Florence💋

She’s a princess, promised to be wed to the prince of Monaco, and Carlos is the son of the royal tailor who comes to make her wedding dress. Straight up when she first meets him, she thinks he’s unbearably handsome - dark lashes and that thick hair and eyes that don’t miss a thing. And because he has to measure her, he has to put his hands on her in delicate places - around the back of her shoulders, her neck, her waist, the length of her legs. He is so respectful - she wishes he could take a few more liberties. His father is ever-watchful, and instructs him in Spanish, which she does not speak. Their common tongue is English, so he translates for his father.

She falls in love with the way he’s gentle - assuring her at every turn that everything’s going to be okay. That she’ll make the most beautiful bride. She’s so alone and scared because what if her husband is mean and cruel? And Carlos looks so sad at the prospect that he has to put down the lace he’s holding and he makes this vow that like, he won’t let that ever happen to her. the dress is so elaborate it takes months - so they become something like friends. Carlos is the only one she knows who’s been to Monaco (apparently they are *most* fashionable and have the best fabrics) and so he teaches her things about the city and its people, draws her maps and sketches of his favourite things there. She’s obsessed with the way his hands move across the paper, with wave-like fluidity and so much care. He’s so handsome, she can’t stop staring at him.

The first draft of the dress she wears… she can’t get the ties done up, so Carlos helps her, his fingers swift and elegant as he cinches her waist in. His warm breath is on her bare neck and she can’t breathe. When the dress is finally smoothed in place, and she gives him a little twirl, there’s this shift in his eyes that tells her he likes how she looks in his creation - more than he can let on. “How do I look?” and he’ll just clear his throat and look away and say, “fine” and mumble something about adjusting the hem because it’s too long.

The day before she’s shipped to Monaco, Carlos does one last fitting - laces her up so tight she struggles to breathe - or maybe it’s the proximity to Carlos that gets her breathless. He stands back to admire his handiwork - and the way the dress simply moulds to her makes him feel something horrific in his belly. His fingers itch to touch - not just the softness of the silk that glides along her curves, not just the way the lace and beading accentuate her beauty… he wants to touch her, without the troublesome covering of clothes, without any barriers of propriety between them.

But she’s getting married - promised to a prince. She’ll be queen someday, and he just cannot ruin that for her. Or for his father.

He doesn’t have to tell her she looks beautiful - she can see it for herself - in the crystal mirror, in the expression of awe and longing in his face. She gives him a last, slow twirl. “It’s beautiful, Carlos.”

“You make it beautiful,” he says, allowing himself this one silly transgressive compliment. “Prince Charles is very lucky.”

She looks sick at the mention of her betrothed - as if it were water to douse flames. “I don’t care what he thinks.”

Carlos scoffs at her naïveté. “You can’t say these things. It’s treason. Nothing is stopping your wedding.”

She gives him this defiant look. “You could, Carlos. We could run away and -”

He has to turn away, because he can’t look her in the face when he tells her that it’s a stupid notion - that Prince Charles will send a whole battalion after them, and they’ll be dead before they can cross any border. And even though it hurts him to do this, he must be the one who thinks logically, who thinks about what’s best for her future. For the peace in their region.

She could care less about their fucking countries. All she wants is a life with him. A quiet, simple life. To have their own little garden, kids running around. To not have to bend to the will and rules of ancient decrees. “You want it too,” she says, reaching for his hand, and he is too weak to pull it away. “I know this, Carlos. You’re going to let someone else have me. Can you bear it, Carlos? Knowing he’s going to be the first one to touch me?”

He stiffens, his fists tightening beneath her hand. “No,” is all he says. “But you make it harder than it has to be.”

“You can’t even look at me, Carlos. Please. Is this how you want our last night together to go?”

He closes his eyes. “How else can it go?”

So she’s mad - at his cowardice, and storms off to sulk in her room, to cry because she doesn’t know how to control anything about her own life - not even about the clothes she wears, or the man she can love. She skips supper and doesn’t let anyone in. She wonders if the window out of her room is high enough for a permanent sort of escape from this life. She lets the morbid possibility fester in her mind, and feels the grief for a life she could have had sinking in deep.

There’s a knock, at her door, seemingly hours later, waking her - she hadn’t realised she’d fallen asleep. It’s a knock that’s familiar - five taps, in rapid succession.

Carlos.

She gets up so fast her head spins, and she runs to the door and practically tears it open.

It’s him. It’s Carlos. He looks worse for wear, too. His eyes red. His lips cracked.

“I can’t marry you,” he says, voice unsteady.

“I don’t care,” she tells him, relief bursting like a dam inside her chest. “I just want you. Even if it’s just for a night. For an hour. A single brief second. I will always want you, Carlos.”

