#carva

set in 2022 the year everyone was "shocked by what Mercedes produced," one man's mechanophilia is another man's @carlarva It’s tradition by now — on the last day of testing, Alex will come round George’s hotel room with a beer.

This year, the first thing Alex does is laugh, loud and barking, like he’s been holding it in all day.

“Mate, you’ve got to tell me what’s up with your car. It’s like, deformed.” He’s not even trying to hide it — he sounds delighted, a wry grin across his face as he uses the side of George’s hotel table to crack open his beer. “What did you do? You did something weird, didn’t you? Did Lewis—“

“Alex,” George says, sounding less composed than he'd like. He's been getting it all day. “Can you not. I didn’t. You know we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but everyone does,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. “Including you, last year and the year before and the year before that. So don’t go getting all high and mighty with me now. Come on, dish and I’ll tell you all about how the old girl at Grove was pining for you when Nicky and I went in.”

“She misses me?” George can’t stop himself from asking, something pleased and mortified in equal measure curling in his stomach.

“I dunno, mate, it’s like -” George gives a nebulous, one-shouldered shrug. “It’s - you’ve done it before. You know.” 

Alex shrugs too, tries to slough off the awkwardness of his own question. They’re not meant to talk about it. George loves rules - Alex should’ve expected he wouldn’t say much. 

Logan’s second time in the incubator had been harder than the first. That first season, Alex had calmly walked him through it, making jokes to lighten the mood. The hot, damp space was surprisingly comfortable - it reminded him of childhood camping trips where he and Kyle would sweat through their shared sleeping bag. He shuddered at the thought of doing this with Kyle. They’ve swapped sweat, swapped spit, but this was something else. Something cloying and metallic that was defined by tan skin and skilled fingers.

The second time Logan steps into the cocoon, he’s far past nervous. He’s desperate in a way he hasn’t been since he was trapped in F3 and running out of money, watching his too-young cars falter and die on him. Logan knows that if this years car isn’t a fit, if he can’t push it into the points, than he’ll never be back in this slick, dimly lit chamber again.

Alex, sensing his anxiety, doesn’t joke. Their actions are stilted and robotic, no chemistry at all. Logan has to bite his tongue to keep from begging Alex to fuck him, to take his pleasure from Logan’s body and wring every drop of talent into the car, into the team.

Alex avoids him the entire winter break after they leave the factory. The car spent that time gestating, waiting for its unholy creators to come crawling back.

When Logan steps into the artificial nursery, the problem is apparent.

“They’re small,” Alex says, cutting a glance to James. Their team principal’s face was predictably placid but Logan didn’t have to look at him to know what he was feeling.

It was the end of January. The cars should be on the precipice of breaking out of its cellulose layer. Instead, behind the translucent, veiny film, the three larva was still only the size of a typical V8.

“What do we do if they don’t hatch before Bahrain?” Logan asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the cocoon. He knows that this is his fault.

James explains that the longest they can leave two of the cars in there was the second week of February. They would have to be cut out by then, given their nutrients externally. There were some things the team could do to help them grow before the season started, but there was a possibility they would end up with underdeveloped cars. They’d start the season on the back foot.

Alex had asked more questions but Logan wasn’t listening. He watched the steady throbbing of the casing and worried it matched his heartbeat too well.

—

Two of the cars hatched the first week of February. They were still smaller than normal, and slower than the team would have liked, but they were out and moving.

The third hadn’t hatched. Since it wasn’t necessary for the season, they’d leave it to grow a little longer. They would just have to be careful with the other two.

That’s what Logan tried to be. Careful. Gentle. Not only because his job was riding on his consistency, but because his car was still so small. Barely two weeks old, still trembling and hesitant to push itself to its limits.

Alex’s car, on the other hand, was hard and unruly. The tighter Alex tried to hold on, the more it bucked from him. When it worked, Alex could get his car close to the points. When it didn’t- you had Australia.

Alex’s car hadn’t woken up after the crash in practice. The team asked for Logan’s car- Logan’s young, quivering car. It clung to him even as Logan agreed to sit out the rest of the weekend.

Logan didn’t ask Alex to be gentle with it. When his car came back a little stronger, a little more confident, Logan wonders if he’s been too gentle with it.

—

The third car doesn’t hatch until April. It’s more middle of the road than Alex’s or Logan’s. More controllable, but more durable. It wasn’t ambitious but it wasn’t hesitant either.

Logan wondered if they were going to sub that car for one of theirs. He wondered which one would have to sit out- the desperate, angry car, or the weak, anxious one.

Logan is going okay in Miami. Being back home is building his confidence and it’s reflected on his car as well. Tenth in the sprint was a highlight, even if there were no points associated with it.

Maybe he got too confident. Maybe he got too desperate, had too much tunnel vision. Because suddenly his adolescent car is flying backwards into the barriers, making a screeching, unholy sound. Logan’s heart is racing and his head is spinning and every part of him is throbbing.

“Did I do something wrong?” Is the first thing out of his mouth. He’s not sure if it’s from him or the car. He can’t tell the difference anymore.

