Chapter Text
A lot can be said about Carlos–stubborn, thick-headed, aggressive, questionable driving abilities but adaptability certainly doesn't fall in the same pile.
Because if Carlos was surprised, almost unsure and a bit shy at times the last time Oscar was that close to see it on his face, Carlos has now fully evolved from ignored fist bumps and stuttered hellos to back slapping, benign joking and just-polite-enough-but-not-actually-interested length of conversations. Insane adaptability. Like P15 to P5 in a few races.
It's almost worse. Was the just some other guy Carlos knows and is friendly with category good or the admittedly small and unusual for Carlos category of awkward and being on the ignored end better?
Since the boob ordeal–well, it was hypocritical of Oscar to consider it an ordeal if he had managed to come like he had never before in his life–Carlos stopped ignoring him and had straightaway begun to treat him like Oscar was just another bloke on the grid.
Was it maddening that Carlos was not even treating him special since they solved Oscar's problem tête-à-tête a few weeks ago but just had moved around it super casually like every other driver who had popped out tits came to Carlos for help and now he expertly knew how to deal with the aftermath like it was as easy as driving a car?
Well, no. It was not maddening. It did not bother Oscar at all. For sure.
But there was a snag to that hypothesis.
Assuming that multiple other drivers had suddenly fallen in the same predilection as Oscar had and for some unspoken reason, all of them or at least, most of them had went to Carlos, thus giving him this expertise to deal with surprise calamititties, it still didn't explain why Carlos was so shocked and dumbfounded when it was Oscar.
Was it some sort of an internal war, Carlos being attracted to the modified anatomy but not the person they were on?
Maybe Carlos felt guilty for it, being attracted by the situation, just the flesh and separating Oscar from it so he tried to make up by being normal with Oscar.
Whatever it was, it was not a peachy situation for Oscar, who was trying to microanalyse every interaction and every fist bump. Lately, he had gone so crazy on his very well followed routine of patrolling on Carlos' Instagram to casually keep up with current events and updates of course, that Oscar had left a fucking like on a post. A recap of a race weekend. From his own official account.
Oscar had spent the next day cursing his stupid sleep-addled brain, unable to control his body movements and costing him his silence.
There was even a news article about it.
About a coworker liking another coworker's Instagram post. There was fanfare about it on Twitter. Oscar didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Carlos, like during all the past few months, didn't seem to give a single fuck.
Oscar was starting to wonder why he was the one called calm and collected. No aspect of his life seemed calm and collected at this particular stage.
Oscar was definitely not a happy bunny.
He tried not to pay much thought to it, stuffing it beneath the seemingly never ending troubles lately piling up on him on the track.
Qualifying was a horrid affair after Oscar lifted his head to see a Williams parked ahead of him after he parked the car in parc ferme. With dread and leftover rookie embarrassment, he could make out the fifty five on the side of the blue car that he should've been nowhere near Oscar. Throughout the media pen, between the interviews, Oscar kept his eyes focused on the distant but distinct shape of Carlos. Pumping out bland interviews and vague excuses, he let his mind unpack whatever he had stuffed about Carlos in a vault and shoved deep down.
What was even more odd was Carlos occasionally glancing at Oscar, brow furrowed, distracted. Was Carlos smug about it, somehow beating Oscar, or worse. Uneasy nausea bloomed in his stomach.
Was Carlos' surprise out of pity over whatever the fuck was wrong with Oscar who started driving like a rookie from F2 given the car for a free practice?
The greasy nausea stayed with him in the driver briefing, making him drink small sips of water, pinch the bridge of his nose to keep himself calm. Mark shot him mild, but steadily increasing in magnitude, concerned looks.
For an odd, mean moment, he blamed it on Mark.
Maybe the proximity to someone who so historically lost out to his teammate was rubbing off on Oscar.
He immediately shook himself out of it. Mark had been nothing but helpful. No reason to point fingers.
After tense, silent meeting with the engineers and Tom, who kept looking over to the other side of discussions, happy discussions because the team had one car on pole, Oscar slinked back to his driver's room and tried to will the frustration away. Mark was waiting for him when Oscar came back.
A heavy hand gripped Oscar's shoulder, squeezing hard.
"What're your plans for the rest of the day? Dinner somewhere?"
It was kind of late. Oscar wanted to scuttle back to the hotel, lick his wounds in peace, and pour over telemetry until he passed out. He wasn't sure he stomach proper quantities of solid food.
