solo / carlos sainz

twenty-two

Carlos is many things but he is not patient. When he wants something, he wants it right then and there. Now I can see where Elsie gets it from.

As soon as we're through the doors of the club, Carlos is hauling me toward the bar. His hand is so low on my back it's obscene but no one seems to care. Why should they? He's just won the fucking Silverstone Grand Prix. He's got a right to celebrate however he sees fit.

And how he sees fit is with a round of tequila shots. Four are laid out in front of us, I assume two for me and two for him, until two men bracket us in on either side with near identical grins.

"Carlos, amigo, care to introduce us?" The first one, a slightly shorter French sounding man, asks. I vaguely recognise him to be Carlos's teammate though I can't recall his name for the life of me.

The other one, a man I also recognise from...somewhere, holds out a hand. "Lando Norris, pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to finally meet you, Mara." The French-ish man pushes one of the shots toward Lando, bringing the other toward himself. "I was beginning to think Carlos was hiding you from us."

Despite being in front of what I assume are two of his best mates, Carlos doesn't remove his hand from my lower back. In fact, it drifts lower, squeezing my arse and pulling me into him in a move I could only ever describe as territorial.

"Cariño, este es Charles de Ferrari y Lando de McLaren. Los dos son unos completos idiotas."

Lando grins at the mention of his name, hoisting his stolen shot in the air. "Lando de McLaren is correct! You know, Carlos used to drive for McLaren before he left me for the prancing horse."

I laugh, looking to Charles now, "Parle-t-il de Ferrari ou de toi quand il dit 'prancing horse'?"

"Tu parles français!" Charles smacks Carlos's arm, his smile now rivalling Lando's. "Non mi hai mai detto che parla francese!" He's speaking in...Italian? I think? It has some similarities to Spanish and French, though not enough for me to understand...

Recognising my confusion, Carlos translates, "He's scolding me for never telling him you speak French."

"To be fair, he didn't know," I tell Charles, picking up my glass at Lando's prodding.

Together, the four of us hoist our shots up into the air, giving a loud cheer before bringing the glasses back down to the bar for a tap before throwing them back.

It's been entirely too long since I took a shot and the effect it has on me is instantaneous.

My entire body flushes with heat, the feeling made a hundred times more potent by the strong grip Carlos now has around my waist as we move into the densest part of the dance floor.

As soon as we get there, I know this night isn't going to be one for the faint of heart. Without hesitation, Carlos grabs me by the back of the neck and hauls me into his, our mouths mere centimetres apart when he pauses. His other hand, still on my waist, pins me to him.

What the fuck is he waiting for? I bring my hands up, lacing them through the hair at the nape of his neck and giving it a tug. Carlos groans, quiet and near soundless compared to the heavy music pounding through the room. Oh...he's waiting for me.

"Arruíname, Carlos."

The distance between us is closed in an instant, his lips crushing into mine in a frantic rush to taste and feel and explore and reunite after much too long. If it weren't for his arm around my waist, I'd be on the floor. His touch is molten gold, lighting me up and burning through me and promising endless beauty if I can withstand it long enough.

Air is a rare commodity as Carlos kisses me, spurred on by the way I pull at his hair and press myself into him. "Mara, oh my god."

This is what our relationship was missing. I know that now, though the reasoning's growing more and more fuzzy as Carlos's hands grow more and more bold. When one drifts up my chest to trail under the strap of my dress, I have to pull away lest he do something that leaves us both in hot water.

"How long do we have to stay here?"

Carlos shrugs, looking around the room with his usual, slightly confused expression. Everything's a problem to be solved in his mind, a strategy to be made, a solution presented. "I imagine we'll be here most of the night."

I reach around Carlos to his back pocket, where he's carrying my phone and his. While I'd meant to grab mine, his is the one I have in my hand when I bring my arm back around and the photo he's got set as his screensaver makes me want to cry.

It's a photo of Elsie and I asleep on the couch, cuddled up together with her Bluey toy abandoned on the floor. "My two girls," Carlos explains, smiling down at me as I look up with teary eyes. "My beautiful, smart, amazing girls."

I almost say it. I want to. And maybe I should...but not tonight.

"Wanna use Elsie as an excuse to ditch?"

Carlos's smile never wavers, "I thought you'd never ask."