right there where we stood was holy ground

--

ghost of you (charles/max, 3,5k, completed)

“All right, are you now finally ready to explain why four time world driver champion Charles Leclerc is currently in my living room?” Max says, as Charles towels off his hair.

Charles pauses, lets the towel fall into his lap, stares at Max with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say four time?”

--

where i am going is right where i am (lando/oscar, 18k, completed)

Oscar, Lando likes to tell people, is a slow burn. Unremarkable at first. Almost a little boring. But then he wiggles your way into your life with his croissants and his soft little smiles and then one day you wake up and realize you would conquer worlds, slay dragons, eat spinach puffs, anything just to get him to look at you.

Max, on multiple occasions, has told him that’s a him problem and that not everyone experiences this around Oscar. Lando thinks Max is an idiot.

--

sink your teeth into me (lando/oscar, 5k, complete)

“Yeah,” Oscar says, shrugs. “Would be better if it wasn’t so fucking orange, though.”

“Oscar,” Lando tuts, heading for the door, back to his own driver’s room. “Where’s your team spirit.”

“Dead,” Oscar says, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, gesturing at the orange coffin as if to say ‘get it?’.

--

love you with the lights on (lando/oscar, 28k, complete)

“I texted him,” Lando says. “He can’t have forgotten about me, I texted him, and he never texted back.” 

 Max shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know what to say. After all, how do you tell your fuck buddy that you’ve accidentally gone out and acquired a baby?”

--

already home (lando/oscar, 32k, completed)

Lando takes a deep steadying breath. “I think I might be in love with Oscar.” He says, and hates how immediately when he says the words, he knows it’s true.

“Right,” Max says, nodding. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and?’” Lando says, a little outraged. “I can’t be in love with him! We’re married! This is like, a disaster waiting to happen!”

--

this feels like falling in love (charles/max, 3k, completed)

Five kisses throughout their lives, and the one that started it all.

--

thinking ‘bout your touch (oscar/lando, 2k, completed)

Lando’s brain gets so occupied by the thought it shouldn’t come as a surprise really, when a few rounds later Oscar says, “Dare.” Lando blurts out, “Let me suck your dick.”

There’s a long, awkward silence in which they just stare at each other, Oscar’s expression completely unreadable. “Uh,” he eventually says. “I think a dare is something I’m supposed to do.”

--

i’ve tasted blood (and i want more) (oscar/lando, 5,5k, completed)

Lando grabs a pillow and hits him with it, while Oscar laughs loudly. His fangs are on full display, white and sharp and pretty. “You know what I mean, you dickhead!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oscar says, eyes twinkling. “You want me to use you as a human Capri Sun. You know, like a weirdo.”

“God, you’re making this so much worse than it is,” Lando says, burying his face in his hands. It’s. Well, it’s embarrassing, but Oscar also hasn’t outright said no, so. You know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. “So, will you?” And then, just in case, he adds. “Suck my blood?”

--

purring in my lap (’cause he loves me) (oscar/lando, 5k, completed)

The cat thing ends up getting sort of explained in Bahrain, when Lando walks into his driver room and finds a small orange cat sitting on his couch.

Oscar’s cat, presumably.

And he kind of looks like Oscar, too. Slender, lean, and with a slightly grumpy, unimpressed expression on his face. It makes Lando laugh a little. Like owner, like pet, clearly. “Should I just call you Oscat, then,” Lando jokes, giving the cat a little head scratch.

The cat, Oscat, stops rubbing at Lando’s hand and just stares at him instead. Lando would almost say he was looking at him disapprovingly, but it is a cat, so he’s probably just imagining things.

—

glitch (charles/max, 26k+, completed)

Max hums. “Well, at least that means I won’t bump into Charles Leclerc again.”

“Bummer, really,” Daniel says, moving back to his own seat and drinking the little bit of coffee that was still in the cup. “Could’ve been the start of a great love story.”

Lando snorts. “Kids, it all started when I told your father, who had won two World Driver Championships at that point, that he sucked at driving.”

Max sticks his middle finger up at them, and pulls his noise canceling headphones back over his ears. Only two hours left to go, he thinks, wistfully, and goes back to work.

—

heart on your sleeve (charles/max, 5k, completed)

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing. Almost. But then he goes and falls in love.