He relayed such to Mark leaving out the food part.
Mark sighed again like he already knew what Oscar was going to say.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Overthinking about it won't help. Y'know.. Just relax," Mark swallowed with great effort. Then after a beat, "Your girlfriend here?"
Oscar choked on his next breath. He didn't have a fucking girlfriend.
"Just stop–"
"Oscar, mate, listen–"
"Great talk. I assume you can find your way back so. Bye."
If Oscar was slightly nauseous a while ago, now he was on his to nausea with a proper urge to hurl his stomach contents.
His manager was telling him to fuck his frustrations and performance issues away.
What a joke.
He practically ran out of the room to get away from the stifling embarrassment of it.
Jesus.
Atleast there was something else to focus on, when Oscar, on his way out of the paddock, had spotted Carlos with his manager Cousin Carlos and trainer standing a few feet away. Carlos again had that lost, confused look.
Oscar's nausea and embarrassment was thankfully replaced by curiosity when the trainer said something in Carlos' ear, pointing at Oscar and promptly walked away with Cousin Carlos, leaving Carlos alone.
Carlos turned to him when Oscar was a few feet away, big mouth opening, when there was a noisy gaggle of loud voices from behind them. Oscar sneaked a look behind to find all the Carlos Favourites there. Lando, Alex, maybe Charles.
Oscar's curiosity had to wait another day and by the time he would get to it, Carlos would probably forget this. He had to keep the waves of disappointment down.
Carlos shut his mouth, eyes focused behind Oscar.
Maybe Oscar should just get out of the way. He neither felt loud, cheerful or happy to be a part of the conversation when Carlos quickly darted close to Oscar.
"I will text you the room number." Despite the time crunch and steadily approaching source of noise, Carlos managed to hinge his jaw sideways and struggle to say what he wanted to. Or didn't want to.
"Need a favour." He gritted out.
Before Oscar could say anything, Carlos had turned around, surprisingly not joining the group behind and Oscar forced himself to move before he could roped in for, shivers, small talk or a debrief of the day.
Well well well, what was all that about?
Multiple times throughout the duration of the shower he got into the second he had gotten back to his room, Oscar reminded himself that he wasn't, yeah. This wasn't that type of call.
Carlos wanted to–
He had to talk to Oscar about–
Maybe Oscar could–
Okay, Oscar gave up.
He couldn't come up with an acceptable reason why Carlos could be calling him over.
Still. Just in case. Never hurt to be prepared. No one had to know anyway.
So if Oscar had put on a soft green t-shirt that looked really good on him (as his sister who rarely compliments him told him once) or a delicious but not overpowering perfume that he bought after managing to get a glimpse of from Lewis' bag once, it was Oscar's secret to be kept.
Right, on to some enlightening conversations then. Maybe if he was lucky, he could squeeze a game of FIFA in somewhere. Lando was always bragging about how once he had beat Carlos multiple times in one night and Oscar wanted to just. Do that with Carlos, he didn't care about beating Carlos.
Carlos had pushed him harder into the mattress. He managed to snake an arm beneath Oscar and yanked on his hair and Oscar moaned into the hot, wet heat of Carlos' mouth as Carlos chuckled into him.
So much for conversations and FIFA.
Carlos had opened the door a few minutes ago, herded Oscar in and after a few minutes, muttered let's do it right at least and basically had pounced on Oscar.
Carlos pressed his hips down and broke them apart to gasp against Oscar's collarbone. He stayed like that for a minute, just grinding slowly on Oscar.
It felt– yeah, Carlos was big and warm, a delicious weight on Oscar. It didn't exactly feel bad.
Oscar slipped a hand under Carlos' t-shirt, ran a palm along warm, smooth skin, getting a hum vibrated into his neck.
Carlos responded by trailing a hand down to press on the bulge over Oscar's shorts and Oscar sighed a little in relief.
Carlos' hand bypassed, fingers tracing lower and pressing on his hole and oh, that definitely felt very good.
"Oh, fuck, okay, yeah, you can–" Oscar jostled Carlos off his lap and urgently shoved his own shorts down.
Carlos mirrored him, slowly but still getting his shorts off.
There was embarrassment, a bit of breathless frustration because why wasn't Carlos quick about this, why was Oscar so much more needy but quite a few of Oscar's braincells had shut down to properly work it out. He yanked Carlos back down on him and smashed their mouths together. He raised his hips to press into Carlos, moaning when he found the solid length of Carlos' thigh to take some pressure off.
