@charlesleclerizz

The curtains weren’t fully drawn, so the pale grey of morning had already begun to creep across the bedroom, the kind of light that softened edges rather than waking anyone up properly. It was quiet except for the faint hum of the heating and the steady rhythm of his breathing against your shoulder.

You shifted carefully, pressing your palms into the mattress to ease yourself out of bed without disturbing him. His arm, heavy across your waist, loosened slightly when you tilted your body away. Just a few more inches and you’d be free.

But before your foot even touched the rug, his arm clamped tighter, dragging you back flush against him.

“Mm-mm. No.” His voice was muffled against your neck, low and rough with sleep. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was just-”

“Nope. Don’t care.” He hooked a leg over yours like he was bolting the door shut. “Stay here. Illegal to leave.”

You snorted. “Illegal? According to who?”

“Me.” He cracked one eye open, gave you a bleary, stubborn look, and then buried his face back into your shoulder. “I’m the law.”

You laughed under your breath, pressing a hand to his forearm where it was wrapped around you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. Sexy ridiculous.” His lips brushed lazily against the curve of your shoulder. “Big difference.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your cheeks heated. “Sexy ridiculous isn’t a real thing.”

“It is if I say it is.” His voice was so thick with sleep that it was almost comical, words stretching and slurring as he clung to you. “You’re not allowed to argue before breakfast. It’s a rule.”

“Another law?” you teased.

“Yep.” He shifted, pulling you in closer, your back pressed to his chest. “Lando’s Laws. Rule one: don’t leave the bed when I’m using you as a pillow.”

“Pillow? I thought I was your girlfriend.”

“You can be both.” He sounded smug now, even half-asleep. “Multi-purpose.”

That made you laugh loud enough that he gave a pleased hum, tightening his hold. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered.

“Thanks.” He kissed your shoulder properly this time, lazy and unbothered. “Flattered.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile, staring at the pale line of sunlight edging across the wall. He wasn’t going to let go, not unless you pushed hard enough to really wake him up, and the truth was, you didn’t actually want to go anywhere. Not when his hair was tickling the back of your neck and his fingers were tracing unconsciously over the hem of your sleep shirt, absent little motions that spoke of comfort rather than thought.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing evened out again, not quite asleep but hovering in that space where words came out in murmurs, not decisions. You twisted slightly to see him, his curls a mess over his forehead, his lips parted, eyes barely open but watching you all the same.

“What?” you whispered.

He blinked slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Pretty. Even at stupid o’clock.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, shaking your head at him. “You’re delirious.”

“Delirious for you,” he answered, like it cost him nothing, like it wasn’t a phrase he’d ever be brave enough to say once the day really started. His eyes fluttered shut again, content to keep you locked in place, your body cocooned under his.

And maybe he was right. Maybe it was stupid to try and leave when he was like this-clingy, sulky, sweet in a way the rest of the world would never get to see. You relaxed into him fully, letting his warmth seep into every inch of you, the steady beat of his heart pressed against your spine.

His voice came again, drowsier now, almost lost to sleep. “Don’t leave me yet. Five more minutes. Then… maybe.”

You blinked tiredly and nodded, moulding yourself against him, for just a few more minutes.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you tried again to wriggle free again, only to have him groan dramatically and pull you back in, throwing his leg over yours again. “Seriously?!” you laughed.

“Shh. No moving. I’m comfortable.”

“You’re a human octopus.”

“Mm. Hot octopus, though.”

That set you off into a fit of laughter you couldn’t quite stop, shaking in his arms. He looked smug for all of two seconds before yawning so big it cracked his jaw, his curls falling into his eyes.

You reached up, pushing them back from his forehead. “You’re an absolute menace, you know that?”

He cracked one eye open again, gave you a crooked, sleepy smile. “Yeah, but I’m your menace. So… you’re stuck.”

“Tragically.”

“Hey,” he protested, giving your hip a squeeze. “Not tragic. Epic. The most epic.”

You bit back another laugh, settling into the warmth of him despite your protests. He hummed happily, nosing at your neck like a cat claiming its spot.

For a long moment, there was nothing but warmth, quiet hums, and the occasional half-smile as he nuzzled into your neck. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbled, sleepy and sulky, fingers tracing circles over your sides. “Otherwise… wouldn’t survive mornings like this.”