They don’t waste time with crying or tearful confessions - Carlos cups her face and kisses her and the world seems to spin in wild, brilliant colour. He doesn’t want to scare her - but she’s eager for it - begging for him to touch her, their bodies so close it feels so thrilling. She lets him take off the dress he’s made for her - each string slowly undone, a step closer to liberation. She lets the dress fall, reaches for him but he stops her - looks down ruefully at the dress (that will not do!) and he carries it gently to the chair and lays it down as careful as a new bride. She watches him - the pride he takes in his creation, and way his hands smooth over creases, and feels a prickle of anticipation, knowing that if he’s that gentle with a dress…

She feels her knees buckling when he turns back for her - his gaze somewhere caught in the crossroads of feral and tender. His mouth is swollen, he’s breathing heavy, hair mussed. She aches for him in ways she can’t even articulate - doesn’t have the language or experience for it. So he gathers her in his hands like a silk hem he’s tending to, collecting her in his arms and kissing her fully, backing her up against her bed and in the process, pulling off the rest of her clothes, her undergarments, the pins in her hair until it falls loosely, lovely for him. He guides her to lie down on the bed, her hair fanned out, and she’s naked, perfect. He tells her so. She giggles and reaches for his clothes, ordering him to take them off. He is clumsy - so eager that his fingers shake. But it’s charming, somehow.

She admires his body - the trail of hair from his chest to navel, and down south where he’s so hard for her. It’ll hurt, he tells her. But she doesn’t care - she needs him, or she’ll die.

He shakes his head, chuckling at her impatience. There’s so much he wants to show her before that. So he teases her - mouth on her breasts, sucking and nipping until she’s gasping, fingers tight in his hair. Begging him to do more. He likes that order, and moves down, cataloguing every square inch of her that he’s memorised by heart - her measurements, the shape of her - but now instead of just numbers, he knows her softness, her taste. He gets on his knees and licks between her legs and she makes sounds she’s never made with anyone else. Just him.

He doesn’t stop until she comes - until she’s writhing on the bed and wanting more of anything he can give her. His fingers and face are wet with her. He could drown in it. He finally crawls back up over her body when her thighs stop shaking and she’s utterly kissable and pliant and sweet for him. “If you don’t want this,” he says, a hand on her belly to steady her (and him), “you have to tell me.”

“It’s the only thing I want,” she tells him, and he looks so torn and relieved at the same time that she wants to giggle.

He goes slow - so, so slow. It feels strange - like an ache that builds to a sharp, stretch. At times she tells him to stop - and he does, because he’s patient - doesn’t want to hurt her. The start-stop motion absolutely kills him, because being inside her, so tight he feels like he’s not going to last, makes him greedy and stupid - some primal part of him wanting to keep going, and not stop until she’s full of him - and he’s got to turn his animalistic brain off immediately because he’ll end up chaining her to the bed and never letting her out of his sight.

But he knows it’s not possible. She’ll be married and a queen and all he can have is just this one night that they’d stolen for themselves.

Her face is a grimace when he’s all the way inside, and he’s cradling her face and whispering tender things to her, soothing over the ache, until she’s ready for more. He kisses her through the slow thrusts, until she gasps his name and tightens up around him and he knows he’s not going to last long. He’s has to pull out. If she’s pregnant - she’ll hang for it.

But she grasps him close, pleads for him not to stop - she doesn’t care. Let her have this from him. A reminder. A last goodbye.

Carlos doesn’t stop himself. He doesn’t have the will to pull away, to pull out. They’re being foolish. He doesn’t care to think about consequences when he loves her, and he’s basking in the afterglow of their shared intimacy.

There’ll be hell to pay, but he’ll pay it a million times over.

-

The wedding is a splendid, beautiful affair. Carlos and his father are invited, of course, and he’s sick - with grief, with jealousy. He can’t bear to see her in her dress - the one he’s made with his own hands. He tucks his hand in his pocket and feels for the little square of excess fabric he’s kept from her dress - his last little token before he has to let his obsession with her go.

He darts a glance at the groom - Prince Charles, tall and so handsome, and hates him with a vicious anger that the prince does not deserve.

He ought to feel some measure of guilt, maybe. He’d taken what was owed to Charles, what had rightfully belonged to him. But he doesn’t care to feel shame over his actions.

On cue, she steps into the church, and he composes himself before he allows himself to look at her. She’s ethereal - like a vision he must have dreamt up. He doesn’t think the dress could have survived the sea journey, but it does, and she’s resplendent in it.

She gives him a look as she passes him in the pews - her smile masking the sadness in her eyes. He bites down on his lower lip and wills himself to stop. To hold back. There’s nothing more he can do. It’s her destiny. It’s for the peace treaty. For the greater good.

He does not think about her soft skin, or the taste of her mouth. He does not think about how freeing it feels to run his hand through her hair. Or to have her curl up on his chest and sleep through the night. To make her moan his name as she comes.

The rituals sicken him. He sits and stands and feels nausea building as he watches Charles take her hand and they light a single candle. She pledges vows of fidelity and love and he feels nauseous when Charles promises the same back.

They are married. He is doomed.

-

He stays away, for days, weeks, throwing himself into his work because he’s tasked to make more dresses, now that she has a new position in society as the prince’s wife, with all the social events lined up for her. He doesn’t want to visit her - having memorised her measurements by heart, and sends the dresses through messenger.

Each time, they’re returned with a letter she writes by her own hand - begging him to come to her, wanting to talk to him, at the very least.

He ignores all these, and does his job. He will not make an adulteress of her.

The next dress that comes back is ripped to shreds, and he sighs at the petulance, understanding her frustration, her anger. This little part of her life is the only thing she can control, and he does not blame her for finding ways to express herself when clearly she has no way of doing so in court, or with her own husband.

