Trackside Tensions (Carlando Landoscar Charlos)

A Piece of Art

The next morning, Lando's spot at the breakfast table remained conspicuously empty. It was nearly 8:30 when Charles and Carlos slipped out of the villa, leaving behind a still-slumbering Lando. They hadn't woken him, assuming he wouldn't be interested in joining them on their planned excursion to the local art museum—a visit more aligned with Charles's interests than Lando's.

The Museo Picasso Málaga was more than just a museum; it was a sanctuary of creativity, where the echoes of the past met the pulse of the present. The soft murmur of other visitors blended with the quiet creak of floorboards underfoot, creating a gentle symphony that filled the vast, sunlit galleries. As Carlos and Charles moved through the rooms, the afternoon light bathed the exhibits in golden hues, casting long, dancing shadows across the vibrant canvases.

Carlos watched intently as Charles stopped in front of one of Picasso's early cubist works. Charles's posture was relaxed, yet his focus was intense, drawing Carlos's attention not just to the art but to the way Charles seemed to merge with it. The sharp angles of the painting mirrored the sharp lines of Charles's profile, while the warm light caught in Charles's hair, a mix of gold and brown that seemed to glow under the museum's soft illumination. Carlos's gaze lingered on the elegant curve of Charles's jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he pondered the art before him.

"You know," Charles said, his voice a low murmur that blended with the room's ambiance, "Picasso once said that every act of creation is first an act of destruction. I think that's what makes his work so compelling. He wasn't afraid to break the rules, to dismantle reality and put it back together in a way that made sense to him."

Carlos nodded, though his thoughts were split. Part of his attention was on Charles—how effortlessly he carried himself, how there was a quiet intensity in everything he did. The soft fabric of Charles's shirt clung to his shoulders, hinting at the lean muscles beneath, while the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath was magnified in the hushed surroundings of the museum.

"So you think there's beauty in destruction?" Carlos asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the heat of Charles's proximity.

Charles turned slightly, meeting Carlos's gaze. The look in his eyes, a mixture of contemplation and warmth, made Carlos's pulse quicken. "In a way, yes. Sometimes you have to tear down the old to make way for something new, something better. Picasso saw the world differently, and he used his art to show others that different perspective. It's... liberating, in a way."

The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension that neither wanted to address but both felt acutely. As they moved deeper into the museum, they found themselves in a quieter section, lined with Picasso's Blue Period paintings. The somber tones and melancholy subjects created a cocoon of intimacy, the noise of the outside world fading into a distant hum.

Carlos and Charles stood side by side, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed. Carlos felt a flicker of something electric with each touch—a sensation that made him acutely aware of every breath, every subtle movement. He glanced sideways at Charles, noting the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the way his fingers absently traced the outline of a painting's frame. The closeness was intoxicating, a tangible reminder of the attraction he'd been trying to manage.

Charles, on the other hand, found his thoughts drifting, though not entirely where Carlos might have expected. As they stood in front of a particularly haunting piece depicting a figure alone in the shadows, Oscar's face flashed in Charles's mind. The unresolved feelings for Oscar lingered like a shadow, a constant reminder of something left unfinished. A part of him wished Oscar were here to share this moment, to see the world through the same lens, to understand the depths of his passion for art. Yet, as he tried to push those thoughts aside, the presence of Carlos, so close and attentive, became harder to ignore.

"Charles, come look at this," Carlos said, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and admiration as he moved toward a nearby sculpture. The piece was elegant yet powerful, its lines fluid yet strong—a perfect blend of contrasts.

Carlos tilted his head, examining the sculpture before glancing back at Charles with a small, enigmatic smile. "It kind of reminds me of you," he said, his tone light but tinged with a deeper emotion.

Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Me? How so?"

Carlos stepped closer to the sculpture, pointing out a particular curve of the stone that seemed almost impossibly delicate yet clearly designed to support the entire piece. "This part here... it's like how you are. Strong, but there's a softness to you, a gentleness that's easy to miss if you're not paying attention."

Charles stepped beside him, his interest piqued, and Carlos took a small step to the side, closing the space between them. He raised his arm, pointing out another detail—a subtle, almost hidden intricacy that was easy to overlook unless you were searching for it. Charles leaned in closer, his head nearly brushing against Carlos's as he tried to catch the detail Carlos was highlighting.

As Carlos lowered his arm, he found himself captivated by Charles's face, the intensity of his focus. The way Charles's brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the way his lips parted just a fraction—it all made Carlos's heart race. He realized then how close they were, the warmth of Charles's presence overwhelming in the quiet intimacy of the gallery.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Carlos's gaze drifted from the sculpture to Charles's face, admiring the way the soft light played off his features, highlighting the delicate structure of his cheekbones, the subtle curve of his lips.

But before Carlos could act on the impulse to close the distance, to see if Charles's lips were as soft as they looked, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The vibration broke the spell, pulling him back to reality. He stepped back, reaching for his phone and glancing at the screen. It was Lando.

"Lando's calling," Carlos murmured, more to himself than to Charles. The moment's intimacy seemed to dissolve as the call interrupted their connection.

Charles blinked, the intensity of the moment between them fading as Carlos's words registered. He stepped back, his thoughts shifting to Lando, a pang of concern tugging at him. The sudden shift in Carlos's focus made Charles wonder if everything was alright, if the balance of their day was about to be disrupted by unexpected news.

Carlos declined the call, unwilling to disturb the museum's serene atmosphere with a phone conversation. Instead, he quickly typed out a message: Charles and I are visiting the Museo del Prado. We didn't want to wake you up because we figured you wouldn't be interested anyway.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, trying to push away the slight unease he felt. It was fine. Lando would understand. He'd probably be out by the time they got back, enjoying the beach or exploring the area on his own.

Charles turned to him, sensing the change in mood. "Everything alright?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I guess he was just wondering where we went. We should have left a note," Carlos shrugged, attempting to mask the unease he felt.

They continued their tour of the museum, but the lightness of the morning was gone. The atmosphere was now tinged with an unspoken tension, a shadow that seemed to hang over them as they moved from room to room. Carlos tried to focus on the art, on the beauty around them, but his mind kept drifting back to Lando, to the brief, unreadable text he had sent. Each glance at Charles felt heavy with the weight of the unresolved tension.

Charles, too, found it difficult to concentrate. The echoes of his thoughts about Oscar now mingled with a growing sense of unease about Lando. He couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for the way things had shifted, for the strange, unsettled mood that seemed to have taken hold of their trip. The quiet tension between them, coupled with the persistent distraction of unresolved issues, made the museum feel less like a sanctuary and more like a backdrop to their internal struggles.

By the time they left the museum, both Carlos and Charles were lost in their thoughts, each grappling with their own worries. The car ride home was filled with a profound sense of uncertainty. The conversations they might have shared were overshadowed by their separate concerns, leaving them both to ponder the day's events and what the future might hold for their strained dynamics.