You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair as he sighed, utterly content, clinging to you like he never wanted to let go.

By the time you shifted fully to face him, the day had begun creeping in just enough light to catch the mess of curls on his forehead and the lazy tilt of his lips. He blinked slowly at you, groggy and heavy-lidded, that half-asleep haze making every look and motion sharper somehow.

“You awake now?” you murmured, brushing a hand along his jaw.

“Mm… yeah,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “Sort of. You’re awake enough for trouble, though.”

“I could say the same about you,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at you, all sulky and clingy.”

He let out a low groan, tugging at your waist, drawing you closer against his chest. “I’m clingy because you’re dangerous. You move like that, I… I can’t control myself.”

“You mean you’re lazy,” you said, smiling at the way his eyes narrowed sleepily at you. “Half-asleep and still full of nonsense.”

“I’m very awake where it counts,” he countered, lips brushing the hollow behind your ear. “See? Right here.”

His hands found your hips, holding you in place with an easy grip, lazy but firm, as if he wasn’t going to do the work but wasn’t letting you go either.

You climbed onto him carefully, straddling his hips. His hands were immediately firm on your waist, thumbs pressing into your sides, guiding your movements with slow, deliberate patience. He wasn’t forcing anything, but he was in control, making sure each grind, each subtle shift of your hips, landed exactly where he wanted it. Chest pressed to chest, the warmth between you both was maddening.

“Lando…” you breathed against his jaw, rocking slightly in response to the pressure of him beneath you.

“Slow,” he muttered, tone almost whiny but commanding at the same time. “Like this… yeah. Just feel me.”

You followed his hands, moving against him, letting the rhythm come naturally. His hips shifted, minimal effort but maximum effect, and you could hear the low hum of satisfaction in his chest.

“You feel so… warm,” he whispered, voice thick, dragging words out as if sleep was weighing down every syllable. “So good… can’t get enough of you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, breath hitching when his hands tightened slightly, tugging you down onto him.

“I know exactly what you need, even half-asleep,” he groaned into your neck, teeth grazing your skin lazily. “So soft… my girl.”

You giggled into him, the sound a mix of breathless and happy, and he clutched you tighter, sighing against your hair. “Bet no one else makes you feel like this. Mm? I do. I’m the only one.”

“Someone’s confident this early,” you murmured, pressing kisses along his collarbone.

“Confidence comes naturally when you’re… right here,” he said, teeth grazing your shoulder as he tugged you down, holding you like he couldn’t bear the space between you. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

It was messy and lazy, slow grinding against him, both of you tangled in the warmth of the bed and the thick, gray morning light. He whispered filthy praise under his breath without fully realizing it, words spilling out unfiltered, “So good… so mine… I know your body better than anyone.”

You leaned down to kiss him again, teeth nipping lightly, hands holding onto his shoulders for balance as he guided your hips, each movement languid but deliberate. He groaned against your mouth, half sulky, half needy, the combination making your skin tingle and your pulse race.

“Lando,” you murmured, lips brushing his jaw. “You’re impossible.”

“Mmm… that’s the idea,” he replied, smirking against your neck. “Mine. All mine. Don’t forget it.”

Every lazy motion, every groan and whisper, every soft tug and clingy hold added to the slow, deliberate heat between you, until the morning haze mixed with moans and sighs, each breath a tether keeping you impossibly close.

“Mm,” he groaned, teeth grazing the curve of your neck, hand sliding lower to squeeze your hip a little harder. “That’s it. Fuck… feels so good. You feel so good.”

You tilted your head back into him, lips brushing his shoulder, and he murmured right into your ear, voice rough and sleepy,“ I know exactly what you need… yeah, right there.”

His hands guided your hips again, slow circles that drew groans from both of you. Every motion was languid, lazy, yet precise - the kind of domination that left you desperate but helpless to stop. You rode him slowly, chest to chest, every press and roll of your hips met with a low, satisfied hum.

“You’re driving me insane,” he whispered, voice slipping into a murmur of need. “So soft… so warm… mine.”

“Y-yeah?” you gasped, leaning down to kiss him, teeth grazing his jaw.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, tugging you closer. “Nobody… nobody makes me feel like this in the mornings. Not even close. You’re… you’re mine, yeah? Mine.”

Your hands roamed over him, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, pulling him closer, grinding slightly harder as he groaned and held you in place, hips tilting up to meet yours. Every move was intimate, possessive, and tender, even when it was messy and filthy.