-

He runs into her at a ball, one that his father badgers him to attend, because it’s polite and he needs to rub shoulders with the elite of society. But Carlos hates the pomp and pageantry and wants only to go back to his sewing.

At least the ball has his second favourite activity - drinking. He downs more cups of wine that he can count, and so when he finally gets a glimpse of her arriving fashionably late - his wine-addled mind can only supply the thought - god, she’s so fucking beautiful.

She ignores him throughout the ball, and he watches her dance with man after man, seething each time their hands get too familiar with her. And then, she dances with her husband, and some sick part of him wishes she were miserable with him, or maybe that they hated each other. But when she sees her face light up as Charles takes her in his arms and twirls her through a waltz, he feels like it’s the final nail in the coffin.

He sets his cup down, and leaves the ball - his heart in tatters. He walks out to the gardens to brood - to walk off his anger, his grief.

He does not expect to her voice calling out for him - her hand reaching for his. He turns suddenly and yanks his hand away, his face dark. “Don’t,” he warns, voice low and soft. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

“Carlos.” Her voice is guilty, but there’s vulnerability there. He cannot fall for it again. “Just hear me out, please.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he insists. “You’re married.”

“It’s not what I wanted.” She’s bitter, full of tears. “It’s not what we could have had.”

Carlos shakes his head. “This is not making it easier. You need to leave.”

“No,” she says, stepping closer. Carlos can’t look at her. “Carlos. I still love you.”

He laughs - dry. “Didn’t look like it when you were dancing with your husband.”

“What do you want me to do?” She throws up her hands, the exasperation clear. “To sulk and be miserable my whole life, like you’re doing? I’m sorry I’m not you, and that I don’t hate Charles.”

Carlos flinches at his name. They fall into silence.

“He’s nice to me.” She says, after a beat. “He’s kind, and gentle. And yes, I don’t know anything about him. Not like I know you. But… I could love him. Just like I love you, too.” She takes a breath. “But it does not mean my love for you is gone, Carlos. It’s always there. It will always be there.”

He shakes his head. “It can’t be. That’s impossible.”

He sits on a stone bench he finds, dizzy from the alcohol and her confession. “Carlos,” she says, “it’s true. It can be true if you want it to be.”

“And what about your husband, hm? You’ll make a fool of him. You’ll hurt him. That’s not love.” He gives her an appraising look. “Does he know?”

She hesitates, fiddles with her fingers. “No. But I will tell him-”

He stands up, sudden, swift. “No. You will do no such thing. You understand we will be put to death, right? This is not some fantasy you’re thinking of - it’s our lives, cariño. My dad will be disgraced. Your parents, exiled. You can’t throw all of that away just for…”

“Love.” She reaches up to wipe away unshed tears. “I know, Carlos. I know. I have a lot of time to think about it.”

She lets her eyes flutter shut, and a long, desperate sigh escapes her. “I miss you. All the time, I miss you. I think about you when I’m alone. When I’m eating your favourite meal or snack. When he’s kissing me.”

“This is making it worse.” He wipes a hand down his face, as if a headache is forming. “And so what do you want to hear, huh?” He faces her now, tall, imposing. “That I think of you too? I can’t sleep a single night without dreaming of you? That I haven’t touched another woman since you?”

Her eyes widen. “Carlos.” She steps forward - he does not retreat. She lets her hand brush his, and the spark between them ignites.

“It’s all your goddamn fault.” He whispers, defeated. He lets himself hold her hand - the illicit intimacy warming him more than anything else in the past weeks. “It can come to nothing, you know.”

She nods. He lets his free hand run up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, leaving goosebumps. He cups her face, and strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. “This is all we can have,” he whispers. “A kiss.”

She meets him halfway, mouths open and greedy. She can’t get enough of his body pressed to hers, feels hungry in a way she’s beginning to understand intimately. He swears when her fingers wrap around the back of his neck and pull him in closer, until they’re almost stumbling back into the bushes. He steadies her, but she lunges for him again - kissing until she’s backing him up against a pillar and grinding herself into him - eager, hot. He groans at the friction - too much, not enough. “Touch me, please.” She begs and he can’t help himself - hands already pulling aside the fabric of her goddamn dress - he curses himself for making it so heavy - and over her undergarments where he can feel the heat of her. He touches her and relives the memory of that night - feeling heat coil inside him as her face blooms with pleasure - and she crying out his name, her own hand teasing over the bulge in his pants, and he’s so shameless - can’t stop the thrust of his hips into her touch. She kisses him and he swallows her moans and the sound of his name and when they both come, he feels nothing except bliss - golden, sweet bliss that is unlike anything he’s ever felt.

-

She haunts him. At every social gathering, every ball, every dinner they have in common.

They find secret corners, little unattended rooms. Nobody cares that she disappears for brief periods of time.

They grow bolder. She lets him visit her when Charles is away on a month-long expedition - on the premise of tailoring her newest dress. He spreads her out on her marital bed and eats her out until she’s having to muffle her screams in case her ladies in waiting come. He fucks her into the pillow that her husband sleeps on - kisses her until he’s drunk on love and lust and everything in between. He hates himself but he hates this more - being away from her, being unable to touch her, to fill himself up on her.

It all goes to shit, though, when Charles returns - and she realises she hasn’t bled in months.

