Charlos || Charles Leclerc x Carlos Sainz Jr.

Monaco

By day three, Carlos knew Charles's apartment like the back of his hand. His belongings found their way into every room, and he spent most nights raiding the fridge in his different pairs of martini boxers. Tonight was no different, and Carlos had just discovered ice cream in the back of the freezer. Before he could scoop himself a bowl, Charles appeared in the doorway. He wore a silky pinstripe pajama set. The shirt was unbuttoned slightly, and Carlos allowed himself to stare for a moment.

"I can't sleep. Let's go for a drive," Charles said.

Carlos tossed the ice cream back in the freezer. "Can I drive?" Carlos asked.

"No," Charles said without hesitation.

"Can I put on clothes first?" Carlos asked.

"I'd prefer not, but go ahead," he said, staring at his objectively mountainous boobies.

Carlos laughed and went to get changed. He returned in a hoodie and sweatpants. "Aren't you going to change too?" He implored, eyeing Charles.

"No...I'm too comfortable." Charles grabbed his keys and the two made their way to the garage. They climbed into the matt black Ferrari 488 Pista Spider with the stripes of the Monguesque flag. (Which is a really boring flag btw)

They settled back in the seats. Their hands found each other on the middle console, and their fingers intertwined. It felt so natural and domestic to be holding hands like this. They sat in a comfortable silence as Charles drove the car through Monaco's streets. They traveled at a leisurely pace: no plan, just vibes.

Stars flickered high overhead, visible even through the city light pollution. Pedestrians walked arm in arm, friends leaning close to whisper to each other. It was a relatively quiet night, and no one had pointed them out despite Charles's highly recognizable car.

Carlos's voice was barely above a whisper. "It'th lovely here."

Charles nodded. "I'm still not tired though."

Carlos glanced at him, a soft smile on his lips. "I am. Your driving is very thmooth."

Charles smiled back fondly. "Alright, let's head home then," he said without really realizing what he said. It hit him a moment later, home, he said home as if they've lived together for years and not just a few weeks, as if they were going to stay in his apartment in Monaco forever. He glanced at Carlos for a reaction but none came. They hit a red light and Charles allowed himself to search Carlos's expression. He was looking out the window, visibly zoned out as usual, the street light forming a halo in his hair. His voluminous eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, but didn't do anything to darken the shine in his round eyes. A five o'clock shadow was visible along his strong jaw, and Charles resisted the urge to run his hand across the stubble. The smattering of freckles across his cheekbones, his full lips and brows, it took Charles a moment to realize he loved everything about Carlos. Carlos felt like home.

The light turned green. Charles pried his eyes away from Carlos and back onto the road. The next light turned red. When the car stopped, a wasian girl, a brown girl, and an obviously homosexual white girl pointed at them. Charles panicked, pulling his hand away from Carlos's grip. Carlos's face fell. He looked wounded. Charles felt a pang of guilt, but it was forgotten the moment the brown girl spoke. Charles rolled his window down a crack to hear her.

The wasian girl held up her phone, filming him. "Can I get your autograph?" The brown girl called out.

"Uhhhh sure I guess."

The girl handed him a white Haas hat and a sharpie. Charles gave the trio a sideways look, but took the hat and signed it quickly. "Zaddy, can you sign it too?" The maybe-slightly-less-homosexual-than-we-thought white girl said, eyeing Carlos Sainz Jr.