His mouth found your collarbone, lips sucking and teeth nibbling lazily, while his hands trailed over your back, down to your ass, pressing you flush against him. You could feel his erection pressing insistently beneath you, and the combination of heat, tightness, and his sleepy murmurs had your knees wobbling.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he muttered, voice rough. “God, I could wake up like this every day and never complain. You feel amazing… mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whispered back, breath hitching as his hands guided your rhythm again, slow and teasing, until the overstimulation built through your hips and core. Each small grind, each press of his hands, each lazy kiss sent waves of heat through you until you couldn’t hold back.

Your climax hit first, a shuddering rush of warmth that left you trembling on top of him. Lando groaned against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw, the vibrations of his voice making you pulse against him even more. He murmured, half-whiny, half-husky,“Yeah? Feels good…? Told you… nobody makes you feel like this but me. You’re perfect… so perfect for me.”

He didn’t move away. His hands still held your hips, his chest pressed to yours, murmuring praise and soft dirty talk while he rode out his own release, lazy and heavy, until he sagged back into the mattress with you still straddling him, breathing in tandem, heartbeats colliding.

By the time you both shivered through release, you were tangled in each other’s limbs, his chest pressed to yours, faces flushed, hair damp with sweat and sheets twisted around you. He held you like he was afraid to let go, nuzzling into your neck with that same sulky, sleepy edge.

“I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled, voice low and husky, half asleep, half still charged from the way he’d made you melt over him.

“Mm, probably would,” you teased, running a hand along his chest.

“Good,” he said, tightening his grip, then immediately letting out a dramatic yawn. “Nap again… five minutes?”

“You mean another hour,” you said, laughing.

“Mm, same thing,” he muttered, nuzzling into you again, already dozing.

The sheets were still warm where you’d been straddling him, heat lingering even as your fingers retreated from him, Lando let out a low groan, eyelids half-closed as he flipped onto his stomach, chest rising and falling unevenly, the comforter slipping low to his hips.

Careful not to disturb him too much, you untangled yourself, tugging at your crumpled pajamas with one hand while sliding the other along the small of his back. “Bathroom,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, slipping out from under him.

“Mm… yeah?” he groaned, dragging a hand across his face as he tried to focus on you through the haze. “Already? Leaving me?”

“Not yet,” you whispered, tugging at his waistband with a playful smirk. “But you need to come with me.”

He let out a half-laugh, half-grumble, rolling toward the edge of the bed. You led him to the bathroom, your PJs bunched at your hips, his hands trailing over your shoulders, sides, lingering on the curve of your waist.

Once inside, you reached for the shower, letting the warm water hiss to life before turning back toward him. “Come on,” you beckoned, voice soft but commanding. “Time to… wash up.”

His fingers danced along the fabric of your top as he stepped closer, tugging it over your head with that lazy, sulky pull that always made your skin prickle. You laughed, tugging at the hem of his pajama pants in return, peeling them slowly down over his hips, letting your hand brush the curve of his thighs before dipping under the waistband of his boxers.

“Mm…” he groaned, teeth grazing your shoulder, half-grumpy, half-melted with pleasure. “You’re terrible…”

“I know,” you teased, fingers sliding along him, collecting the evidence of what you did just a few minutes ago, with a slow, deliberate touch. He groaned again, rubbing his face with one hand, half-sleep, half-struggling to control himself. “That… fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered, voice thick, chest pressing to yours.

You giggled, feeling the warmth from his skin and the moisture on your fingers, letting your thumb trace a lazy circle before bringing your wet fingers to your mouth slowly, teasingly. His hips pressed forward instinctively, and you tilted your head, releasing your fingers with a pop and brushing your lips along his jaw as he groaned, muffled and half-dreamy.

“God, you’re amazing,” he murmured, voice low and sulky. “So good… I swear, I could just-” His fingers found your waist again, sliding slowly lower, brushing teasingly along your belly and the edge of your panties. “…waste some time, yeah?”

“Lando…” you gasped, heat rising, “I can’t be late again.”

He groaned into your shoulder, frustrated and half-grinning at the same time, hands still lingering possessively on your hips and sides, leaning close enough that the warmth of his body and the low rumble of his voice pressed against you. “Fine… but damn, you’re killing me,” he muttered, tugging at your pajama bottoms once more as you both laughed softly, bodies pressed together under the steam of the shower.