But no, he didn’t do anything wrong. That doesn’t keep his car from curling up to lick its wounds over the break, newfound confidence leaving quicker than it came. Logan, as likeminded with the beast as ever, stays in Miami and soaks up the sun, hoping he’ll go back to the too-cold English summer a little stronger than he left it.

—

They’re desperate and hungry. The team is scared they’ll break too easily.

hello friend! please enjoy 1.6k of horny, in love, idiots. I wrote this in a fever dream, thanks for the inspo to the discord chat

Before they leave the paddock at Silverstone, at their home race, after both he and Fernando have both gotten points for the first time in awhile, Lance hears his name. He turns to see Anna, one of their senior hospitality directors. Only she’s the one in charge of the Mother. And has been since his dad had started incubating a new one when he’d decided on the rebuild.

Lance slows down, waits for her to catch up. “Anna,” he greets her. “Everything good?” 

Anna just shrugs, lips pressed together in a way that tells Lance the answer is a mostly no. “We’ve figured out why the car is shit. We’re going to need you and Fernando in the factory these next two weeks before Hungary so there’s time for the babies to start forming during Break.”

“What happened?” Lance frowns. He remembers going in with Fernando right after Abu Dubi. He’d done all his usual routine, just with more kissing and more touching and actually enjoying the getting fucked. It had been nice.

Anna laughs a little. “Lance, you know how we affectionately call you a cat sometimes because you’re petty if you don’t get enough of Fernando’s attention.”

“Yeah,” Lance says slowly.

“The Mother gave you a bad car because you didn’t give her enough attention.”

Lance stares. What?

“Fernando won’t like that,” Lance says quietly. He loves his boyfriend but he also knows how possessive he is.

“I’ve already talked to him. And he wants podiums so he just has to deal with it. Cause this is how he gets them.”

Lance wrinkles his nose. He thinks back to the want he’d felt when they’d stood together in 2022, the admiration, the desire. The longing.

He nods. “You want us at the factory when?”

“By Tuesday afternoon.”

Lance is going to do something stupid. Reckless. It’s probably too soon for it. But he’s on his phone to the jeweler from his hometown as he walks to the car. By the time he meets Fernando in their apartment, his bank account is short a cool $2 million. 

The next couple days are weird. Fernando keeps going to touch him and moves away. Lance swallows down casual “love yous” before they spill from his mouth. They don’t have sex.

They do drive together to the factory together and Lance pauses the music when they’re about 5 miles out.

“I don’t think manufacturing longing is going to get us a better car.”

Fernando sighs. “No other Mother has been this,” he says.

“Jealous?” Lance asks. Fernando nods. 

Lance scratches the back of his neck. He hates acknowledging it but in this moment it’s actually important. He forges forwards, not meeting Fernando’s eyes. “Babe, she’s kinda, well, me.”

Fernando pulls the car over to the side of the road at that. “Explain,” he requests.

Lance chews on his lip, thinking. “I was with her when she first incubated. I was the first driver to touch her. I was the first driver to come inside her.”

Fernando stares at him. “You were there for the incubating?” 

Lance nods. 

Fernando swallows hard. “Okay, okay. Cool, cool, cool.”

“No doubt,” Lance adds, cackling, Fernando looks at him blankly. “It’s from Brooklyn Nine Nine, have you really,” Fernando shakes his head, “okay, we’re watching that on the flight to Hungary.”

“Sure,” Fernando agrees. His whole demeanor has shifted. The tension and stress replaced by smugness. It happened in a blink. Lance doesn’t understand it but Fernando drives to the factory, one hand on the steering wheel, the other possessively on Lance’s thigh.

When he gets there, pulling into the parking lot, he tugs Lance into a kiss with enough tongue it leaves him breathless and drops the car keys in his lap. 

“Mysterious bastard,” Lance comments to the empty car, even as the fondness threatens to overwhelm him. He takes a deep breath and eyes himself in the mirror. The team’s seen him look worse. Whatever. 

Besides, the entire afternoon is blocked off for the Mother. He’ll look even more of a mess when he leaves to go home. Getting out of the car, he makes his way towards the area that houses the Mother, the babies, the cooldown room for the drivers. Anna is leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Can I go in?” Lance asks. He likes to say hello to the Mother, to sit cross-legged like a child and tell her what he’s been up to before the business starts. 

Anna shakes her head. “Your boyfriend is with her now. Said he needed to be alone.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” Lance says. It’s another 20 minutes until Fernando walks out, whistling. He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek and squeezes his waist. 

Lance looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?” 

Fernando shrugs. “I’ll tell you later,” he says, striding off in the direction of the higher ups offices. 

“He’s planning something,” Lance says. Anna just shrugs.

“It’ll be to everyone’s benefit. That’s how he’s been since he fell for you,” she points out. Lance grins, ducking his head. He feels warm, a little spoiled, a lot loved.

He brings that feeling with him as he says hello to the Mother, strokes her gently with his ring finger. She pulses, welcoming, the walls dotted with sweat. “How was Nando? He was good to you, yeah?” 

