#oiltext

When Charles lands in Spielberg he’s not looking forward to the race weekend. Pierre sticks to his side all week, joking around and chatting nonstop in a way that would normally be irritating when Charles is in a sour mood. However, Pierre must be able to see the tense set of his shoulders and of course he knows frustration of being outperformed by a teammate, so Charles lets him continue rattling on and distracting him from the pressure following Silverstone. They go to lunches and dinners with some of the other drivers over the next few days, sometimes even with Carlos, but Carlos doesn’t sit next to him any of those times. He always sits across the other side of the table next to Lando or places himself on the other side of Pierre. Close enough so that they can talk, but not enough that he can grab Charles's shoulder as he laughs or nudge their legs under the table like he normally does. By Wednesday, he begins officially keeping track and realizes that Carlos hasn’t touched him even once. Not that Charles was really counting these occurrences before, but their absence becomes awfully apparent as soon as they cease.

Charles doesn’t know what to make of Carlos. While Carlos has always been professional about their secondary genders, after helping Carlos through his rut he somewhat expected the facade to slip and for that distasteful alpha entitlement to finally peek through. He’s fully prepared to let Carlos down easy and remind him that just because they fucked doesn't mean that Charles belongs to him or anything stupid like that. He waits for Carlos to corner him in a hallway somewhere and become ornery and possessive, but it never comes. 

Charles always figured that having sex would tip their precariously platonic relationship towards something more, but he wasn't ready for the opposite possibility. Somehow, rather than fulfilling the sexual tension that has been building since day one it’s as though Charles ended up disappointing Carlos that night instead. Maybe it was because Charles wouldn't suck Carlos' cock or didn't whine like he wanted it enough or after all of those figurative dick measuring contests Carlos couldn't stand that he lost their literal one. But then he remembers that Carlos cleaned him up and clothed him while he slept and went to a café to figure out which pastry Charles would like the best to go with his coffee in the morning, and he's back at square one.