"Yeah, you can– now. You don't have to–" Words were failing Oscar. Carlos was blinking owlishly at him. Fucking big brown eyes lost and blank.
"Already two steps ahead, mate. You don't have to waste any time, just, yeah. You can, like, slip in or whatever." Oscar was horribly glad Carlos was still kissing him sluggishly, making no move to slip it in. The embarrassment of it was somehow making Oscar even more harder.
When Carlos continued the glacial pace, sometimes even keeping his eyes open when he kissed Oscar, stiff and tense, Oscar was done with this.
Why did Carlos call him over, precede to kiss him like his life depended on it and then freeze like a deer in headlights.
Exhausted, frustrated, Oscar slipped a hand between them, bumping against Carlos' abs and Carlos– Carlos flinched, like Oscar had slapped him. He immediately grabbed Oscar's wrist and reared back. He got off Oscar, retreating to the edge of the bed. It was all so sudden, like coming out of the dark sim room into the bright engineering rooms that Oscar had to wait a minute, catch his breath. Acclimatise to the sudden shift.
Carlos was breathing very hard.
Worry clouded over Oscar. Was Carlos okay? Maybe he did want to just make out like teenagers– he could've told Oscar, but Oscar never gave him the time for it, just stripping out of his clothes and demanding Carlos to fuck him.
Oscar had just spectacularly fucked it.
Slowly, like he was approaching a spooked wild animal, Oscar slinked down the bed. Carlos sat hunched, hands fisted in the sheets.
"Is everything.. You- are you okay?" A 'sorry' sat on the tip of his tongue.
Carlos didn't say anything, continuing to quietly stare at the floor.
After what felt like a few minutes, Oscar decided to try again.
He inched closer, maybe offer some comforting words, maybe he should have just ran away from this room as well.
But Carlos was quick. He immediately stood up and paced the room a bit, muttering under his breath.
"Carlos." At the sound of his name, Carlos stopped and sat at the other end of the bed. His shoulders were tense, entire body locked and tight, prepared for an attack.
When Carlos said nothing for the next few minutes, Oscar decided fuck it, he had a long day tomorrow, so did Carlos and he should probably turn in.
Wordlessly, he got dressed, wincing when he realised he had flung his t-shirt to near where Carlos was sitting.
"It's stupid. Really just–" Carlos began when Oscar was trying to fight his way to get his head out of the t-shirt. "I thought I can make it go away but it's been three days and nothing changed and I thought, Oscar can– you would understand." Oscar thought this was the first time he had seen Carlos so unsure and fidgety. He kept squirming and fidgeting and Oscar wondered if it would be mean to ask Carlos to just say what was troubling him this bad.
Oscar sat down, patient, because even though it would really help him to just spend a stressless night before the race, it felt wrong to leave Carlos like that.
Carlos had helped him too. Few months ago. With Oscar's problem.
Clearly Carlos had many surprises for Oscar today, when he let go of the blanket, sat back and tugged Oscar toward himself. He pressed his lips to Oscar's while Oscar struggled to find grip, settling inelegantly between Carlos' legs. Whatever arousal flagged down from a few minutes ago, had returned back with a vengeance when he rubbed against Carlos' thigh and Oscar moaned, already reaching a hand up to grip Carlos' hair. Carlos sighed into Oscar's mouth, hands coming to rest on Oscar's waist. He gently rocked his hips up against Oscar, letting out little sighs. It felt like a whiplash.
Just like a few minutes ago, Carlos seemed content like this, just softly pecking Oscar and Oscar, skimming a hand down Carlos' torso felt that same flash of annoyance when Carlos breathily broke the kiss.
"Oscar, wait." Carlos looked like a sight, flushed face, eyes shining brightly, lips swollen from Oscar sucking on them.
Carlos was again slipping from his turned-on-stupor to whatever anxiety that was troubling him earlier. His breathy sighs were turning into tiny panicky breaths.
"Carlos." Oscar gripped his wrist, strong enough to hopefully bring Carlos back. Carlos blinked his huge eyes at Oscar.
"Just," He moaned. "Please, Oscar." Carlos pulled Oscar's hand down. Oscar didn't know what Carlos wanted, what he couldn't even say. He didn't know how to give it to him.
Carlos placed Oscar's hand on his thigh, close to his cock, but not touching. He was wound up so tight, breathing so hard, Oscar wanted to run his fingers through his hair. Oscar pressed a small kiss to his mouth, hoping to get the comfort through.
