Chapter Text
—
Charles is so piss-drunk.
It is actually funny how plastered he is, right now.
He’s a fucking winner, actually. The winner of his home Grand Prix, a Monegasque won the Monaco Grand Prix. Could it not be any more perfect? And, what’s better, is that he broke the damn curse he’s had to face every single year Ferrari fucks up his race. But, miraculously, they don’t fuck it up this time, and Charles is a winner. And Charles is very drunk now, as well.
Lando was the first one to call him right after that win in Monaco. Charles doesn’t think he’s ever been more drunk, drowning in drinks and taking any drink he possibly could. It was a mix of cheap drinks, champagne, a few cigars he declined, and some more cocktails he couldn’t name circulating around the damn place.
When he drags himself to the bar, he places his card back down because he’s pretty sure the bartender forgot about his tab. His eyes are rimmed red and bloodshot with how damn drunk he was, and he can’t help but ask for another drink on top of the one he already had.
He goes to order a drink, but there’s this random voice that he can hear. Heavy with an accent that he knows he can name, but he can’t quite register at the moment with how buzzed his brain was from all the drinks. Maybe if Lando was here, he’d laugh at Charles, calling him stupid. Maybe if Pierre was here, he’d whisper something in French, telling the man talking to him to piss off.
“Hey, handsome.”
Charles groans and looks back at the damn guy talking. He looks like a kid, all rugged and tough in appearance with a mess of hair and a shave that looks scratchier than clean. He’s a little wolfish with that thousand-watt grin that shines under the dim lights.
“You’re the man of the day, aye? Mr. Monaco?”
Charles’ head swims with that voice—the kid was trying to be funny, wasn’t he?—and he laughs, “Who are you?”
“Oh, not anyone in particular. Name is Carlos,” and of course, Carlos, the damn kid, is wearing this ugly Red Bull shirt, and his hat is spun around, making him look like a disgusting teenager. Honestly, Charles thought it was some model hitting on him, but no, it turned out to be this stupid little kid who looked way too confident. “What about you?”
Shouldn’t he know?
Charles rolls his eyes, laughing at the fact that Carlos knew him well enough to congratulate him, but didn’t even know his name.
“Charles. Practically the same name as yours, just… French, I think,” he glances up.
“Nice, Chuck, is it? Okay. Well, want to buy me a drink?”
The audacity of this kid. He had balls. Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “Usually, it’s the other way around.”
“No, not this time,” Carlos grins back—Spanish, Charles briefly recognizes—but the man continues anyway, “I just thought you weren’t getting any. I mean, I’m sure your friends aren’t either, so I can…”
“You are a cocky bastard, aren’t you?”
“The bathrooms are also empty, by the way,” Carlos tilts his head to the side, running a hand through his hair as he leans against Charles’ shoulder with his own. “Just saying.”
“Are you Spanish?”
“Huh? Sí, yeah, I’m Spanish. How’d you guess? Why?”
“Your accent. Just… yeah… uh, okay. Let’s meet in the bathroom—”
“Ah, ah, no,” Carlos shakes his head with a smirk, before giggling, “Drink first, please.”
“Cheeky.”
In the blink of an eye, the kid had already wrapped a hand around his wrist and tugged him into some random, dingy bathroom stall. He immediately shuffles onto his knees, trying to unzip Charles’ pants.
“Patience, ” Charles murmurs, the back of his head hitting the wall as he pries the guy’s hands off of his jeans. He shimmies the pants to his knees after unzipping them, pulling down his boxers, and then threading his fingers into the guy’s hair. The music vibrates on the floor, and he can feel it under his shoes. The music and lights are so washed out and dim in the bathroom that the only thing Charles can really focus on is the guy in front of him, looking up at him with these impossibly dark eyes.