Finally, you both stepped fully under the warm water, pressed close, letting the morning mist wrap around you, hands trailing lazily over wet skin, laughter mixing with sighs and groans. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, murmuring soft, sleepy praises while you rinsed away the heat of your earlier play, holding onto each other, every touch slow and familiar.

Once the shower ended, you wrapped a towel around your torso and pressed another one over damp curls that clung stubbornly to your neck. Lando leaned against the countertop, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you fumble with the towel.

“Need help with that?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

“Mm, I think I’ve got it,” you murmured, twisting the towel just so, fingers brushing stray curls from your face. But he stepped closer anyway, taking the towel in his hands with a gentleness that made your chest tighten, brushing it over your hair and shoulders, pressing just enough to pull you closer against him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, leaning down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Way too soft. Makes me want to-ugh-wrap you up and never let go.”

You laughed, tilting your head into him, soft fingers brushing his chest. “Mm, clingy much?”

“Always,” he replied, tugging the towel a little tighter, fingers brushing your collarbone and neck as he dried the last stubborn strands. You caught yourself staring at him for a beat - messy hair, half-grumpy, half-admiring you with those warm brown eyes - and a pang of gratitude warmed your chest. He’s mine. He really is mine.

Finally, he stepped back with a small grin. “Alright… let’s finish the job.” He picked up the hairdryer, warm air brushing over your damp curls. You closed your eyes, pressing a soft hand to his chest for balance, sighing into him as the hairdryer hummed to life.

“I swear… you make the simplest things feel like luxury,” you murmured, voice soft. 

He glanced down, smirk softening into something fond. “Mm, that’s because you are a luxury. Always have been.” His fingers brushed through your hair as he guided the warm air, teasing curls into silky straightness. 

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and lazy, “I love these curls of yours. You really should wear them more.”

You tilted your head, smiling, fingers threading through damp strands as he adjusted the dryer settings. “Mm, but you like them straight too, don’t you?”

“Mm,” he said, eyes half-lidded, voice thick desire. “Beautiful either way, though. You-wow. You’re stunning.”

You turned to press a soft, fleeting kiss to his temple. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Norris.”

He smirked, tugging gently at the towel, brushing stray curls from your forehead. “It’s just truth.”

You leaned into him for a kiss, murmuring a small “thank you,” fingers threading into his messy curls as he set the hairdryer down.

Once your hair was tamed, you wrapped the towel more securely around your torso and padded toward the walk-in closet, with Lando following lazily, hopping onto the small chair in the centre. He leaned back, watching you with that half-lazy, half-attentive gaze that made your stomach flutter.

You turned to face him, holding up two pieces of lingerie between your fingers. “Which one?” you asked, tone teasing but shy, feeling the warmth crawl up your neck.

His eyes darkened immediately, smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh… that one? God, that’s… fuck, sinful. You-wow. Can you even walk in that without killing someone?”

You flushed, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “Lando! Language!”

He raised his hands, mock-innocent. “I’m just… stating facts. I mean… mm… you look unreal. All business in the day, and then… fuck, look at that…”

“I’m serious,” you said whined, tilting your head at him, a playful lilt in your voice. “Which one?  minimal or… classic?”

His eyes darkened just a fraction, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Hmm… minimal. Definitely minimal. You look… sinful either way, but minimal makes it even worse.”

You waved your hand at him, playful but firm. “Shoo. Out. Now.”

He grinned, standing with mock surrender, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your temple. “Fine. I’ll go make breakfast… but you’re my problem later.” Just before he left, he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss, fingers brushing the small of your back. 

Grinning you leaned into him, “Fine. Go.”

You laughed, cheeks warm, watching him disappear into the kitchen, and then turned back to the wardrobe with a fluttering heart, holding up the next pieces with a soft smile, still flushed and flustered from his teasing. 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted from the kitchen as you slipped into your blazer and straightened your skirt, hair now perfectly straight thanks to Lando’s careful drying. You darted around the walk-in closet, gathering your bag, wallet, phone, and small essentials, occasionally glancing toward the doorway where you’d last seen him.

From the kitchen, a low whistle drifted your way. “Oi! You’re moving like a tornado in there! Calm down before you break something!”

You laughed, zipping your bag closed. “Better that than forgetting it all!”