"Please." Carlos sighed and Oscar didn't– he still didn't know what Carlos wanted. Carlos' insane bottom lip quivered.
Oscar took it into his mouth and sucked hard, tasting Carlos' moan. He ran his fingers along Carlos' damp shorts. Carlos squeezed his thighs around Oscar.
So far, there wasn't a no anywhere. No time like the present to move things forward.
He cupped Carlos' cock or atleast where the bulge was supposed to be because well. There wasn't.
His hand was met with a smooth mound, the material of the shorts slightly damp, and Oscar stuttered a bit, confused.
Carlos was definitely no longer sharing the same sentiment as Oscar, letting a silent gasp, rocking against Oscar's fingers.
Oscar pressed his fingers down, because what the hell, what was happening and Carlos arched up with a broken gasp.
"Carlos." He broke off by slightly wrenching himself off Carlos to sit back and slipped his fingers down Carlos' waistband.
There have been very few moments in his life that had left Oscar truly speechless and with a blank and empty mind, all thought processing centres thoroughly shut down.
This one probably took the cake.
His first thought was warm, then wet, so wet. Hair brushed against his fingertips. He could feel– Oscar could feel Carlos leaking more and he immediately wrenched his hand out, scrabbling at the waistband to take the shorts off. Carlos, still shuddering and gasping, lifted his hips, making it easier for Oscar. Static was slowly filling his brain. He had to see. Because it meant Carlos was– Oscar had to look.
Flinging the stupid shorts to somewhere, Oscar settled down again. Carlos had slightly shut his legs, looking very flushed, almost shy and afraid. Oscar tapped his thigh. He needed to look.
"C'mon, Carlos." He ran a hand over his thigh. "Please." He added, tapping a thumb against the underside of his thigh.
Carlos looked away, throwing an arm over his face and slightly inched his thighs apart.
It wasn't enough, but enough of a gap for Oscar.
Wrapping his arms around them, he pushed Carlos' thighs apart and he was pretty sure he almost died. Flatline. Long beep.
No, Carlos did not have a dick, the hard solid length that Oscar could very clearly recall was not there.
Carlos finally decided to chip in.
"I– I uh, woke up like this, three days ago. I didn't know what to do." He took a deep breath. Oscar was thankful he was saying something because Oscar's brain had quite frankly shut down. "I tried to– alone, do something. I didn't know who to ask, but," He hiccuped, twitching and squirming. Very red. "It wouldn't work."
Oscar was barely comprehending what Carlos had been saying but some words filtered in through the haze. Which was, fuck. The implications were catastrophic. Oscar was sure he wouldn't come out alive.
"Fuck, Carlos, did you fuck yourself with a–"
"Oscar." Carlos whined out loudly, and Oscar could, fuck, he could see his pussy throb.
Enough talking, his primitive brain ordered him to get a move on because holy shit, Carlos has a pussy.
Carlos wasn't as hairy as Oscar expected he would have been. Aside from a patch of thick, dark hair, he was relatively smooth. And glistening. God, he was wet. Oscar wanted to bury his nose in the curls and just inhale.
Oscar felt like he could just come like that, just staring at Carlos, but Carlos was definitely not satisfied with Oscar just looking.
"Oscar." He sounded chiding and exasperated enough and okay, that jolted Oscar out of his stupor.
Oscar's slight touch, as he brought his fingers to Carlos' cunt should not have warranted such a response from Carlos–back arched, sharp gasp.
Oscar rubbed his fingers again and Carlos let out a garbled moan.
He played with Carlos' pussy like that for a few minutes, just rubbing his fingers through the wetness and spreading it around. Running his fingers through the hair and grazing where Carlos' clit must have been, because Carlos almost spasmed. His mouth watered so bad. He needed to taste Carlos.
"Carlos, can I... I need to–just,"
"Please, Oscar." Carlos was breathless, hips rocking in small thrusts and okay, fuck, if Carlos wouldn't like it he would tell.
So Oscar dove in.
Carlos was wet, so fucking wet, he tasted strong and musky, and Oscar couldn't help himself from running his tongue through his folds again. Carlos twitched into Oscar's mouth when Oscar moaned loudly into him, letting out broken little sobs.
"Oscar, por favor, fuck, feels so good." He cried out, already grinding against Oscar's mouth in tiny circles.