There’s no answer, not that Lance had expected one. The Mother doesn’t exactly communicate. “I bought a ring,” he admits, looking down. “Not even Dad knows. Hopefully that makes up for last year. Which, I’m sorry about by the way. We didn’t know.”

He grins. “I’m going to be an uncle.” 

It’s easy after that, sitting there, one hand on the wall, telling the Mother about his life. He stands up after a bit, goes and opens the door and finds Fernando waiting.

“Ready?” He asks. Fernando nods, eyes dark, teeth gleaming. He looks hungrier than Lance has seen him in weeks, pushing Lance until he’s caught between them. The Mother at his back, Fernando’s hand cupping his face. 

Fernando pauses, stares into Lance’s eyes, and then kisses him, fiercely, devotedly. Lance melts beneath it, cock jumping to hardness in the confines of his jeans fast enough it hurts. Fernando only kisses him harder, licks into his mouth as he gets their clothes off. Once he’s naked and Lance is down to his boxers, the kiss breaks. Fernando doesn’t go far, reaches down and tears open a packet of lube. 

Lance wants to sink to his knees, wants to get Fernando off with his mouth but the look in Fernando’s eyes stops him. He clearly has a plan. One Lance will enjoy as he’s spun around, his back getting goosebumps from Fernando’s chest hair. 

His boxers are stripped, fingers sticky with lube stroking his ass. “Gonna treat you nice,” Fernando says. Lance spreads his legs wider, pleading. 

“You always do. Always give me what I want,” Lance says, his voice low. He feels the Mother reacting, as though she hadn’t understood last time. As though she understands now. It feels like they’re being cocooned, kept safe. He feels the sweat from Fernando’s body sink into his own. Feels his cock twitch, precome leaking at the tip as Fernando slides into him. 

Lance groans at the feeling of Fernando’s hands on him, familiar and welcome. It feels like coming home. Especially as Fernando speaks to him in Spanish, ‘carino, quiero, amor’ repeated over and over. It doesn’t take long. Fernando’s teeth on his neck, his fingers wrapped around Lance’s cock. 

“Please,” he whines, pleasure spiraling through him as Fernando finds his prostate. He’s probably leaving nail marks on the walls of the Mother. He wants to apologize but doesn’t when he realizes that the Mother is letting it happen, flesh becoming malleable as Lance shakes apart. 

“Love you,” Fernando pants out, his voice rough, his body steady. Lance comes at that, his want exploding out of him. Fernando pulls out so the tip is resting against his ass and Lance starts babbling, needing it. 

It feels consuming, like nothing else has ever felt this good. Like nothing ever will. 

“Nano, please, come for me. I want you to,” Lance pleads. He arches his back, twists his neck so they’re kissing, pours everything he feels for Fernando into it. It’s biting. 

Lance understands why there’s a rule about coveting in the 10 commandments when he’s with Fernando, when he’s naked and vulnerable and all his. 

“Mine,” Lance breathes out, closing the gap again, swallowing Fernando’s tongue, stealing his air. 

“Yours,” Fernando echoes, a vow, his orgasm dripping down Lance’s thighs. Lance turns, wraps his arms around his boyfriend and buries his face in his neck. Fernando’s hands are gentle, stroking his back, his shoulders.

“Shit, that was,” Lance murmurs. 

Fernando nods, pressing a kiss to Lance’s forehead. “The car’s gotta be good.” 

Lance laughs. “How many do you think we can make?”

“We got nearly two weeks and the team has basically demanded we’re in here every afternoon,” Fernando smirks. He eyes Lance, gaze catching on where their seed has intermingled on Lance’s thighs. “Would she be mad if we bring props?”

Lance raises an eyebrow, twines their fingers together. “Why?”

Fernando shrugs, eyes glinting in a way that makes Lance shudder. “Car might be faster if I make you wait.”

Fuck. Lance nods, eager. He kisses Fernando again. The cocoon that formed around slowly backs away and Lance can see the door again. 

“Should we?” he gestures. Fernando nods. He pauses, eyes wide as he looks at where Lance had dug his fingers into the Mother. Lance follows his gaze and sees. Oh. Lines dragging down the wall of the carva, like scars.

They look old already, worn in. As though they were supposed to be there. 

Les degrés du Rite Écossais Ancien et Accepté : Une Progression Ésotérique.

Thank you for asking! 

So! Paris, South Carolina is the closest you can get to a ghost town and still have people living in it - there are no surrounding cities, nothing close enough to matter, and there’s basically no signs of life. So, when Carrie Lancing moves there, she’s not exactly excited. 

Cue meeting Nova Scott. Nova is the originator of the quote - “Welcome to the town that takes everything” - because no one ever moves to Paris without facing some kind of loss. Nova calls it the community of misplaced things, the ultimate sad town, Mourning, USA. Nova doesn’t talk about the fact that she lives in Paris too, that her family also had a reason to come here, and she definitely never talks about living alone. And, really, no one talks about the ghosts. 

There are less than a thousand people in Paris, but more than a thousand mysteries. And Carrie is gonna solve at least one. 

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