#carteto

"You don't seem ready to give your usual lecture," Teto says, swatting Gigi's bicep with the back of his hand.

Gigi shrugs, stretching. "What new lecture am I to give? He told us he would be with Charles, and we have seen proof that both of them made it home safe, so I can only assume nothing terrible happened."

"That is not the point," Teto hisses. "The point is that he was with Charles. Alone. For hours. In a van!"

"They were not alone. Charles's team was with them."

Teto scoffs. "And you expect Charles's team to keep Carlos safe?"

"I expect Carlos to keep Carlos safe," Pierluigi says, infuriatingly calm. "They were teammates for four years, Teto. Nothing happened then, and nothing will happen now. If we keep trying to keep them apart, Carlos will just get grumpy, and grumpy Carlos is less fun."

"He's going to be grumpy anyway when he sees the ride you have planned for us today," Teto mutters, but he subsides and pulls his phone out again. They're still early, so he's not panicking yet as he opens their group chat with Carlos to check the last messages.

He still remembers the way his heart sank when Carlos messaged the night before that their flight to Nice was diverted, and he and Charles would be driving the rest of the way home in a rented van. Teto barely trusts Charles to be alone with Carlos in a packed hospitality, let alone a van in the middle of nowhere in Italy. He knew he should've insisted on going to Baku. It's a miracle Carlos made it home in one piece.

Carlos hasn't messaged since he liked Pierluigi's message last night about their meeting time for a bike ride that morning, and Teto is weirdly tempted to call him. What if Charles followed Carlos inside, after their van adventures? What if he trailed Carlos into his apartment, into his bedroom, into his bed? What if he took advantage of how exhausted Carlos must've been? What if he pinned him down and coaxed his head back and let his fangs drop and sank them deep into the warm vulnerable flesh of Carlos's—

"Teto?"

Teto startles, nearly dropping his phone. Gigi is watching him carefully.

"Your, ah." Gigi taps a fingernail against his own teeth, and Teto quickly clears his throat, clamping his own mouth shut. He feels how full his mouth is, the sharp prick of his own fangs as he runs his tongue over them.

"Thank you," he says, and wills his fangs back into submission, trying not to think about Carlos's strong neck or how his blood might taste.

Teto knows that if Gigi were a worse man, he would likely judge Teto for being so mistrustful of another vampire when he has been one himself for as long as he can remember. But the problem with Charles Leclerc isn't that he's a vampire. It's that he's Charles Leclerc, and Charles Leclerc is notoriously more than a bit obsessed with his ex-teammate. Teto knows what it looks like for a vampire to crave Carlos Sainz.

He's seen it in the mirror often enough.

The front doors of Carlos's building open, and Carlos steps out, squinting into the sun, walking his own bicycle beside him. His hair is mussed and his jaw is covered in stubble and if Teto's mouth weren't already watering it would be by now.

"Morning," Carlos says, his face scrunched against the sun. Teto is still irritated with him, but he also wants to swallow him whole.

"Buongiorno," says Gigi, far too fondly for Teto's mood.

"I see you're still alive," Teto says, his voice flat. He doesn't miss the way Carlos's cheeks flush.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he says, settling his helmet onto his head and clipping it beneath his chin. "Bike to coffee first?"

"Quickly," Gigi says, securing his own helmet. "And then to work."

"Wait."

Teto's voice is sharp. His veins flood with ice. He stares at Carlos's right shoulder, the skin barely visible through the white mesh of Carlos's shirt, but just visible enough for Teto to make out a small bruise on Carlos's upper trapezius, barely noticeable to anyone who doesn't know what to look for.

Teto, unfortunately, knows what to look for.

"Carlos," he says, his voice low, dangerous. Carlos's eyes are wide. "Did you let him… feed?"

"No," Carlos says. "Yes. Maybe. Only a little bit."

"How much is 'a little bit'?" Pierluigi says, and he's finally frowning, concern tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No more than usual," Carlos says, climbing onto his bike. "Barely a few mouthfuls. I feel fine, I promise."

Teto feels like he might faint, sounds starting to echo around him in a swirl of disbelief, because—

"What do you mean, no more than usual?" he says, his voice nearly a shriek by the end, and Carlos cringes as he mounts his bike, already coasting away.

"Last one to the cafe buys!" he hollers over his shoulder, and then he's gone.

Teto whirls on Pierluigi, his blood boiling and mouth already open to continue yelling, but Gigi just holds up a hand.

"Please do not say you told me so," he says. "I am still going to trust Carlos when he says that he is being safe, but also…" He sighs, mounting his own bike to follow. "Tonight, we make a schedule. No more extended alone time with Leclerc."

"Stupid," Carlos mutters, folding his arms over his chest. The sleeves of the tiny shirt pull tight around his biceps. "We should have bet a dinner. Or money."

They're beyond that kind of wager, and both of them know it. Carlos loves to make things interesting, almost as much as he hates to lose. "After all these years, you want to bet money?" he asks, waving his hand. "Come on, let's see it."

Carlos rolls his eyes, side-stepping through a clumsy turn. Inelegant as the move is, it still makes the pleats of the tennis skirt flare around his thighs.

"So pretty," Teto croons. He plays it as a joke, but Carlos looks gorgeous in it. Teto has seen him in less, whining in ice baths and wriggling into race suits, but it's never been like this, so completely indecent. The neckline of the shirt plunges in a deep vee, his muscles straining against the fabric, and the skirt lands high on Carlos's legs, where his skin is still pale and untouched by the sun.

Carlos swats at Teto. He ducks, reaching out with both hands and managing to tangle his fingers between Carlos's. He expects for Carlos to pull away, so Teto is already tugging his hand back. Carlos hangs on instead, and Teto ends up pulling him onto the couch. Carlos lands with half his ass on the cushion, half on nothing at all. Teto grabs him before he ends up on the floor and really has something to sulk about.

Carlos's skin is warm beneath his palm. Teto feels the flex of his muscles as he regains his balance, the curve of his ribs as he takes a sharp breath.

"I meant it," Teto says, stupid. He's had Carlos in his lap for all of three seconds and he's already fucking it up.

Carlos's face wrinkles with confusion, and he looks down at himself for a long moment. Slowly, lightly, Teto slides his hand around Carlos's back, allowing himself the double indulgence of pulling Carlos closer and putting his fingertips on the edge of Carlos's skirt.

"So pretty," Teto repeats. This time when Carlos looks at him, his eyes have gone hazy, a pleased smile on his lips. Trust Carlos to always find a way to win.

The Exes:

 • Max Verstappen

 • Fernando Alonso (the evilest ex)

 • Roberto Merhi

 • Pierre Gasly

 • Nico Hulkenberg

 • Lando Norris