She’s pregnant. They haven’t been careful, not even a bit. She sends word to Carlos - it’s the worst and best news he’s heard.

Charles is ecstatic, of course. An heir. He’s always wanted many children.

She has to order new dresses. The ones she wears now don’t fit her. Carlos has to take her measurements. God - it’s torture. Seeing her grow big with a baby (his? They won’t know for sure, would they?). Seeing her put her hands on her little belly. His own heart aching to hear her describe her morning sickness, her backaches, her swollen feet.

He is careful not to touch her in a way that would tempt him (an absurd thing, really - she’s already pregnant, and he can’t fuck this up any more than he already has). But she’s delicate and he feels this protective instinct rising up whenever he’s in close proximity to her. He can’t hurt her. He can’t hurt her baby. Their baby.

He hears about her going into labour in the middle of the night - and he paces the floor, his nerves shot to pieces. He knows the facts - the dangers of birth. Mothers who die from blood loss, babies who never survive beyond their first cry. He wishes he were less useless of a man. He wants to do something - anything. He does not sleep and begs his servants for gossip, hoping for news.

Two days later, they finally put him out of his misery. It’s a girl - beautiful, healthy, sweet. Both mother and baby are safe. Carlos cries when he hears the news. He trembles when he receives her letter - come visit, please.

He brings his father, because he’s not sure if he can bear the trip alone. He’s nervous, anxious, wondering if there’s anything that will prepare him for the sight of the love of his life holding a baby that might very well be his.

She’s confined to her bed, and aside from the paleness and dark eye circles, she looks safe and healthy. He thinks she looks beautiful, and wishes he could kiss her. But then the midwife brings over the baby and his knees almost buckle.

There’s no mistaking it. That baby is all his - dark brown eyes, full hair. Soft cheeks that look like his nephew’s. He never thought his heart could love something so much - until now.

He gets to hold her, and his father leans in too, captivated by the little child that spells good news for their region. Carlos almost rolls his eyes when his father declares, “they’ll need a boy, next.”

But she’s perfect, in Carlos’ eyes. Soft and smelling like her mother. Carlos eventually has to let her go. He places her in her mother’s arms and mouths, “i love you” secretly, so no one can see.

He leaves the palace with a lightness in his chest, and wonders how he can feel so happy and so empty at the same time.

-

he honestly thought he'd never get the chance. until you showed up at his hotel room right before the spanish grand prix. you looked at him and then grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss.

carlos heard laughter and when the kiss broke, he saw oscar and lando nearby laughing. when he turned back to you, you were looking in shock with your hand still in his shirt.

before carlos could say anything you looked over to the pair close by and went, "see. nothing." but you were pulled into another kiss which you melted into. carlos could taste the wine on your tongue.

oh, you were getting drunk with the mclaren boys and this was all some stupid little dare. so when you pulled away once more and tried to apologize. he placed a hand on the top of your head and said, "why don't you come inside and get some water. and away from them."

oscar piped up, "you can't take away our drinking buddy."

carlos replied, "you two can drink alone." before he shuffled you inside and closed the door. play stupid games, win stupid prizes was all he thought before he had his hands on you once more. he took you by the waist and pressed a series of kisses up against your cheek and neck.

you were trembling like a leaf against him.

"tell me to stop." he said. this was a line that would be scary to cross, but he could feel your heat through your clothes and against him. a little fantasy come to life.

normally so steady in your tone, your voice was shaky when you said, "i don't want you to stop. i'm so sorry, carlos. they thought it would be funny and whatnot and i-"

he held the back of your head and made you look to him, "you didn't need a dare for you to come here. now, have you had too much to drink to do anything?" he didn't want to hurt you, maybe a little play in the bedroom but not real hurt.

he was your rival, not your enemy.

you held onto the front of his t-shirt and replied, "i want you. that was what the whole dare was. they thought i didn't have the balls to kiss you. i know, it sounds like we're teenagers. but they got two glasses of wine in me before i was stomping over to prove them wrong."

he laughed and held onto your hips, who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." he saw your expression change before he pulled you in for a tight kiss, his hands went to the slope of your ass and grabbed onto it tightly.

"don't make me blush!" you squeaked

he loved this side of you, so different from the humorous, head strong driver, "oh, you'll be doing a lot more than blushing." then guided you towards the bedroom.

he noticed that you were in nothing but stretchy shorts and a big white t-shirt with printed socks that you had pulled up past your ankles. he saw that the socks had little lions on them.

he sat down on the bed and beckoned you to sit on his lap. he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. his laps were on your clothed back, he yearned to get you naked.

