he smiled at him truly and brightly, in silence. They didn't really need words to express what they felt.
He entered Carlos's room, placed his phone on the first available surface, and turned to him. Then, he grabbed him by the arms and slammed him on the door. In a heartbeat, Charles's lips rested on Carlos's, kissing him in a intense way.
The emotion that flowed through Charles's heart was as powerful as a rushing river - it was what drove him both on and off the track... but how could he never let himself be swept away by passion with him after what they had been able to do together a few hours before? He was so thrilled with their tow, it still gave him shivers.
As soon as he saw him in the interview area, Charles hugged Carlos tightly. And that had been his public Thank you so much, mate! in front of tifosi and the world. But now they were completely alone, in their private sphere, and he could really express his gratitude face to face in the only way he really wanted.
Carlos's mouth was literally attacked by Charles's. With his tongue, he took everything he could: his lips, his neck, his ears. He conquered his skin as if it were Le Castellet track, chicane after chicane.
His skin had a sweetish taste, due to the bubble bath from the shower he had taken shortly before; his hair was super soft and smelled of coconut so intensely that it was filling Charles's nostrils like it was a drug.
For him, holding and touching Carlos like that was like being at home, even though they were always around the world.
Then, he caressed his body with his own hands. Charles started with his muscular shoulders, then descended along his hips towards his waist (oh my, that narrow waist of him drove him crazy) and reached the Promised Land.
He literally loved every inch of Carlos, from head to toe, but he had a thing for his ass. It was firm, round, and absolutely perfect.
Every time he touched it, he felt an electric shock of pleasure so strong it made him moan. The first time he saw Carlos dressed in the classic red Ferrari tracksuit and he suddenly bent down to tie his shoes, he stared at his ass drooling and was about to end up with his face on the floor.
That was the devastating effect of that ass on him.
After that, Charles's hand moved between Carlos's thighs. He went to tease his member, feeling it harden under his touch at record speed. And it made him feel as powerful as a king or an emperor; it was wonderful to know that he could trigger such strong and natural reactions in Carlos.
That thought made him stick to his body, as if he were a postage stamp and Carlos an envelope. He glued to him, from the shoulders to the crotch, rubbing against him and squeezing him as if his very life depended on his proximity.
Charles was someone who was still learning to manage what he felt; his emotions dominated him far more than he desired. This was his greatest strength and his worst defect. Carlos had always told him that he didn't have to try to eliminate this attitude from his life because it was what made him unique and special, but he really wanted to be a more mature twenty-four year old boy.
To be worthy of Carlos.
Both of them weren’t used at all to making declarations of love or exchanging sweet words (indeed, Carlos was telegraphic chatting), but there was solidity and respect between them, intertwined with their love and passion.
Whether they wore a Ferrari tracksuit or not, they always considered themselves a team. And as such, they dealt with problems, happy times and difficult ones. But the thing Charles loved most of all was when the whole world - the scuderia, the journalists, social media, everything and everyone - was locked out of Carlos's room or his own, and they were left alone to enjoy their very much deserved peace.
And tonight, after that extraordinary result of their teamwork, he would taste his own personal reward, shared with him.
He had heard the reporters and read the fan’s comments: the maneuvers that he and Carlos had managed to put in place with the tow and the braking to get him through were unique. Maybe only Kimi and Seb would be able to do something like that.
That lap had not been just the simple prologue of a possible future victory the next day: it was the symbol of their relationship, of the trust they had painstakingly built from the first moment they spent together. Charles knew that Carlos was always watching his back, and protecting him in every way possible - and vice versa.
They fought together, even when the odds were unbalanced between them, like that weekend in France due to the penalty inflicted on Carlos's engine. And they fucking did it sublimely.
They weren't enemies hindering each other, as someone had maliciously assumed after Silverstone. They weren’t rivals one step away from hating each other and destroying everything, like Hamilton and Rosberg. They were an exception in a world where friendship and, above all, love were something very difficult to get and very easy to lose.
Charles said Grande Carlos! as soon as he took p1, he had reiterated the same concept in at least three different languages in the last few hours. But now, finally, he would let his body speak on the subject. E mamma mia, he would have worshiped him as a God for what he was able to give him.
That pole wasn't just Charles's, it was the result of an incredible job with Carlos.
And that specific awareness fed even more the desire he had to hold him, touch him, give him pleasure and love.
He took him from the shirt and dragged him onto the bed in his room, against the wall, with a fluid movement. Usually, they didn't talk much during their sexual intercourse: their thoughts were completely zeroed in those moments, they were lost in the satisfaction they achieved together.
Charles, besides, was particularly embarrassed to expose himself with words in that context; it always made him feel a little vulnerable. He was always naked with Carlos, emotionally and physically... such a thing excited him and scared him halfway. But, for this time, he would have overcome his fears and would have told him everything.