He didn’t even need time to get hard. It’s embarrassingly like his teenage years, cock already straining against the fabric of his boxers when the kid tugged on his wrist. Now, it’s weeping, pre-cum dribbling at the tip, before, of course—
“God, chéri, a little warning may have been nice,” Charles insists, voice hoarse with broken pleasure as his eyes roll back. The heat of the guy’s—Carlos’—mouth, paired with the wetness, feels like heaven against him. His tongue flattens on the underside of his cock and he pulls the kid by hair hair closer, the tip of his cock hitting against the roof of the man’s mouth. “Ahh, fuck, you’ve done this before, have you not? I know you have. Very good,” he coos, fingers brushing along the man’s browbone, “Very good.”
Carlos pulls off, lips darkened with saliva and impossibly red. His eyes gleam with interest as he giggles, “You would be right, Mr. Monaco,” and it only takes him a moment to go back to mouthing at his cock. Charles rolls his eyes at the implication, even if he was the one who asked and fists his hand into Carlos’ hair. The man’s breath ghosts along the tip of his cock, his nose nudging along the curve of his arousal before he goes back to swallowing the entire length in one clean motion.
“Ah, mon—mon dieu. Fucking hell,” Charles breathes out, nails dully raking against the man’s scalp with how tight he was gripping. He bucks forward into his mouth, trying not to make it hurt. Trying to make it feel good for both him and for Carlos, too. It’s greedy, the kid’s mouth. Wet with saliva, swallowing him whole, and then smirking around his length when Charles would curse under his breath. It’s a little infuriating that he can’t exactly be mad at the kid because he’s just so good at this. Because he’s just everything he’s ever wanted. “For the love of—ah—”
Charles pushes his back down by the back of his neck again, the sound of saliva against wet skin the only thing he can hear. When he’s close to finishing, he feels it build in his abdomen, the heat searing and coursing through him with something that screams pleasure. He was going to warn Carlos beforehand, really, he was, but he couldn’t quite stop his hips from bucking forward again until he eventually—
Heaven.
It feels like heaven.
He wants to murmur the Lord’s name in a rejoice—because he has just experienced heaven on earth.
And, of course, the kid doesn’t choke. He swallows it—like he can’t be any hotter. Charles feels bad, referring to him as a kid, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t look any older than eighteen, and suddenly, guilt twists in his abdomen with the pleasure he felt moments ago. His head hits the back of the wall as he tries to pull his boxers back up, tugging his pants up and zipping them up hastily.
Carlos wipes his chin with the back of his hand, cum dribbling from his lip as he glances back up. Spit darkened his lips and paired with his eyes, Charles felt like he could get hard from that sight alone.
The guy straightens himself up again, wetting his lips for what seems to be the millionth time, and he laughs.
“You know,” Charles starts, voice hoarse—even if he wasn’t the one who had a fucking cock down his throat—as he speaks, “What is your number, chéri? We can meet up one day. That would be nice, and we—”
The guy laughs. Again. Expect, he’s laughing at Charles this time. He looks down at him with a belittling look in his eye, before his lips tugged into a wolfish grin. “You want to give me your number, Mr. Monaco?”
“Ah, baby, don’t mock me,” Charles shakes his head, scoffing.
“Okay, sí, fine,” Carlos crowds him again, eyes glancing up at him with that heavy, heated stare. “It is a Spanish area code, so, unless you can handle international charges, I suggest WhatsApp.”
“No, no logistics, now. Just give it to me.”
“Patience, Chuck,” Carlos recalls words from earlier. He takes Charles’ phone and places his contact in it, before handing his phone back over to Charles so the man can do the same with his phone.
“Thanks for tonight, chéri.”
They head out of the bathroom, waiting minutes between going out together, and for the rest of the night, Charles doesn’t see Carlos in the club again. He is driven back to his hotel because he’s absolutely plastered. And, oh, that might’ve been the best head he’s ever received.
—
Unknown Number:
Hey
It’s Carlos from the bar last night
Son of double world rally champion
Carlos Sainz Jr.
🙃
Charles:
What
Unknown Number:
Do u not remember?
The amazing blowjob I gave
Old man with memory loss, I guess
Jaja
Charles:
How do you have my number
Unknown Number:
OK Chuck
No need to be rude
Charles:
It’s Charles
Not Chuck
Get it right, at least
Unknown Number:
Yeah idc
Let’s meet up tonight
[Unknown Number has shared their location with You.]