"how do you like it?" he said, his lips close to your back, "how do you want me to fuck you?"

you swallowed, "rough. i always imagined it rough. i see how you look at me after races. when i narrowly beat you out, it looks like you want to eat me alive."

he chuckled, "maybe eat you out, but i think i could never hurt you. not on purpose."

you looked at him, "you suck as a rival."

he remarked, his hand on your chin, "then i guess i'll have to be a lover then." before he let go of it and took your shirt by the bottom and pulled it up over your head, leaving you in tight shorts and a cute grey sports bra.

he let you get up to full get unclothed. he did the same, when you caught sight of his cock you swallowed. the size was impressive and made heat pool in your core. he leaned back a little and looked at you in front of him. he grasped his cock and stroked it, "like what you see?"

you nodded as you pulled down your panties. you saw his expression change and you asked, with a little more confidence in your tone, "do you like what you see?"

he responded, "i bet it'll feel even better." he watched you get in his lap, but you were facing towards the door of the bedroom in a hybrid lap sex and reverse cowgirl. it gave him perfect access to the sight of your pretty ass.

there were little pleasantries exchanged between his cock and your pussy before you sank down on it. your hands on his knees as you started to ride him.

carlos' cock fit nicely in your aching sex. you were already drenched from his kisses and the notion that you'd get to have sex with him. your core throbbed with a deep want as you were fast with your thrusts.

he grabbed your hair tightly and pulled your head back so he could kiss at your neck. he kept you close to him, holding onto you like you were going to run away. he met your thrusts, they were a bit more brutal as his cock hit the back of your pussy.

he said to you, "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

"is that a promise?"

"yes." then held your hip and hair as he started to thrust harder, fully taking hold of the situation. you may be physically on top, but carlos was the one in charge. savoring every moment that he got to bed his little rival. or rather lover, now.

the pulling of your hair felt good, the roughness of his movements made you grow wetter with each heavy stroke.

"carlos." you panted.

"that's it. fuck, you feel so good for me." he responded, his grip was a little tighter on you. he loved watching you meet his pace and bounce on his cock. next time he'd make sure to keep you front facing so he could see that pretty face of yours. he was certain there was going to be a next time.

"i don't want to be your rival anymore." you panted.

he looked at the back of your head, those beautiful brown eyes gazed at your back side as you worked his cock. he licked his lips and said, "then why don't we become lovers, then?" he smiled when you made a soft moaning noise, his hand in your hair went to your neck and pulled you against him. he bit at your shoulder and collarbone as he pinned you to him and thrusted up into you. "what do you say, mi amor?"

you panted, "please, carlos. i want to be yours."

he laughed, "that's what i like to hear. your name sounds so good on your tongue." he kissed behind your ear with a sense of tenderness. you were bouncing on his lap, the both of your naked on the expensive hotel bed.

he moved against you and kissed the nape of your neck as he bullied his cock into you. his grip was tight on you and it made you pant and whine for more. he fit so good inside of you.

"please, ah, carlos!" you moaned as you clutched onto his strong arms. you kicked out your legs and your cunt tigthened around his length. the pleasure caught up to you and you whined through your orgasm.

part of you prayed no one else in ferrari heard you, carlos' pace was still relentless as he moved against you. you felt so good seated on his cock, he knew your pussy was so pretty and wet.

"that's it. that's it." he panted in your ear, his voice hot and ran through your overstimulated body. he rutted against you before he gave one last thrust then spilled inside of you.

he came and it left him feeling very good as he slowed the pace down and relaxed against you. his arms still around you but his head on your shoulder.

you wanted to kiss him, but your limbs felt shaky. your head felt heavy as you came down from the intensity.

"mi amor." he said.

"shh. shh." you panted as you wiped the sweat off your forehead. it felt nice just being held by the other driver.

you soon tumbled into bed with carlos, your bodies pressed together. his forehead against yours as he laughed a little. he held your face for comfort. he said, "that felt good."

you nodded and kissed him on the lips, "i hope you know, just because you're not my rival doesn't mean i will go easy on you. it'll still be a battle of the track."

he dropped his hands down to your waist and went in for another kiss. which was followed by a few across your cheeks, "of course, i wouldn't want it any other way. but, i still will come out on top. i want to fuck you in front of the a nice shiny trophy."

you laughed and replied, "oh don't worry sainz, next time i win we can do that." then winked at him.

-

the next morning, in the early hours, you exited carlos' room with a prayer that no one saw you. as you carefully closed the door behind you, you heard your name and looked over.

you were met face to face with your teammate. your eyes went wide as you tried to play it off, "oh hey there... bud."

"what were you doing in carlos' room?" he asked.

you shrugged, "oh, you know how it is. a few drinks and fast asleep in front of the television." you laughed it off, "no big deal."

"right."

but something clicked as the two of you looked at one another. it was tense between you two for a moment before you had to ask the question, "but max." you said, "why are you in ferrari's room area too?"

carlos trying to hide his smile

-

carlos had been down and out with his performance recently, nervous about his impending unemployment. you knew he was stressing out and pushing himself harder than ever. every morning before the sun was even up he was out running, cycling, in the gym, you name it. you could tell he was losing his energy more than usual because your late night activities were consistent with you being only on top.

you and carlos had a very passionate and constant sex life. it was wild and lustful, a trait that didn’t waiver in your four years together. that was until recently. carlos was clearly drained and tired from his all day activities that the nightly ones had dwindled. while he was stressed, it was usually taken out on you in a pure day through night sexcapade as he fucked you every which way in every room and every position. 

your worry grew stronger as the sex stopped sporadically throughout the day and began only at nightime. even then, he was too tired to truly give you his all, ending up with you on top and exerting all the energy. riding him was nice, and you enjoyed the position, but you needed to be really fucked. thrown onto the mattress, handprints and bite marks to clean up the next morning. but all of that came to a worse halt when carlos arrived home in the evening from a day with his trainer. 