With his body and with his words.
Having pushed him onto the bed, Charles didn’t break away from Carlos for a second. He was like modeling clay under his hands, for their shared pleasure. They never stopped touching and kissing.
It was almost as if they couldn't breathe if they weren't close; perhaps it was the adrenaline of what they had done still running through their veins that made them even more eager than they normally were.
They had shown the whole world how good they were together, how real and concrete their balance was... or it was just because they loved each other and therefore it was more special to cross certain milestones like that.
Charles silently promised himself something while he kissed Carlos' full lips with enthusiasm: he would not waste the gift Carlos had given him that afternoon at any cost. The extraordinary effort he had made to give him that pole position would not be lost.
It was an oath he swore to himself with solemnity - he had to win for him in France too.
His fingers went to the bottom edge of Carlos's shirt and pulled it away angrily, almost as if he hated that piece of cloth that was preventing him from being able to touch him as he really wanted. Then Charles took off his own too, tying his chest to his lover's as if they were iron and magnet.
The attraction that existed between them and that was expressed with the usual touches granted during public moments such as the C2 challenge was overwhelming now like the explosion of a volcano.
Carlos's skin was always warm, and each time he hugged him, Charles felt like he was immersed in an oven. But Carlos Sainz Jr was actually like this: pure heat, magnificent energy, a firework that exploded in the dark sky and lit up everything.
And Charles was grateful, so grateful, to have him by his side as a lover, a teammate, a friend, that all the words and nights of all eternity would not be enough to express it.
He resumed kissing him eagerly, biting his lips. His favorite was the lower one, made of infinite softness. And that lip of him was his alone... no one else in the world had the privilege of knowing its taste and its texture.
Only him.
Then Charles moved on to kiss his neck and bare chest, leaving an uneven trail of kisses as if he were drawing a new imaginary path on his skin. A new track on which to race and win, to cross the finish line with total victory.
Meanwhile, the moans that were coming out of Carlos were music to his ears, like a piece on Chopin's piano. But Charles wanted more, so much more.
So he laid him down nicely on the mattress and, with a single, well-grounded move, lowered his pajama shorts and his briefs.
Oh mamma mia.
Charles had always considered himself an expert in the field of beauty: he came from a breathtaking city, he loved music, he traveled around the world. He drove a Ferrari, for Christ’s sake!
But having Carlos half naked under him, with all his hair messed up, the V line of his abs reaching up to his hard member bending over his stomach, his olive skin glistening in the light of his room, his dark eyes with his pupils so dilated that they look like two black spots... Wow.
It was a sight he still couldn't get used to. And perhaps he would never have succeeded.
Every single time it was a blow to his heart.
Holy shit, Charles could have written a complete encyclopedia on Carlos's body. He was tall and proportioned like a Roman statue of Mars. His smooth skin was kissed by the Spanish sun. His hands were large, with raised veins, and seemed to have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
And his lashes… oh, his lashes. Every time they floated on closed lids when he did something that made him scream was better than getting a million compliments.
His lips were the most sensual on which he had ever laid his eyes on, so full and always ready to welcome his fingers and so much more too. His ass was firm and when he saw it move to sink into him or admired it under him when he was in charge... well, it was like touching the sky with a finger. His dick was perfect like the rest of him, it had the right thickness and length to make him come with strength and grace.
Charles Leclerc loved Carlos Sainz Jr from the first to the last inch of his body, but admiring him naked was the most beautiful thing in the world and he was settling in the front row to enjoy his personal show.
He would seriously spend centuries licking, touching, and idolizing his body just to make him feel the same way Carlos made him feel: unmatched, special, worthy of attention and love.
Carlos, meanwhile, tried with his own hands to take off the shorts he was wearing, but to no avail. Charles scolded him gently, blowing his admonish in a broken voice.
"No, no, be good for me. Today I want to dedicate myself only to you, you deserve it. I want to thank you with all my gratitude for what we have done... especially because tomorrow it will be so difficult for you to start from the bottom grid. Sei stato grande, amore mio," he whispered in his ear before wrapping his fingers around his erection as if they were a snake around a tree trunk.
He squeezed it tightly, exactly as he knew he liked it, and began to move it in constant motion.
But oh no, he wouldn't have made him come immediately... he had many, many things to tell him before making him scream.
"You were so good today. I am so proud of you, I am so proud of us," he muttered to him in a very low tone, as he continued to touch him. He knew how much compliments and praises pushed Carlos to the limit; they were like a spring that triggered something in his brain very quickly.
They always tried to hold out for as long as possible during sex - they were athletes, they had a stamina that allowed Charles to have many particularly hot memories of their intimate moments -, but this specific time he just wanted to put Carlos at the center of his own appreciation, of his own love.