Oscar lapped at Carlos, mapped out neatly placed bites on his inner thighs and Carlos thrashed in his hold, sending a strong bolt of lust to his stomach.
Carlos was so reactive, it was addictive. Loud, unabashed moans, pretty flush spreading everywhere, thighs twitching when Oscar got close to slipping his tongue in. When Oscar briefly sucked on his clit, Carlos slammed his thighs around Oscar's face, hips stuttering.
Oscar groaned.
"You want my mouth, yeah?" Carlos whined at that, looking down at Oscar. "Then keep your thighs open, baby." He licked a long, slow line along his pussy. "Can't do it," He blew over flushed, wet skin. "If you don't stay still." Carlos shuddered and then spread his shivering thighs apart. He was so beautiful like this, spread apart, wanton and expressive and if someone asked Oscar to commit himself to a religion right now, he would've happily continued to worship Carlos, kneeling right there between his legs.
"Sensitive here, are we?" Oscar mumbled, running his fingers over Carlos' swollen clit that now peeked out from behind the hair.
Carlos let out a moan.
Oscar pressed down and Carlos arched up, the insane curve of his body lit by the soft lights.
"It's too much, ah, please, wait, Oscar–"
Oscar did not wait.
He took his clit between his lips and sucked with a throaty hum, smoothly easing two fingers in, met with almost no resistance and fuck, Carlos was so tight and wet and hot and contracting around him as he shuddered and gasped and came around Oscar's fingers.
He calmed down for a second, no longer seizing up, and looked down at Oscar who was already looking at him, a spark of lucidity returning to his eyes.
Carlos slowly put a hand in Oscar's hair, mouth slightly open and pulled and oh that felt good. Oscar shivered in response, continuing to suck his clit, experimentally pressing his fingers further in and Carlos shuddered above him and twitched even more, somehow getting wetter.
Fuck, did he– Did Oscar manage to make him come twice so quickly? Or maybe like one prolonged orgasm. Whatever it was, Oscar kept licking him through it.
Carlos was quivering so badly, almost spasming, Oscar felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He wrenched himself free of Oscar and turned around to bury his face into the pillow, curling into himself. His breathing was ragged and Oscar let him be.
It was insane. Carlos was insane. His fucking pussy was insane.
Not like Carlos’ dick was forgettable.
Oscar still sometimes got off to imagining pushing Carlos into the bed and swallowing his cock.
He should have seized the opportunity that day to do it.
But Carlos with a–
Yeah.
Oscar thought he should get some sort of award for controlling himself and not flipping Carlos around, tying his hands to the bed and keep his mouth where Carlos was impossibly wet and slick until he passed out.
Oscar's cock was painfully hard enough for it to hurt even when he shifted his hips a bit. He roughly squeezed himself to relieve some of it.
A moment of clarity hit him. What if Carlos wanted him to do something else? He never told Oscar- more like Oscar never allowed him to, just shoving his thighs apart and eating him out like he was starved for days and he was dragged in front of a full dinner spread.
Carlos still wasn't speaking‐ maybe he didn't like someone going down on him– impossible though. He came twice. The facts and come running down Oscar's chin were adequate evidence for the argument.
The momentary concern and doubt was wiped out from Oscar's mind when Carlos sighed and shifted around, his thigh moving up a bit in the process and okay. The sight of him glistening, swollen and pink, because Oscar had his mouth on him–
Okay, yeah. One more. He could make Carlos come once more with his mouth and then ask him what he wanted. Yeah, he could do that.
He blindly stumbled forward, pushing down a dozing off Carlos with a hand on his back, between his shoulders. Carlos was loose, body pliant, going with it and fuck if it didn't make Oscar moan. He settled down again, tugging on Carlos’ hips until he was on his knees, making confused sounds.
“Oscar, what are you doing?” His voice was sleep-thick, confused–Oscar refused to label it adorable.
“Mmh,” Oscar moaned loudly, running his tongue over Carlos’ hole, unable to resist. Carlos jerked beneath him. He wanted to push his tongue in, get his fingers in him, make Carlos moan and shiver. Instead he ran his hands over Carlos’ ass.
Another time. It will be for another time. Oscar had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Let me. You have to let me. You can–” He cut himself off with a hard, long lick from Carlos’ clit to his hole. “Tell me.” Oscar huffed out, burying his nose in the wet hair, breathing Carlos in. He felt wild, like he would die if he didn't breathe Carlos in or couldn't have his taste on his tongue, even for a second. Oscar knew he was acting insane but he couldn't stop. Maybe Carlos had a super pussy, which could, like, bewitch whoever saw it– because that must be the reason why Oscar felt like he was losing his mind.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Oscar managed to say, squeezing Carlos’ hips before he lost himself to licking, sucking and kissing the wet, slick heat presented to him.