“hola, mi reina,” he sighs out, letting out a groan as he sat next to you on the couch, muscles clearly about to give out. 

“hola, mi amor,” you gently greet, leaning forward to give him a hug and kiss in greeting, “how was your workout?”

“good, i’m sore right now but i should be okay for tomorrow,” he grunts again, attempting to lean back into the couch. 

“los, are you sure you’re alright?” you ask again, your eyebrows pulling in concern, “you seem like you’re very sore,”

“no no,” he assures quickly, “i’m fine, just went a little hard today,” he cranes his neck to get a good look at you, the pain in his eyes evident as you stare into them.

“do you need a massage?” you quietly ask, beginning to run your hands down his chest and stomach, implying your intentions for a happy ending. 

“actually…” he trails off, eyes now darting everywhere but your own, “we need to talk about that,”

“what?” you ask sharply, removing your hands from his body and sitting up straight to look at him clearer. 

“my trainer thinks it’s a good idea to not have sex right now,” he lets out quickly, averting your gaze again.

“i’m sorry, what?” confusion is laced in your tone as you attempt to process what he just told you.

“he thinks that i need to save that energy, conserve it for races and training,” carlos now is bold enough to meet your gaze, regretting it instantly under your sharp stare. 

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you shake out with a laugh.

“mi amor, don’t be upset, please,” carlos pleads to you, “it will only be for a few months, until i get a contract for next year-,”

“MONTHS?!” your voice reaching a higher octave in surprise, “are you fucking kidding me, carlos?”

“mi amor-”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head and now standing up from your position on the couch, “you don’t get to ‘mi amor’ me right now, this affects both of us you know,”

“this is my career, y/n,” he lets out in a whisper, his insecurities on full display. 

“and this is our relationship, carlos,” you bite back quickly, “i hope you’re comfy on that couch, you’ll be sleeping there tonight,” with your final statement, you get up and walk upstairs to your bedroom, ready to head to sleep and hope his stupidity was all a dream. 

-

“it’s really been two weeks?” alexandra asks you as you both take a break from the bustle that was the ferrari garage during race weekend. you had already told her about the ‘ban’ last week at the other grand prix to which she was shocked and appalled that you were still standing. you and carlos fought for the first two days about it before you had come to terms with your situation. you weren’t happy about it. but you had come to terms with it. 

“two very long weeks,” you emphasize to her as you both begin your walk from the hospitality center back to the garage.

“i don’t know how you’re doing it,” she laughs, “if charles ever placed that i’d be done,”

“my vibrator and i have gotten really close,” you joke with a smile, “but really i understand carlos’ motivations, he’s freaking out about next year,”

“i’m sure,” alexandra nods in agreement, “it sucks that you have to deal with it too, though,”

“the things we do for love,” you laugh with her again. as you both continue to walk and talk about your predicament, two ferrari drivers were in the garage talking about the same thing.

“what is wrong with you?” charles asks your boyfriend, still in disbelief that he has been holding it out for two weeks. 

“i don’t know,” carlos laughs, “but it’s not working, i want to break it tonight,” he confesses to his teammate. 

“oh she’s going to be happy, i’m sure,”

“i hope,” carlos sighs, “she was pretty upset when i brought it up in the first place,”

“no shit,” charles scoffs, “i’d be pissed if alex put down a sex ban,”

“we’ve been fine since, she hasn’t been holding a grudge or anything,” carlos shrugs. 

“well good luck,” charles gives carlos a quick and firm pat on the shoulder, “you might need it,” he laughs as he walks away, leaving carlos to question the past few weeks quickly. just as he starts debating your feelings, he spots you and alex walking towards the garage, and he begins to sport his large smile. 

“hola, mi reina,” he shouts towards you, “come here,” he yells again, beckoning you closer to his hidden spot in the corner of the garage. 

“hi, baby,” you reply once you’ve reached him, his arm coming up to pull you into his body for a hug, “how’s it going?”

“good, i have to get in the car in a few,” carlos leans down to plant a few kisses to your lips, a warmth growing in your lower abdomen as he continues to roam your body with his hands, “how was alex?”

“good,” you reply, chasing his lips with yours to get some sort of relief, your own arms beginning to roam his body as well, “how’s the car feel?”

“not as good as you will tonight, cariño,” he speaks into your mouth as you both continue your pursuit of each others mouths.

“what do you mean, amor?” you ask in your sunken tone, too caught up in the feeling of his lips and hands on you to catch what he was implying.

“i mean tonight,” he moves his head to begin kissing down your neck before continuing, “the ban lifts,” he sighs out. 

“what?” you ask sharply, putting space between your bodies quickly in order to process the information. 

“we’re having sex tonight, amor. i can’t put it more simple than that,” he laughs as his nerves begin to rise, scared of your harsh reaction. 

“no, we’re not,” you direct, now moving further away from him, his arms itching forward to have you in his hold. 

“yes, we are, cariño,” he replies, pulling you into him yet again. 

“no,” you give him a cross look, stopping his actions from going further, “we’re. not,”

“why?”

“i believe you placed this ban in order to ‘train better’ and you weren’t going to lift it until you had a spot for next year?”