As teammates, rivals and lovers. And God, he would have given him all of this in profusions from his own soul.
"When you moved to let me pass, I thought I could never have a better teammate than you. You and I have built our strategy, we have shown the world who we are and what we can achieve together. No one else could have done it but us, you know," he told him between kisses on his cheeks and lips, thus swallowing his increasingly heavy breaths and his moans that were rising in intensity exponentially.
"No one is like us on the track, and off. You are perfect, absolutely perfect for me," he concluded, continuing to squeeze his member, now hard like steel, between his fingers and moving it very quickly up and down.
Seeing him like that, at his mercy, naked and with his words clearly arousing him, had an effect on Charles.
He felt his own shorts tight; his blood was running all between his legs and he was starting to feel his erection scream at him begging for attention. But he took a deep breath and put his needs aside, resisting stoically.
At that moment, his purpose was only one: to worship Carlos as if he were a divinity and himself the humble pilgrim. He was his only priority, period.
Charles came near to his face and left a passionate kiss on his lips. Then he entered Carlos's mouth, his tongue began to make its way licking his teeth, his palate, before meeting his twin and merging with it.
God, the taste of a pole position was always sweet as ambrosia, but drinking it like that from Carlos was absolutely glorious.
"Oh, look at you," he spoke again. “Look how good you are for me. You always help me, you keep me grounded. You are incredible... and then look how much you are enjoying my hand around your cock," were his last words before indulging his instincts, bowing his head towards his legs and sucking the tip of his erection into his mouth.
It was so hot, so hard, so tasty. And to Charles, that seemed to be his real reward.
For many in their work environment, mixing sex and F1 was not a good idea. In fact, it was the worst possible idea ever. He and Carlos knew very well that they were walking in the balance on a very dangerous thread, which could have made them fall towards the abyss or lift them towards joy.
But for Charles, it was worth it. Being with him amplified everything: gratification and happiness were true, precisely because they was shared with him. And, moreover, the weight of sadness that daily dragged on his shoulders diminished. Their current year at Ferrari had been bittersweet for both of them, and they hadn't even reached the middle of the championship.
With his head between his thighs, Charles continued to suck and lick Carlos's member with all the passion and dedication possible. He could feel it in his mouth and ears how much he was enjoying it, and it made him feel again on the top of the world.
Oral sex was something he was good at, and they both committed themselves to giving and receiving it as if it were yet another competition between them - after all, they were two perfectionists who always pushed to get the most out of it. Whether it was the Ferrari F1-75 or the body of their lover, it was the same in the end.
Carlos's mattress and leg appeared to Charles as two ideal places to rub over in order to come, but he decided to obey his own plan and, for once, be able to reach the set goal without getting caught up in other frenzies. Even if it was very, very difficult; he felt like he had marble in his underwear and the idea of having an orgasm while Carlos emptied himself into his mouth really seemed the best ever.
The only solution that came to his mind was to break away, very reluctantly, from the heaven on earth that were Carlos Sainz's thighs and erect member, retrace his body back to his mouth and go back to tell him everything he thought of him in his ear, continuing to masturbate him as if that were the only right thing to do at that moment in the whole universe.
Everything else was gone from their minds, Charles was sure of that. There was no more stress, tension for the race, or concern for the WDC.
There was only them, the bed they were on, and the iron will that Charles felt rising inside him like a tide to make the young man he had under his fingertips feel worthy of deserving everything he could offer him.
His talent, his respect, his body, his mouth, his soul.
"I cannot stop thinking about what you have done for me today. You are so strong, so talented, so handsome. I am so lucky to have you," he told him with total candor. Charles would have emptied his heart for him till the last drop, at any cost.
Meanwhile, the sounds that Carlos was making - he was so annihilated by Charles's actions that he hadn’t yet been able to articulate a single word - were something out of this world. He was almost on the edge, and Charles would accompany him there, and beyond.
"Oh, yes, the sounds you are making right now are so hot. Keep it up, you're very good, that's making me so hard when you do it... come on, let me see how you come. Show me how good you are. For me, do it for me," was the dirge he began to recite in his ear constantly. It was natural for Charles to tell him all those things while he nibbled his cheeks as if they were two ripe apples; they were so red.
Carlos's mouth was choking on Charles’s tongue, which kept his ever louder moans from being heard all over France. As soon as he broke away to catch his breath, Charles realized that those sounds had turned into utterly disjointed and senseless words in Spanish and Italian.
The hand moving faster and faster between his thighs and trapping his magnificent cock was having a cramp, but he didn't really care. Carlos was so close now.
"I love the way your body moves when I touch you. I love how it responds to me, I love how you become one with me and let yourself go. I love how much you trust me," he confessed, his heart in his hand.