Unknown Number:
You can pick me up from my house.
Thanks:)
Charles:
Hold on
What the fuck
Unknown Number:
You explicitly said
you wanted my number if you wanted to do this again
Charles:
Non non
Non
This from the beginning, please
Unknown Number:
What beginning?
I js gave u a blowjob
Nothing special rlly
Charles:
OK but where did we meet
And how do I know you’re not this random fan
Unknown Number:
Yeah we met at the bar
Do u seriously not remember?
OK pop off memory loss, old man
Charles:
A picture would be nice
Unknown Number:
Okay
Fine
[Unknown Number has shared an image with You. Open?]
[You have opened the image from Unknown Number]
Unknown Number:
So
Am I hot?
Charles:
Very
Unknown Number:
Thank you;)
Charles:
Very annoying maybe
Were you even old enough to be in the bar last night?
Was I with a fucking child
Oh my God
Oh God
Oh no
Unknown Number:
Calm down
I’m 21 actually
So, sí, old enough, Chuck
Charles:
Can we please call
I need to clear something up
Last night was a mistake
Unknown Number:
It is funny how much you like mistakes then
You were very loud
Not going to lie
Charles:
Mon dieu
Let’s just call
I will pick up
[Unknown Number is calling You. Answer?]
[You answered call with Unknown Number.]
Charles’ hands shake as the phone vibrates in his hands. He placed the phone next to his ear, immediately hoping that the man who called was going to say something. Anything. He was practically buzzing with anxiety, buzzing even more than the phone at this point. When the call is answered, it’s a voice he’s familiar with. One that sounds distinctly like the one from last night. The kid laughs, snarky and teasing.
“So, you want to meet up tonight, old man?” he asks.
He can faintly remember the name—Carlos. Like his, but in Spanish. He clears his throat before he can answer, shaking his head even if Carlos couldn’t see that from the other end, “No, I need to clear something up.”
“God, if you start with that bullshit about last night being a mistake, I am—”
“It was a mistake. We do not know each other. You are practically a child. I should have not taken advantage of you, I should have stopped before we got any further,” Charles interrupts, voice smoothly carrying.
It is unlike Carlos on the other end, whose voice crackles through again, “You know I wanted it, too, right? Wasn’t only you, Chuck. You looked like an easy fuck. Might be that desperate thing in your eye. The look.”
Okay, so this kid was just plain disrespectful. “I will pretend that is not an insult. And, again, the name is Charles. Not Chuck. It is literally the French version of your name. I do not understand how it is so difficult for you to understand.”
“You are calling me incompetent, I think. Whatever, you did not take advantage of me. It was, em, mutual, if that is how you say. I am not practically a child, Chuck. How old are you? You look barely… forty.”
“Ouch.”
“I am joking.”
“And you wound me.”
“I meant… twenty. Six. Not just twenty.”
“Lucky guess. But, yes, you are basically a child to me. You are like five, six years younger. It is just… weird.”
“But, you liked last night?”
Charles pauses, biting his lip. This could go wrong if he answered yes, but it could be interesting. He wonders what the kid has in store, and the reason behind the damn question. He can’t even answer before Carlos starts talking again.
“Well, I liked last night. I think we can have an, em, arrangement.”
“You didn’t even give me the time to answer,” Charles answers, not really acknowledging the question thrown towards him. He can hear Carlos laugh over the call, and he knows that the damn guy isn’t taking him seriously, so… He rolls his eyes. He was only human, after all. Who wouldn’t have liked last night? He clears his throat, voice suddenly hoarse, “Okay. Sure, I liked it. But…”
“But?”
“We are not, you know,” he attempts to make a gesture with his hands, even if he’s a fucking idiot because Carlos cannot see his damn hands over the call. How can he even elaborate? It is… it’s a little, well, shattering for a kid who probably expected more. It’s okay, Carlos would be okay. Charles adds, “We are not dating, or anything. Like, we are not seeing each other, Carlos.”