A soft chuckle followed, the sound warm and low, and you peeked around the corner to see him leaning against the counter, mug in hand, eyes following your every move. He took a slow sip of coffee, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you move with a flustered efficiency, tossing items into your bag and straightening your blazer.

“Mm… type-A to the last second,” he murmured, tone fond. “I swear, watching you like this is… fun. And kind of hot.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “I might be organized, but at least I get to leave with my coffee-making, hair-fixing, teasing boyfriend watching me.”

He grinned, taking another slow sip of coffee, leaning slightly forward. “Yeah, I’m the dream man, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, giving him a quick grin before accepting the coffee in his other hand, waiting for you to grab.

By the time you were both ready, the apartment was filled with warmth and light - playful, messy, domestic. Bags in hand, you lingered a moment at the door, pressing noses together, hands brushing.

“Go break some stuff at McLaren,” you teased, smirking.

“Or I could stay,” he muttered, pout tugging at his lips.

“Mm… responsibilities,” you said, grinning.

“Fine,” he sighed, pressing a last soft kiss to your temple before opening the door. “But, like the rebel I am, I’ll be thinking of you.”

Carlos hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He was halfway to the kitchen for a glass of water when he caught the low, affectionate lilt of your voice in the living room. He slowed, hearing the familiar softness you reserved for your mother.

“No, Ma… I don’t think I’ll be able to come this year,” you were saying, your tone careful, almost apologetic. “Flights are insane right now, and I’d have to take so many days off work. And-” There was a pause, a smile in your voice. “And I want to be here with Carlos. It’s… you know, it’s our first Diwali together, even if we’re not celebrating properly.”

Carlos stopped just out of sight, leaning against the wall like someone afraid to spook a wild bird.

Your mum’s voice was faint but warm through the speaker. “Beta, Diwali is wherever your heart is. But it would have been nice to have you here.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I miss it- the noise, the food, everyone dropping by without warning, you yelling at Dad for lighting the fireworks too close to the plants.” You laughed softly, but it had a wistful edge. “Here it’ll just be… another night.”

Something in Carlos’s chest tightened. He could picture you in the glow of a hundred tiny lights, laughter in your eyes, the warmth of a home so alive it pulsed in the air. You missed that. And he hated the thought of you letting it pass by.

By the time you hung up, Carlos’s mind was already moving-lists forming, calls to make, recipes to learn. He had no clue how to make “proper laddoo” or arrange rangoli patterns, but he’d figure it out. If Diwali was where your heart was, then he’d make sure this little apartment became exactly that.

You were already in a good mood when you got off the elevator-work had wrapped early, and Carlos had texted you a suspiciously vague, “Don’t eat dinner. Come home soon.”

But the second you opened your apartment door, you froze.

You had been expecting to come home to a quiet apartment, maybe with Carlos still stuck at the simulator or out running errands. Instead, the moment you pushed open the door, the scent hit you first-warm ghee, toasted cashews, and a thread of cardamom so rich it pulled you in like a hand at your wrist.

The second thing you noticed was the light.

Your usually dim, modern apartment was glowing-literally. Small brass diyas lined the hallway floor, their flames flickering low and steady. Fairy lights had been strung along the walls, winding between framed photographs and bookshelves, and the faint shadows of marigold petals danced over the hardwood. A thin trail of red powder curled ahead of you in delicate swirls- rangoli patterns scattered like breadcrumbs.

“you’re home early,” Carlos’s voice came from the kitchen.

You stepped inside slowly, eyes wide. “What… what is this?”

Before he could answer, a voice called from the coffee table where your laptop sat open on FaceTime-“Beta! Happy Diwali!” Your mum’s face filled the screen, with your dad popping into the frame to wave, his other hand busy lighting a diya in the background.

You gasped, covering your mouth. “Ma?!”

There were more faces too-your auntie in her bright sari, cousins jostling for space on the couch, everyone talking over each other in the kind of joyful chaos that had been missing from your life since you’d moved.

“Carlos?” you called.

From the kitchen, he appeared-barefoot, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smear of flour at his temple. “Ah,” he said, looking almost sheepish, “Surprise, mi amor” He was grinning, cheeks flushed and hair a little messy, wearing a kurta you definitely hadn’t seen before. It was deep maroon with gold embroidery, slightly rumpled like he’d been running around in it all day.