“mi reina, i can’t do this,” he groans in frustration, “i need you,”

“you should’ve thought about that before you started this stupid thing,” you laugh, tapping his cheek quickly before turning around to leave, “karma, my love, karma,” you leave quickly, but not before hearing a long groan come from your boyfriend, giving you a giggle as you disappear. 

-

“y/n?” carlos calls out into the hotel room. you had left the track after the race as carlos finished up with the media, giving him a kiss goodbye and assuring him that tonight nothing would happen. he had thrown a small tantrum to charles who just laughed at his behavior, giving him a stern ‘i told you so’. now back at the hotel, you had decided to give carlos some payback. after he had withheld sex, he still was coming home from his training, hot and sweaty. tempting you beyond belief. he needed to feel what you felt. so here you were, all dressed up in your best red lingerie set, where nothing would happen. 

“in here!” you call out from the bathroom. hearing his footsteps grow closer, you giggle for a second to yourself before making eye contact with him through the mirror. 

“cariño…” he trails off, raking your body with his eyes, lust overtaking his complexion within seconds. you could tell by the tent forming in his pants these were a long two weeks for him as well. 

“what?” you feign innocence with your question, widening your eyes and relishing in the effect you had on your boyfriend, four years later. 

“you know what,” he sighs out, making strides to get closer to you, but you just take the same length of strides backwards, moving away from him.

“i thought i made it pretty clear earlier, the sex ban has not been lifted,” you shake a finger at him, starting to move forward in order to push past him and out of the bathroom. his hands stop you in your attempt to slide past.

“y/n, please,” carlos tries, squeezing your hips to further his point of urgency, “you’re killing me,”

“now you know how i felt these past two weeks,” you lean in closer to really set him off with your next word whispered in his ear, “...papi,”

a loud groan escapes his lips as he squeezes your hips tighter, “mi amor,” he starts, settling his lips between yours, kissing you with the passion you had been needing the past two weeks. 

“carlos,” you squeak out, separating the two of you, “i’m tired-”

“baby-”

“this is what you wanted, remember?” you eye him pointedly, laughing to yourself at his pained expression. the same one you sported everytime you got into bed with him for another sexless night. 

“cariño, this isn’t what i want,” he pushes, trying to grasp you back into his hold as you push away from him. 

“it’s what you asked for,” you say to him as you climb into the bed, raising your ass in the right direction to catch his attention. 

“fuck, amor,” he sighs, staring at you shamelessly, basking in the moment of finally being able to appreciate your body after two long weeks, “you’ll be the death of me,”

“too bad you had to go and listen to your trainer instead of your girlfriend,” you spit back quickly, getting comfortable in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry,” he sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face before moving to sit on the end of the bed by your feet, “what will it take for you to forgive me?”

“i don’t know,” you fake ponder, “maybe in two weeks i’ll let you know,” you scoff out, winking at him before turning around in bed and closing your eyes. you hear a quiet grunt of disapproval before he heads to the bathroom in order to ready himself for bed as well. you hear the shower turn on, it’s gotta be ice cold, you think with a laugh, before drifting into sleep. 

-

“i’m telling you alex,” you giggle into your coffee the next weekend in the hospitality section, “his face has been priceless,”

“i can’t believe you’re doing this to him,” she laughs along with you, “he told charles that he has been dying,”

“that’s exactly what i was going for,” you confess with a chuckle, “i’m running out of lingerie soon, so i think i’ll switch to just totally naked, that’ll really throw him off,” alexandra just keeps laughing at your game, and encouraging you as you tell her more ideas. 

meanwhile in the garage, carlos is beyond on edge and charles knows exactly why. 

“i told you so,” charles sing-songs as he passes by his teammate. 

“shut the fuck up, mate,” carlos shakes off, running his hand through his messy hair for the hundredth time, “this is-”

“killing you, i know,” charles laughs again, “just apologize to her, grand gesture,” he attempts to provide a solution to his friend. 

“i’ve tried that,” he shrugs, “i’ve bought her bags, shoes, dinners, and nothing,”

“wow,” charles eyes widen in surprise, “are you sure the sex is good for her?”

“shut. up. charles,” carlos says through gritted teeth, “she’s just stubborn, wants me to wait the two weeks like i made her do,”

“actually that’s pretty fair-” charles begins, but stops abruptly as carlos’ left shoe comes hurling at his head, “hey! i’m not the one who gave you the sex ban! don’t hurt me!” he cries out in laughter, running away quickly before the right shoe has a chance to be removed. 

-

the two weeks were up and you were burning. you needed carlos biblically in every way you could possibly imagine. however, the need to watch him squirm one last time tempted you completely. so there you stood - naked, oiled up, hair done, heels on - ready for carlos. 

“hola, y/n, i’m home!” carlos calls throughout your shared home as he enters. 

“i’m in the bedroom!” you call back, giddy with excitement as you hear his footsteps approaching. 

“oh, oh mi reina,” carlos stutters, stopping dead in his tracks as he tracks your body with his eyes. 

“hola, papi,” you seductively whisper, watching his eyes turn from their beautiful caramel brown to a lustful black. 

“ohhh,” he lets out in a groan, immediately dropping down to his knees, and crawling forward to be at your feet. just as he approaches, you push your heel into his shoulder, stopping him from moving closer, “mi amor…,” he sighs in a plea, moving his lips to meet your ankle, slowly trailing them up and kissing your legs in admiration. 