Oscar didn't let up until Carlos came twice. Or thrice. Carlos shivered and twitched for so long after the second time, there could've been a third one.
Oscar wiped his hand on a blanket. He had gotten himself off somewhere in between, so lost in the haze of pleasure and Carlos’ moans and whines and sighs that he was almost surprised he was coming when his hand came in contact with his cock as he tried to adjust his shorts to ease the pressure.
Carlos was a heap of flushed skin, sweat, drool and tears–he was crying at the end, now still and barely moving a muscle. His voice had gotten hoarse, when he sobbed out a no more, please, Oscar, I can't. His hair was plastered over his forehead, flying in every direction over his head. He looked wrecked. Oscar wanted to tattoo the image into his brain.
Oscar quietly rose, slipping into the bathroom.
There was a purple unicorn sticker on the mirror.
His lips were swollen, face having been flushed for so long, Oscar wondered if it would go back to normal. He quickly washed himself and grabbed a few towels, wetting some of them.
Carlos was still quiet and unmoving, a bit uncharacteristically if Oscar could say so as he cleaned him quietly.
Oscar waited in silence for a moment. Would it be rude if he just left? Would it be weird if he stayed?
Carlos was asleep. It's not like he could ask. Or hover around nervously.
He ducked beneath the sofa to look for the other thong when there was a rustling of sheets from behind him.
Oscar turned around to see Carlos kicking away the ruined blanket. The sheets were clean underneath.
Sneaky fucker planned all of it properly.
He motioned to Oscar with his hands to come on, no words, just a grunt.
Oscar stood silently for a second.
He was dressed. He could leave. He had a race tomorrow. Important points that would really matter.
Carlos was blinking sleepily, combing his hair with his fingers.
The room was encased in dim, warm light. Carlos’ stuff was strewn across the room. Multiple unicorn stickers were stuck around like Easter eggs.
There was no trace of orange.
Oscar took off his lone thong. He would look for the other one in the morning.
Carlos made a face when he cracked an eye open.
“Eh, shirt is your choice but no shorts.” Carlos’ gruff, sleepy voice was probably the best thing Oscar heard. He took the shorts off. And Oscar stayed.
When Oscar wakes up against a hard body, warm arm around him, hips grinding into his, he sighs. The perfect alarm.
Except the alarm isn't no longer perfect when the hips behind him freeze and the arm around him is gone.
“Mm, Carlos?”
Carlos doesn't respond.
Oscar turns around after a beat.
Carlos is propped up on an elbow, frowning, looking down himself.
Oh. He isn't– He didn't get it back?
“We didn't fuck.” Carlos’ words are soft, but they hit Oscar harder than anything.
It's eight in the morning. They can't fix it now. Carlos has to race in a few hours. Oscar couldn't help Carlos after Carlos had done it for him. He had been so caught up in his head, he wore them both down and they never got to it.
God, he was such a cunt.
Maybe Carlos should've gone to someone else who wasn't such a cunt and who would have actually helped him. Even just hypothetically thinking about Carlos, like this, going to someone else and not Oscar made him queasy.
He scrambles off the bed the second time, this time he knew where everything was. Thankfully, his other thong is easily found today. Carlos is saying something behind him. He is on call with his trainer, Oscar makes out as he grabs his bag from the table. He hears Carlos say nothing changed and sigh loudly and Oscar crushes the sob before it can come out.
Carlos ends the call. He is lying on the bed, head thrown back.
God, he can't even look at Oscar.
When Oscar tries to open the door slowly to not to make any noise, Carlos looks up.
“I can call somebody else up, you know?” He sounds amused, maybe he is at that stage of pissed off that he comes off as amused.
Yeah, Carlos can. He can call anyone else to help because fuckwit Oscar couldn't do the job.
“Yeah.” Oscar swallows hard. “Should've done it last night.” The words feel like battery acid.
Carlos flops his head down.
“Yeah, I know.” He sounds so regretful that Oscar no longer feels queasy but can actually sense bile rising up his oesophagus.
Everything that felt soft and welcoming last night in the subdued darkness feels suffocating in the bright morning lights. Oscar swiftly slinks out.