You blinked at him, at the sight of your very Spanish boyfriend standing in the middle of what could have been your grandmother’s living room in Delhi. “What is… all of this?”

He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “You said last year you missed celebrating properly. So…” He gestured around. “I asked your mum for help. She sent me… many, many instructions. And recipes. And I may have called your aunt twice because I didn’t understand what ‘soak the dal until your patience runs out’ meant.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could catch it. “Carlos…”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… thought maybe you shouldn’t miss it this year.”

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. A small table in the corner was piled with homemade sweets and snacks-laddoos, jalebi, samosas-the shapes a little imperfect but made with obvious care. Diyas flickered on every surface. Soft Bollywood music played low in the background, blending with the sound of your friends laughing in the dining room as they helped set up plates.

“I… I can’t believe you did this,” you said, your throat tightening.

He shrugged, almost shy despite the grin tugging at his mouth. “Your mum gave me a list. Your friends helped with the food. I may have almost burned one of the sweets, but your cousin on video call yelled at me until I fixed it.”

It felt like home. No-more than that. It felt like both homes, the one you’d left and the one you’d built here, somehow in the same room.

“Come,” he said, motioning you forward. He led you to the coffee table, where plates of laddoos, kaju katli, and still-warm gulab jamun sat like little jewels. “I made them. Well, most of them. The jamun I bought, because I told you, I may have… burned the first batch.” His voice dipped in mock shame.

The glow of the diyas shimmered in his eyes, and something inside you softened so sharply it almost hurt.

“You even did rangoli,” you murmured, crouching to touch the powdered edges.

“Mm. I watched videos. The first one looked like…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a grin. “Not good. But this one? I think your grandmother would approve.”

You could hear faint pops outside on the balcony- your friends already setting off the early fireworks-and Carlos’s hand brushed yours lightly. “Shall we go see the rest?”

You stepped forward and threw your arms around him, holding him tight. His chest shook with a laugh, and he murmured into your hair, “Feliz Diwali, cariño.”

The night had been loud-in the best way. Laughter, clinking plates, your mum trying to make Carlos promise to come to India “properly” next year, your friends teasing him about his jalebi-shaping skills. But now, the last of the guests had gone, the laptop call had ended, and the fairy lights still glowed softly against the walls.

Carlos tugged you gently toward the balcony. “One last thing.”

You frowned, amused. “One last what? You’ve already done everything.”

He just smirked, pushing the door open and stepping into the cool night air. The city hummed quietly below, but up here it felt like you two were the only people in the world. On the little table were two sparklers and a small box you recognised from the fireworks shop in the next neighbourhood over.

“You said you love fireworks,” he began, holding up the sparklers. “And tonight, I wanted to give you something just for us.”

He lit the first one and handed it to you. The golden sparks danced in the dark, their light catching in his eyes.

“You know,” he said quietly, watching the sparks flicker, “when I overheard you telling your mum you weren’t going home… you didn’t sound sad, but you sounded like you were… missing something. I didn’t want you to have to choose between me and this part of you. I wanted you to have both. Always.”

Your chest tightened, the crackle of the sparkler filling the silence between you. He glanced away briefly, his voice softer now. “I loved seeing you happy tonight. It felt like I got to meet the part of you that lives in those stories you tell me about growing up. And I-” He broke off, almost sheepish. “-I love all of it. I love you.”

The sparkler fizzled out just as you took a step forward, cupping his jaw and kissing him. Slow, warm, tasting faintly of the sweet jalebi glaze he’d somehow gotten on himself earlier. When you pulled back, your breath misted in the air between you.

“I love you too,” you whispered, a little breathless.

His grin was boyish, almost triumphant, as he turned to the small firework box. “Okay. One more.”

It wasn’t huge, but when it bloomed above you in a riot of gold and red, you felt like it might split the sky open. You leaned into him, his arm looping tight around your waist, the both of you looking up until the last spark faded.

“Happy Diwali,” you murmured.

You’re standing just off to the side of the paddock’s makeshift interview zone, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the sea of flashing cameras and buzzing reporters. Charles is already there, still in his race suit - the unmistakable bright red of Ferrari, the sponsor logos shining beneath the relentless pressure of a long weekend’s grit. His hair is tousled from the helmet, damp with sweat, but that sharp jawline and those deep, dark eyes are every bit as intense as you remember from the track.