He didn’t exactly expect a scoff from the kid. Carlos speaks, and the grin is so obvious in his voice that it makes Charles immediately regret what he said before, “Oh, no. Of course, not. Why would I date you?” (of course, it’s a damn sneer), “It is just sex. Easy, Chuck. No need to plan a future. Anyway…”
“Anyway?”
“You are coming over, sí? That location was not for nothing. Oh—and, before I forget—if you do come over, try not to be obvious. I know it must be hard with that damn Ferrari you drive.”
“How do you know I drive a Ferrari?”
“I saw you leave the bar.”
“Oh?” Charles doesn’t even remember last night. Did he actually let someone else drive his car? Well, okay, he didn’t want, like, a DUI, so maybe he did let someone else drive his car. Okay. Whatever. That was not the point, because he needed to come up with an excuse telling the kid he couldn’t actually meet with him. “Is your house in Monaco?”
“Yeah, one of my houses.”
What? One of? Okay. Plural. How rich was this kid? He didn’t even seem to be someone, like, special. Charles wants to laugh in disbelief, but then he can recall that damn text he received this morning. “Son of double World Rally Champion—Carlos Sainz Jr.” So his dad was rich. Made sense. Maybe he still lived with his parents. He didn’t really look like someone with a… job. (Okay, that was just plain rude from Charles’ side, but in his defense, this kid’s hasty look wasn’t really… something you’d expect—at all).
“Anyway,” Carlos drags out again, and Charles can recognize this as— wow! The kid is thinking for once —which is also a rude thought, but, it’s not even that mean considering how much of an ass this kid could be. “So, if you do end up coming over. My, em, parents. Well, my Papi is home. You know. I do not think he would be too happy with you over.”
(Okay, ouch, again).
Charles doesn’t really say anything because he knows this kid won’t stop talking. It’s kind of obvious with how he drags the entire conversation on. (Even if he did start to enjoy his damn voice—it was just nice! Honest! ). Carlos starts speaking again, after that dramatic pause that didn’t really add anything to the conversation—if not waste Charles’ time—and just waffles around again, “So, if you did want to meet. You can pick me up, and…”
Maybe he should interrupt. He’s been meaning to say that he’s busy, actually. (Okay, what he didn’t want to admit was that he honestly did not have the energy to meet with this damn kid again). “Not today, no. I’m busy. I… have a meeting.”
“After winning the race, Mr. Monaco?”
So, obviously, he picks up on the lie. Charles internally curses at himself. He was a bit of a coward for not admitting it outright, but he also did want to meet with Carlos. It would just be… weird, on his part. Even if they both mutually agreed on the fact that “wow, last night was good,” it still didn’t seem to sit right with him that he was about to… well, just meet up with someone for sex. It just didn’t.
“You are not a very good liar.”
“And you are?”
(Oh, God, someone please stop Charles from ever speaking again).
“Sorry,” Charles blurts out, “I did not mean that. Don’t answer that. I know I am not a very good liar. I just… I am tired. I do not think I can drive to your place today.”
“So, you did want to meet up?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now what is he supposed to say to that?
Carlos laughs anyway, the grin so obvious in his voice again, and he says, “Here I thought you did not want to see me. Turns out I was wrong, yes? You do want to see me?”
You are digging yourself a deeper hole, Charles —is the only thing he can think of when Carlos continues speaking as if this conversation wasn’t embarrassing at all for Charles. Like one bit. (It was, it was so goddamn embarrassing). His cheeks burn and he feels like a goddamn teenager again with how flushed he feels. It is a little pathetic, to be honest. Maybe he should actually respond. Charles can only choke out a, “Well, it’s…” (and he’s stammering because, of course, he is), “No, I do want to see you. Hold on, I do not trust you to drive.”
“Again, I am not a child, Chuck.”
“Charles, it’s Charles. But, I will drive you. Or, I will drive us both. I do not want us to be seen, though.”
“Neither do I. You are not the only one with an important reputation.”