—

you’ll be alright (charles/max, 19k+, completed)

Charles is not an idiot. He knows there’s a part of him that has been at least a little bit in love with Max for as long as they’ve known each other. But he’s always been able to shove it down. Burying it under rivalries and competitiveness until it was getting hard to differentiate between love and hate. And that had worked, for a really long time.

And then Max had to go and barge into his life and be really fucking cute with his baby.

—

silly me (to fall in love with you) (charles/max,18k+, completed)

“We’re not asking you to ‘woo’ him,” Christian says, looking pained at having to say the word ‘woo’, “We just need others to think you’ve wooed him.”

“I’m not following,” Max says, frowning.

“A PR relationship,” Poppy explains. “You pretend to date, making the public think you’re all happy and in love. Then you reap the benefits of being in a relationship without actually having to put in the effort or work.”

“Absolutely not,” Max says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s depressing, I’m not doing that.”

—

you can hear it in the silence (charles/max, 7k+, completed)

“Thanks,” Max eventually says. “For letting me crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, we should definitely do this again sometimes,” Charles says sarcastically, seeming to finally have woken up enough to actually get out of bed.

“No fucking way, once is enough,” Max says, because it sounds a lot better than ‘this is the best I’ve slept in ages and I think it might’ve been because you were next to me’. “Besides. You snore.”

Charles gasps and looks at Max. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But the complete outrage on Charles’s face is too good to tell him the truth. “Oh, yeah, like a goddamn sawmill. Thought you were going to wake up the whole house.” Max says, and then laughs when Charles lets out an indignant squawk and launches a pillow at his face.

Charles straightens, swoops his hand through his hair, casually leans against the doorway. The doorhandle has left a sizeable dent in the wall. "What? Hm, no no, that is later I think. How are you feeling?"

Oscar eyes him a little suspicioulsy. He's trying to play it cool, for sure, but there's a ridgidness to his stance. A rigidness that only softens when Oscar says, "I'm fine. Just a sprain."

Charles pulls a sympathetic face. "Does it hurt?"

Oscar shrugs. He's on the good drugs right now, so not really. But the good drugs will fade, and so will the adrenaline, and he knows this is a pain that will settle into his bones. "If my mum was here she could probably kiss it better," he jokes, because if he's honest right now, Charles will worry, and he doesn't want Charles to worry.

Charles's eyes light up though. "I can do that," he says, pushing off the wall and striding forward like the whole time he'd just been looking for an excuse to get closer to Oscar.

Before Oscar can say anything in return, Charles's hands are on his wrist, his lips pressing gently against Oscar's skin, right where his arm ends and the splint begins.

Far below where it actually hurts. Yet it seems like the exact right spot to set Oscar's entire body on fire. "Thank you," he rasps out.

Charles smiles, takes a step back, undoes the top velcro of his race suit with one hand.

"But, Oscar," she says, pouts. She still clinging onto Oscar's shirt, and it's like Charles only notices him now. His eyes widen, then settle, and then he's tipping forward, right into Oscar's embrace.

And this, more than anything, seeps the exhaustion out of Oscar's bones. It's been rough, the past few years. Dating a single dad, being outed, Charles and Claire being trust into the spotlight in a way he never wanted for them. But after all that, it's gotten him this, his little family, Charles wrapped in his arms, Claire clinging to his shirt, right there in the middle of the paddock.

"I'm sorry," Oscqr says, when he finally pulls away. "Was she scared?"

"Don't apologize," Charles says. His hands are absently running over Oscar's face, his arms, his side, like he's checking if he's actually okay.

"I am never scared!" Claire declares. "I am the bravest!"

"Yeah, you are," Oscar says, giving her a high five.

"I am also tired," she says, pouting up at Oscar. "It's soooo far to the car." She extends the o, slumping dramatically, and Oscar is fondly reminded of someone else he knows very well.

"Claire," Charles says softly. "Oscar is tired, yeah? I'll carry you if you want."

Claire pouts. "But it's Oscar's turn."

It's not. Or, more precisely, they've never worked with a turn system before. But Oscar gets it. He's seen the replays of the crash. "You're right, kiddo, hop on." He crouches down, and she hops onto his back easily, with practiced ease.

"Are you sure?" Charles asks, worrying his lip between his teeth, taking Oscar's bag from him.