You’re dressed in something practical but flattering, a slim black jumpsuit with subtle detailing along the sleeves and a high neckline, the kind of understated elegance that says you’re more than just a passenger in this world. Your hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, strands escaping here and there to frame your face.

A reporter finishes his last question and steps aside, but then another figure approaches - Some unknown PR rep, tall and confident, flashing a grin that’s just a little too easy. He sidles up next to you, leaning close enough that you can smell his cologne - something woody, sharp, like he thinks it’s part of his charm.

Charles doesn’t miss a beat. His gaze flickers to you, narrowing slightly, lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn’t interrupt the interview. Instead, he watches.

You feel the man’s gaze, light and teasing, and you tilt your head with a smirk, exchanging quick words that make him grin wider.

Charles’s jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. He shifts on his feet, one hand tightening into a loose fist at his side, but he keeps his expression smooth, almost detached.

The interview wraps up, cameras flashing, people milling about, but Charles’s eyes never leave you as you step away from the crowd, the guy falling back with a casual wave.

The cameras finally blink off, Charles’s gaze sweeps over to you. You catch the subtle way his eyes narrow -with something like quiet possessiveness.

He approaches, voice low but firm.

“You know he was flirting with you.”

You laugh, shrugging. “He was just being friendly.”

Charles’s hand finds your waist, thumb brushing a slow circle, possessive but gentle.

“Friendly or not, I don’t like it.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spreads wide, and even in the middle of all the noise, it feels like the two of you are the only ones here.

Later, when you’re finally out of the paddock chaos and on your way home, the skies open, and rain pours down in steady sheets. Charles is home before you, shirt sleeves rolled up, the faint scent of aftershave and fresh laundry lingering in the air. He stands by the kitchen counter, a towel draped casually over one arm, eyes lifting the moment you cross the threshold.

You step inside, the door clicking softly behind you, and the first thing you notice is the quiet. The usual bustle of race weekend chatter and distant TV noise is replaced by the low hum of the apartment - warm, calm, a world apart from the paddock frenzy.

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo about the weather,” he says, voice quiet but teasing.

You shrug, dropping your bag and letting the rainwater drip from your hair. “I like to make an entrance.”

You’re soaked - rain dripping from your hair, your jacket clinging to your skin, shoes leaving wet footprints on the floor. Your breath hitches, both from the cold and from the sudden warmth of his gaze.

You shrug off your jacket and drop it near the door. Charles steps forward without a word, slipping the towel around your shoulders, his hands gentle as they begin to dry the damp strands of hair clinging to your neck.

His fingers move slowly, almost reverently, as if memorizing every detail. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the chill still clinging to your skin, and you lean into him without thinking.

“You’re freezing,” he says quietly, voice low but edged with something tender - a hint of relief, maybe, or just the satisfaction of having you back. He brushes his fingers through the wet strands, his thumb tracing patterns along your neck. “Should’ve called me. I’d have come and rescued you.”

You smirk. “And miss watching you sulk in the living room?”

Charles huffs, a soft sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Don’t push it.” 

“I was starting to think you’d disappear on me,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek.

You tilt your head against his palm, the vulnerability of the moment catching you off guard. “You mean like that guy back at the paddock?”

Charles’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Yeah. Thought maybe he’d steal you away.”

You bite back a smile and shake your head. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

His lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting anyone else have you.” The moment the towel slips from your shoulders, a delicious vulnerability settles over you. Charles’s hands don’t hesitate - they’re there instantly, warm and sure, sliding over damp skin with reverence, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve, every inch made slick by the rain.

His touch is slow, deliberate, a contrast to the storm still thundering outside. Your breath hitches when his fingers brush along the nape of your neck, tracing a path that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Fuck,” Charles murmurs against your skin, voice low and thick with something deeper than desire. “You’re soaking wet, and it’s driving me mad.”

You tilt your head back just enough to meet his gaze, the dark depths of his eyes pulling you in like a tide you don’t want to fight.

“Maybe you should’ve come out sooner to rescue me,” you tease, lips curving. “Could’ve saved me from the rain.”

He grins - a slow, wicked smile that promises all kinds of trouble.

“Oh, I plan to make it up to you. Every drop.”