Charles bites his lip before he can ask what reputation to the kid because it doesn’t really seem like the kid had an actual, well, life. The only thing he can remember from last night was how hastily put together the guy was and his raggedy appearance. It was a little attractive. In a way. (Don’t patronize Charles, he was only human—really, he was!).
“So it is final. We will meet. Text me when you are here. I am ready. I can book us a hotel room if you do not want us to be seen. I will request for it to be anonymous, or, well, the best I can.”
“You know me so well, Carlos.”
“Is that meant to be a joke? If it is not, it is still funny—because I just met you last night.”
“No, it was meant to be a joke,” how dense could this kid actually be?
Carlos is laughing on the other end. He can hear something shuffling in the background, and suddenly, the phone hangs up all over again. It’s like they’re back to step one, even if they’ve set up this entire arrangement—albeit a shitty one—within minutes. He looks back down at his phone, curious if Carlos would text on why he suddenly hung up. It was a little annoying, to be honest, but maybe the kid was about to get into trouble or something. And, ah, looks like he was right with his guess regarding the kid.
[Call with Unknown Number ended.]
Unknown Number:
Sorry for hanging up
Papi js entered my room
He asked who I was calling
Charles:
Is he strict?
Unknown Number:
He wouldn’t like you
Sooooo
That’s why i told u to be secretive
Or sneaky
Ninja ninja
Jaja
Charles:
You are weirdly calm about this
Unknown Number:
What’s he going to do?
Kick me out??
🙄 you think so little of me
i can manage on my own
Anyway
He didn’t find out so that’s good
Charles:
OK
I will try to come soon
I can’t make any promises
Unknown Number:
Yeah
OK
Wait
When u come to our house
Park in the driveway
Charles:
Will your family just not notice?
Unknown Number:
No
They are not very good at technology
So they cant operate the security system
If that is how u say at least
Charles:
OK
[You saved Unknown Number as Carlos.]
Carlos:
OK
Well
Is what people say to their hook-ups
‘Can’t wait to see u’?
Or
Are we not close enough for that
Charles:
Haha
Can’t wait to see you, Carlos
Carlos:
Same goes for you
Chuck
Charles:
It’s Charles
Literally same names
Carlos:
I’m horny
Hurry 🙏
So… this was it. He was just about to meet with this random teenager— not a teenager, an adult, actually—and have sex with him. And on top of that, he’d have to sneak around his dad’s house. Wow. Off to a great start already, it seemed. Charles sighs running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t even showered yet. And, the kid was probably texting him all of these things to rile him up. But, the faint memory of last night was splotchy in his brain, and for once, he could start to remember something. And, oh, he did like last night.
He can feel his phone buzz in his pocket again. It must be the kid again, he thinks. And, he was right. But paired with having to text Lando? God, another party? Except this time it was on a flight? No, thanks. Charles would happily spend the rest of his week in Monaco. It was not like he would have to go to Canada any time soon, and he doesn’t think Ferrari cares as long as he shows up before the race for media obligations and such. Charles stuffs his phone back in his pocket only after opening Carlos’ text.
Okay, so maybe he did end up responding to Carlos’ text, but it was only because the kid started spamming him for no apparent reason. And who knew you could sext with the vocabulary of a kid who knows… nothing—but partying, of course. Charles sighs every time his phone buzzes with another text from Carlos that he seriously debates making plans with Lando just so he can say “Look, my calendar is booked,” but he knows that is a bit mean, and he doesn’t really want to see Lando at the moment. He responds, even if he doesn’t want to.
(Who was he lying to?).
Carlos:
I was not joking
I am seriously waiting
Reply to me
🙏 begging rn
Charles:
What are you going to do when I’m busy?
Like I am busy now
I have things to do, you know
I have a life, by the way
Carlos:
I am sure you do
Maybe that is why you were so lonely last night
At the bar…
All alone…
And then I come along with my wonderful & beautiful smile
Anddddd now you are making me wait
Vamossss Chuck 🙏 I am begging
You want me on my knees too? Kinky but OK
Charles:
Don’t.