“carlos,” you warn as he inches closer to your heat, “i think there’s one more day on the ban,” his eyes snap up to meet yours, widening in hope for you to forget it already. 

“mi reina, please,” he whines, his lips furthering their pursuit on your thigh, “i’ll do anything, anything,”

“anything?” you ask with a smirk, an eyebrow cocked in amusement at his desperation. 

“anything,” he breathes out, “absolutely anything,”

“no more sex bans,” you start, your boyfriend already nodding his head in agreement, “you fuck me everynight,” you keep going, carlos still shaking his head as his lips don’t stop their attack on your leg, “and you fuck me good tonight, papi,” you finish, him already climbing up your leg in urgency to reach the place he needed once given the green light. 

his lips meet yours after leaving a trail on your entire body, you hum and moan into the kiss as his hand climbs up your body and begins to grip your neck. pushing your head to the side, his lips migrate to your neck, biting and sucking in the places he knows will keep pretty sounds leaving your mouth. 

“mm,” he grunts, pushing his thigh in between your legs, leading you to let out another silky moan and grind down onto his jeans, “y/n,” he chokes out, “on the bed,” he directs. you eagerly move away from him and slide onto the bed. as you start to remove your heels, he pulls your hand away quickly, “leave them on,” he sighs out as you just smirk towards him. 

with the confidence of his desire for you warming your insides, you pull on the collar of his shirt, ultimately forcing him on top of you and leading his lips back to yours, he slips a moan out at your boldness. he stops only for the removal of his shirt before his lips come crashing to yours once again. 

he slides his hand down your body, giving your nipple a tight pinch on his way before meeting his desired destination. once his hand cups your heat, your moan echoed the walls as you hadn’t felt anything but your toys for a month. and they were not nearly comparable to your boyfriend. 

“i’ve barely touched you, amor,” he chuckles out between your kisses. 

“shut up,” you bite back, “it’s been a month,”

“i know,” he breathes, lips moving back to your neck, him relishing in the sound of your sweet moans as his fingers get to work, “so wet for me, reina,”

“only for you, papi,” you choke out in between your moans. he slips his digits up and down your folds a few times, gathering your wetness on his fingers before slowly, too slowly, entering you. he drowns out your moans with his lips on yours, pumping his fingers faster as his thumb comes up to rub your sensitive bud. 

“need you, papi,” you moan out, “need you inside of me,” 

“i know, mi amor, i know,” he shushes you a little bit, kissing you lightly as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, “i want to savor you,”

“do i need to tell you how long it’s been again?” you desperately moan, arching your back into him as he hits your spot. carlos moans along with you, reveling in your need for him and how easily he can get you undone. 

“no need for that, amor,” he shakes off with a laugh. pulling his fingers out of you, they meet his mouth as he tastes the sweetness of you he had missed for weeks. he lets out a guttural moan, and he begins to remove his pants. taking them off in one swift motion, his length slaps up to meet his stomach as you attempt to not drool at the picture in front of you. scrambling towards your boyfriend, you start to make a motion in order to give him the same attention he gave you, ready to be on your knees and ready for him. only for his hands to grab your waist, tossing you backwards onto the bed.

“do i need to remind you how long it’s been?” he asks you, mocking your question from earlier. you sit up on your forearms, watching as he crawls across the bed to be on top of you, meeting your lips in a kiss. you get so caught up in the kiss, carlos’ movements to enter you were lost as your brain fogged in lust. 

“are you ready, mi reina?” he quietly asks, rubbing his length in between your folds. 

“si, papi,” you seductively eye him after your answer, his eyes rolling back as he moves forward to kiss you again. as he enters inside of you, both of your moans paint the walls of your bedroom. 

“fuck, y/n-”

“aye, carlos-”

his pattern begins slow, the movements beginning to warm you up as you stretch to fit him perfectly. his lips attack your neck as your hands pull on his back, you scratching, him biting. both of you moaning in the bliss you had been missing for weeks. 

“oh, oh baby,” he breathes, movements quickening as he gains his rhythm. carlos pulls back slightly from you, moving an arm next to your head in order to hold himself up as he pounds into you harder. your back involuntarily arches, pushing your breasts to meet his chest, sweat mixing together as well as your moans. 

“mi-mi amor,” he stutters out, and you recognize immediately what he’s about to tell you, “i know it’s soon but-”

“i know, carlos, me too,” you breathe out, the warmth in your tummy heating up as you feel your aching ready to be released. 

“with me, baby, with me,” he grunts out, his pace now sloppy as he attempts to bring you towards your high with him. 

“mhm,” was all you could let out, your nails now digging further into his back, “‘m close,” 

“c’mon, mi reina,” he stutters out, his high coming quick, “now, baby,” he breathes out in haste. you both collapse into each other, a sweaty pile of moans and kisses as you begin to come down from your high. 

as you both lay there, carlos still inside you, he kisses your forehead and starts moving some of your hair away from your face. you finally kick off your heels and kiss carlos in between catching your breath. 

“you do know we need to go again, right?” you laugh out through the kisses. 

“oh we’re going all night, y/n,” carlos reassures you, kissing you again. 

“good,” you giggle, “and never again will this happen,”

“never, mi amor, never,”