Charles guides you backward until you’re settled on the edge of the sofa, the damp fabric of your clothes cooling against your skin, only to be warmed immediately by the heat radiating from his body pressed close beside you. His hand lands on your waist, fingers curling possessively, grounding you in the moment.

“You’re mine,” he says softly, thumb stroking over your hipbone in lazy circles. “I know this body better than anyone. Know what makes you melt and what makes you shiver.”

The confession, quiet but potent, sends a wave of heat pooling low and spreading outward. You let your hands wander, tangling in the soft strands of his damp hair, feeling the roughness beneath your fingers, the slight tug as he leans into your touch.

His mouth finds yours, lips soft but commanding, and the kiss deepens quickly - not rushed, but with a hunger that makes your pulse thunder.

“You’re soaked through,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the skin just above your hipbone. “You know what that means?”

You raise an eyebrow, letting your fingers trail over his chest. “That I need a hot shower?”

Charles laughs quietly, the sound low and satisfied. “Better.”

He leans in, lips brushing along your jaw, down your neck. His mouth is warm and feather-light, a contrast to the way his hands are starting to roam - not hurried, but claiming.

You shiver under his touch, the heat pooling low and spreading outward. His hands are sure and steady, guiding you to straddle his lap, the fabric of your soaked clothes making every movement feel electric.

Charles grunts against your neck, collecting the waistband of your soaked trousers in his fists, the material stretches complacently with his animalistic movements and merely roll down your ass and thighs as he tugs them lower. 

You bow into his hold, a soft gasp tumbling from your lips when he pulls away from your body to stare at you soaked panties, the soft white material now translucent, creating a wet patch on his crotch.

His fingers press into your hips, steadying you, while his mouth finds yours in a slow, demanding kiss. You taste rain and heat and something deeply familiar, something that makes you feel both grounded and set aflame.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, voice thick with need. “Feels so good having you like this. M’cock’s ready, and you’re right where you belong.”

Your breath hitches as you grind down against him, every movement electric, every touch igniting sparks. The fabric of your soaked panties clings tightly, making every shift more intense, more urgent.

Charles’s hands move with purpose, sliding under your shirt to cup your tits through your bra, thumb pressing firm yet gentle. He holds you steady, guiding the rhythm with a slow, delicious tease that makes your skin flush, and your breath catch.

Your breath hitches, hands tangling in his hair as you grind slowly against him, every motion a promise.

He’s patient, his rhythm steady as he coaxes every gasp and sigh from you, his voice low and rough with need.

“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “Know you too well. Know just how to make you come undone.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you reach that edge - that delicious, aching spot where everything tightens and then explodes.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as the heat coils tighter, the world narrowing down to the sound of your ragged breaths and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

When the edge finally breaks, it’s slow and relentless, a shuddering wave that rolls through you, every nerve ending alive with pleasure. You tremble against him, chest rising and falling, fingers clutching at his shirt as he murmurs low praises that send a fresh flush blooming across your skin.

But Charles isn’t done.

His lips trail down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a path of soft kisses and whispered words. His hand slides lower, pressing into your hip as you begin to move again - slow, rolling circles that pull you back from the edge only to tease you forward again.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes against your skin. “This? No one else could make you come like this, baby. M’just too good for you. Know every inch.”

You gasp, arching into him, the delicious torment of his touch overwhelming, the sweet ache of wanting more wrapped up in the soft possessiveness of his voice.

His cock throbs beneath you, hard and pulsating against your swollen clit, through his soft joggers and your underwear. You can tell he’s close from the way his eyebrows tent and mouth falls open in the prettiest way, his breathe is hot against your cheek as he gets lost in the feeling of your hips against his.

His hands grip your waist tighter, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who you belong to, even as his mouth captures yours in a deep, bruising kiss that leaves you breathless.

The room fades away as he tenses and you moan loudly, the lewd sound muffled in his hair as he pulls you impossibly closer, burying his face in your chest to hide his low grunts and growls, heat rushing to his face when he fills his boxers.

When at last he pulls away, wrapping you in his arms and pressing you against his chest, you close your eyes and let the world fall away, knowing this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, voice thick with emotion and need. “Always.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and warm. “You’re pretty clingy for someone who’s supposed to be all cool and collected.”

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting into a teasing smirk. “Can’t help it. You’re mine, after all.”

His fingers trail down to your collarbone, tracing invisible patterns that make your skin tingle. You lean into him, letting the weight of the day fall away.