Too soon, Carlos
Too soon
—
So, maybe this was it. He was actually meeting this random guy that gave him a blowjob in the bar last night. (Okay, it was a really good blowjob, but still…)
Charles sighs, looking back down at the location shared with him. He runs a hand through his hair and looks back at the picture that the kid had sent him. He was good-looking, he would admit that. He was a little rough, with a wolfish grin tugging at his lips and hair that looked like it needed a trim. He also wasn’t… clean-shaven. Not very tidy, if he was being honest. Charles bites his lip as his eyes dart around the picture sent. Was that… were those piercings? He didn’t remember those from last night.
He didn’t remember much from last night in general, though.
Well, he did promise to meet him. Charles shakes his head, stuffing his phone into his pocket and then looking outside of his window. Well… judging the location, he could make it in theoretically half an hour. He doesn’t know why he’s stalling. Maybe he should just text the guy and tell him he can’t come.
Park in the driveway.
Simple enough instructions.
He debates taking the Ferrari out, but he doesn’t really have another car that he’d want to drive. Okay, he’s not stalling anymore. He puts in the guy’s location and… drives. Fuck, he was going to regret this, wasn’t he?
Charles parks his car in the driveway and takes his phone from the phone stand, opting to text the guy to let him know that he’s here. The house was nice. He would admit that, at least. It was nicely structured, to be honest. Looked expensive. His dad was probably rich, considering he was a successful rally racer. The text was sent. Now it was just a matter of time before—
His phone vibrates within seconds. That was fast.
Charles:
Outside your house
It is very big
No?
Carlos:
You came
I thought you wouldn’t
Jaja
OKOK i am coming
Just give one second
Charles:
Are you sure you will not get into trouble?
I would not want to be the reason that you get into trouble
After all, this is just for sex
Not very important
Carlos:
Stop spamming
Hold on
I am making my way over
I will not get in trouble
Charles:
All right
I will unlock the car if needed
It isn’t like the kid actually gives him time to respond. There he was, knocking on his window, a grin tugging on his lips and eyes shining with interest. Charles wants to laugh. He doesn’t even remember what he looked like. Not very well, at least. There he is, in a stupid Red Bull jumper for some reason. It is a little ironic, considering that he is a Ferrari driver, and… well, the guy is just clad in Red Bull merch. There is a mischievous look in the kid’s eyes and Charles sighs, wondering what he is going to say.
The door was unlocked so he just shrugged, gesturing for him to open it.
Okay, he should really stop referring to him as a kid, considering the guy was an adult. Barely over twenty years old, but still an adult at that. He inhales sharply, leaning his head back and craning his neck over to watch the guy—Carlos, his mind supplies—settle in the passenger seat. He tugs on the seatbelt and pulls it over himself. He lets out a low wolf whistle and Charles scoffs.
“Wow, nice car, Mr. Monaco,” he grins.
“You are mocking me,” Charles clears his throat, trying to take in the guy’s appearance.
“I suppose I have the right, considering that amazing blowjob I gave you last night. I bet you were thinking of it all night, were you not?”
No, I was actually blackout drunk the entire night, Charles bites his tongue before he can say anything. He just laughs, “Cocky, aren’t you,” but it isn’t quite phrased as a question as it is a statement. Carlos was cocky, and he knew that. God, some part of him was starting to regret this already. Why was he with this… guy? Maybe he should set some rules, first. Or, at least, make the arrangement just the slightest bit better. It was a little shitty and hastily made if he was being honest.
“You are just so funny, Chuck. Anyway, the hotel… it is right in Monaco. Just… downtown. Sí, I will put the location in. Oh, and,” Carlos bites his lip, turning his head to the side as he looks at the window. “I am sure my parents did not notice you. Good job on actually listening to me, Chuck. I appreciate it.”
“Charles. It’s Charles. And, em, before we do anything, Carlos,” he starts, pulling out of the driveway with one clean motion. He can’t help but notice silver jewelry glint under the light in the car. And, oh, there were piercings. A nose piercing paired with earrings. Carlos is still looking outside, eyes fixed on the house as they drive by. “I am thinking. I have not done this before.”