For Charles, seeing Carlos in that way, so private and intimate, was an immense honor that had been bestowed on him. He didn’t know for what reason, if by luck or ability, but he was sure that he would do anything to protect him.
"I would never let anyone do what you did for me today, because I don't have that kind of trust with anyone else. You are too much precious and special to me. And now I want you to come because it's your reward for being so good to me, you deserve it," he ordered him in an incredibly confident voice.
He instantly felt Carlos's erection throbbing like a pulsing star between his fingers and knew he was about to come.
Charles didn't think twice about it and ran to take him in his mouth and collect every single drop of his pleasure. Pleasure that he had created and kept uphill to the end... Mon Dieu, it was thrilling to know that he was able to do such things to Carlos.
He felt so powerful and satisfied at that thought that every muscle in his body relaxed for a couple of seconds, almost as if the force of the orgasm he had given to Carlos was overwhelming him too, and a deadly calm through his chest like a lightning in the sky.
Charles swallowed it all greedily and carefully licked Carlos's now spent member. Then he gave him one last kiss and stood there, resting his head on his belly, staring at him spellbound.
Carlos was so handsome. Bellissimo. He could take his breath away with his smile and make the world end in his happy eyes.
For Charles it was like staring at the setting sun coloring everything around it with magnificent shades. It was like watching the starry night sky on the beach, with the sea waves blowing through his hair. It was like seeing a red tide of Ferrari red jumpsuits and flags celebrating from the top spot on the podium.
The love Charles had for Carlos made him feel so tiny in the world, and at the same time so huge in the universe. Simultaneously invincible and vulnerable, just like when he was behind the wheel every Sunday.
God, he was beautiful. And Charles only wished that their moment would never fade from the folds of time they had managed to carve out.
Carlos's hands slipped through Charles's hair - they were wet with sweat near his neck from the effort - and then his eyes looked at him in a way that would have been impossible to describe in words.
Charles spoke French, English and Italian; yet he would never be able to find the right words to express how Carlos was looking at him and smiling at him in that perfect little moment.
"Well, thank you very much for the heartfelt thanks you have given me, you were really committed. You were cunning, though," he said with a tired laugh. "You know I can't resist when you praise me. When you tell me those things, I could come on the spot."
Charles felt a smile draw on his face. He loved what they had shared: it was an unrivaled and crazy mix of intimacy, love, playfulness, shyness and cheekiness. Carlos was sometimes embarrassed by personal modesty about the things that came out of his mouth or that they did to each other when they were in bed together - but for Charles that was not the case.
Feeling appreciated at every possible level by those you loved was amazing. And he liked being able to be so controlled in his instincts so he could gave him so much pleasure. After all, he had done nothing but tell Carlos what he really thought about him.
"You could? Your stamina is destroyed everytime I praise you. Anyway, you know me... whenever I wanna something, I do everything I can to reach it," he told him, giving him a naughty wink.
Meanwhile, Charles noticed that the situation in his underwear had calmed down a lot. He was under control enough not to want to undress, touch himself, and come on Carlos in less than a minute.
"Of course, I know you well. And beware... what I did today for you, I wouldn't do for anyone else. A very complicated race awaits me tomorrow, but I am happy with all my heart to have helped you," Carlos confessed with tenderness, continuing to pamper his face and hair. "I don't have this with anyone else. For you I will always be everything you need... but I really hope that next time I will be the one to thank you on your bed for such a p1."
Those words went straight to Charles's heart and made a sea of love blossom within himself. So he got up from his own comfortable corner and walked over to leave a kiss on Carlos's mouth.
It was a touch as light as a feather, because that was exactly how he made him feel: weightless, without gravity, his mind finally cleared of everything that weighed inside him like an unstoppable boulder.
"And I can't wait for that day to come, but only after I am gonna win the WDC," he told him laughing while he positioned beside him, looking him straight in the eye.
Their competitiveness was an incredible drive to do better, always better. Carlos was the only one who brought out this part of himself in a healthy way, which had been rather self-destructive in the past. "Tomorrow I will not make mistakes. I won't waste what you and I did today, what you did for me. You just need to concentrate on overtaking as many positions as possible and getting closer to me, okay?"
Carlos shook his head like a good obedient schoolboy – God, that movement drove Charles mad. "Ai tuoi ordini, scuderia!" he exclaimed, giggling.
Then he left another kiss on Charles's mouth and cleared his throat.
"But now I have to take a shower again, you made me sweat again. Would you come with me? I'd also like to show you my personal gratitude for our magical teamwork," he proclaimed in such a smooth way and with such a crooked smile that Charles couldn't help but feel all his arousal building up in his belly in a couple of seconds, ready to explode again.
"Anything you want, amore mio. You will always have everything you want from me," he replied before getting out of bed with him. And it was the plain and simple truth.