“Neither have I. All the more exciting, is it not?”
So Carlos does not understand what it is like constantly being viewed by the media. Okay, understandable. He seemed to be a fairly normal kid, even if he was the son of a double World Rally Champion. Maybe he was sheltered. Maybe he just didn’t know much. (He knew those were fucking lies, but his parents seemed strict enough for it). Charles clears his throat, looking back at Carlos, “No, that is not it. It just seems a bit, em, how do you say? Reckless.”
“That is the word. Reckless. But, very, very fun, no?”
“We can do this, Carlos. I think it is an easy setup. I just… I do not think it would be the smartest idea to let anyone know about this. And, we can meet with each other, you know,” he pauses, “Any time we are in the same place. Or, just for the week I am here.”
“I do not want anyone to know either,” Carlos admits. He looks over to him warily, before cracking a grin. “It will be, em, casual. No one has to know. And, we can just meet up when we need to. Or, when my family does not care about my whereabouts.”
“Are they strict? Is that it?”
“I do not know if we should discuss this,” Carlos laughs. So he wants to avoid the topic. He looks around the car instead. “Fancy car, Mr. Monaco. I did not know you drove a Ferrari.”
“Yes, well, I am… a racecar driver,” he doesn’t elaborate because he doesn’t think he needs to. Carlos surely had enough brain cells to connect the dots together, considering that he was the one who approached Charles at the bar last night and called him ‘Mr. Monaco’. It seemed to make sense. “So, that is that. It will be just casual.”
Carlos’ eyes gleam in something he recognizes as mischief when he looks over. Charles sighed, knowing that the Spaniard was going to have some comment towards him. “You know, you missed the turn. For someone who is supposed to be a contender for the World Championship, you do not drive cars very well.”
“Again, you wound me.”
“I did not mean to,” yes, you did, but Charles cannot really say that when the man next to him is laughing like he’s cracked the funniest joke ever. His eyes meet Carlos’ dark ones again, and he swallows for a moment as memories of a certain pair of eyes looking up at him resurfaces. Charles laughs along, albeit shakier. Carlos tries, “So it is settled. We are casual and we will meet when we can. I like this deal. It is… em, what do they say… You know. Permanent?”
“No, not permanent,” Charles protests. He inhales sharply. “Casual, but not permanent. Just… for the time being. To pass time.”
“Sounds good enough,” Carlos smiles, looking pleased. Charles could not exactly read Carlos, but, he seemed happy enough with the arrangement updated with these new—not rules, but something like a reassurance. The navigation set by Carlos instructs him to make one final turn so that was that.
Carlos gets out of the car before him, not even bothering to check back if Charles is getting out as well.
The hotel looks cheap.
That is the first thing that runs through his brain when he sees it. He looks back at Carlos. “You booked this one?”
“You did not expect a five-star resort, surely.”
“No, but… it is not sanitary if that is how you say.”
“What is the worst that can happen?” Carlos laughs, looking back confused. “You know, you should not act like the world is ending all because we are about to hook up in some ‘cheap’ hotel.”
“I do not want to fall ill because you decided to book a cheap hotel.”
“We are not going back to your hotel room, and we cannot do it at my house. And, we did it at the bar last night. If anything, the bar was worse, so… you do not need to be so dramatic.”
Dramatic?
Charles wrinkles his nose, dipping his head so Carlos does not see his agitated glare—instead, he directs it to the floor; because he knows Carlos is just some irresponsible kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing—and follows him in.
He watches as Carlos leans against the front desk, talking to the lady—voice carrying so smoothly it was as if he flirted with everything around him—and slid her a few bills that Charles could only assume were hundred euros each. Carlos glances back at him and ushers him over, before tugging him by his forearm and pulling him into the hallway. Their room was right on the first floor, probably the shittiest one considering the short amount of time it took for Carlos to even confirm it was their room.
Whatever, as long as he ended up enjoying it. That was what mattered most, he thinks.