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It wasn’t like he always resigned himself to this; sitting on the couch in their living room, the couch they had picked out together, in the dead of night waiting for him to come back. Barely any light shone through the slits in the blinds, colouring the flat in all shades of pearl. It made him laugh, thinking of the pearls in his closet, remembering the promise he’d gotten them with.
“Just so you know you’ll always mean more to me than any pearls or money in the world.”
Guess he wasn’t worth more than him though. Charles bit his lip. Stupid, stupid thoughts.
Sleep well the text on Charles phone read. Along with a heart emoji. Pierre had sent it three hours ago; nine o’clock. He doesn’t know why the Frenchman even bothers to be honest; they both know Charles won’t answer. Not when Pierre left saying something about promotional videos. Videos with his teammate, yeah sure, not until midnight.
And it wasn’t like they made it a secret either; Pierre snuck out of the house sometimes, came back in ungodly hours of the day. He never lied though when Charles asked. And Charles? He knew better now than to ask. But he also didn’t lie about knowing; knowing when Pierre left it was only to either go train without him or meet up with Yuki.
Sometimes he’d leave to train with Yuki, hah, Charles knew he’d only ever get cardio in on those days. The hickeys told the whole story.
Some nights, Charles can’t help himself. He sits and waits for his boyfriend who only ever looks at him when he asks for the TV remote anymore. He doesn’t know why he does it to himself, can’t explain it in any language he knows. It’s a feeling, a sickly familiar thing that seeps into his bones and carves a home for itself like melancholy for a time he tries to forget. It’s like an itch Charles tries to reach but he never quite can get rid of it. He’s just waiting for the day when he’ll sit alone at home, reading a book or watching a movie and realising all of the sudden that it’s gone.
Like a hiccup you’ve been cursing for days on end that’s finally gone; you don’t notice it until it’s been missing for a long while.
Yeah, Pierre is a hiccup in his life that he’s been living with for far too long, getting used to it while simultaneously hoping it’ll leave him in peace soon.
Of course they weren’t always like this. Love doesn’t start sour but fragile and soft. Like a little swan baby they’ve been raising to become the most beautiful swan on the lake. Joke’s on them, because their sweet little baby is nothing but an ugly duckling and Pierre has all but gone and shot it from the sky; collapsing on the ground in a heap of bloody guts and tared feathers.
Charles is only trying to make the funeral as painless as possible.
The scratching of keys on the lock makes him flinch in the dark. Pierre enters on his toes, closing the door in slow-motion in order to keep as soundless as possible.
“How was the filming?”
Charles’ sudden voice makes Pierre flinch.
“Jesus- Charles! What are you doing here, sitting in the dark at this hour?” But Pierre doesn’t move to flick the light on either. Maybe he doesn’t want Charles to see the marks on his throat. Yuki always leaves a litany of them. He probably gets off on the idea of Charles seeing them; knowing he didn’t put them there.
But Charles couldn’t care less. After all, the media always praisedhim for his good work. They didn’t even know about Yuki. Just the way it should be.
“How was the filming?” Charles just asks again.
Pierre stays silent. Abruptly he moves to remove his shoes, hangs his jacket on the hook by the door that lately always sits empty, staring Charles in the face like a bad joke; a raised finger telling him ‘you know where your man is and still you do nothing?!’ not like there was much for Charles to do.
“It was good,” Pierre finally says. Not much of an answer, really. No conversation can begin from there, which is probably his intention anyway.
“I packed you a pair of extra shoes and underwear in the bedroom. The bag is on the bed, I assume you’re leaving again?”
Pierre froze once again. “You what?”
“I said there’s a bag with extra clothes on the bed. Please take it with you for tomorrow morning so when you leave from wherever it won’t look like a walk of shame with you in the same clothes from last night.” Charles sits up, the blanket previously covering him now falling on the floor with a thud. He walks to the bedroom effortlessly, knowing this place better than Pierre, who hits his hip on the kitchen counter when scrambling to follow his boyfriend.
He probably wouldn’t have any trouble finding Yuki’s bedroom in the dark, the only bruises on his body blossoming because of the Japanese-
Stop.
Charles flicks on the light in their bedroom, opening their large dresser to pick out a raincoat he knows is in there somewhere. It’s supposed to rain after midnight, Charles can’t have Pierre getting sick and potentially infecting him too.
“Don’t forget to put your other shoes in the plastic bag, ok? That travel bag is Louis. I’ll make you buy me a new one, if you get any dirt on it.”
A sudden hand sneaking around his waist makes him jolt. “I’d buy you a hundred bags, chéri. You know that,” Pierre whispers into his neck, mouthing at the juncture where it connects to his shoulder.
Charles rolls his eyes, uncaring if Pierre sees. “Yeah, and I also know I earn more than you so don’t make me take you up on that offer or I won’t hesitate to empty your bank accounts.”
Pierre huffs against him, the air hot on Charles’ exposed skin.
“You’re worth every cent.”
Charles finally spots the dark blue fabric of the raincoat, grabbing it from behind rows of expensive brands he doesn’t even remember buying.
“No babe.” He turns to face Pierre, pushing the coat into Pierre’s chest and the Frenchman away from him with the action. “I’m worth way more than you make.”
Pierre’s laugh falls short when he realises just exactlywhat Charles handed him there. “What is this?” His voice carries uncertainty so well. In this moment it’s like a song to Charles’ ears.
“A raincoat, silly. They said it would rain on the weather broadcast. Honestly, you should watch the news more often.” Charles strides to the connected bathroom, flicking the light on in there too before he grabs one of the tubes on the counter, starting his skin care routine for the night.
Pierre is fast to follow, yanking Charles by the shoulder, holding the coat under his nose so Charles can smell the betrayal it’s been washed in. “Why do you still have this? What is it doing in our closet?” The older grits out between his teeth.
Charles has perfect view of the red bull printed on the chest. “I don’t know what you mean, Pierre. It’s a raincoat, it’s going to rain, take it or don’t come home at all because I’m not catching your germs when you’re sick again.”
The ocean in Pierre’s eyes rumbles with the promise of a storm, waves crashing on the shore; breaking themselves over and over again. “Why do you do this to me Charles? Why do you want to hurt me like this?”
The man in question can only scoff. “I’m not doing anything Pierre. Here, look in the mirror and ask yourself that question. This is all you.” He shoulders himself out of Pierre’s grasp, turning his full attention to squeezing the right amount of product on his fingertip.
Silence engulfs them, a heavy blanket of would-bes, what-ifs and maybes draping itself over the two; muffling everything that is going on outside of this room.
“I love you.”
Maybe it’s the pressure he has to face daily in Ferrari, as a Ferrari driver; il predestinato. Maybe it’s the pressure he puts upon himself, the seemingly simple expectation of his family to ‘do what makes you happy’. But at this moment Charles just can’t anymore. He can’t face himself in the mirror, can’t look at his cheating boyfriend, can’t but laugh.
A bit manic, a bit hysterical but certainly loud. It echoes around the walls, bouncing from one tile to the next until it reaches Charles’ ears again in a terribly distorted version of his usual voice.
“Love? You have no idea what love even means, Pierre. You lie to me about some promotional video and stay until the middle of the night with Yuki, fuck him over probably every surface you two had and then come back to me and tell me you love me?!” He looks at the other through the mirror; the only way he can stand to look Pierre in the eyes lately without feeling nausea brew in his stomach. “Do you know what that sounds like?”
Pierre reaches for him but Charles is quick to flinch away. Always the faster reflexes. “Don’t you dare touch me. Not with the same hands you touched him with. Do you need three fingers to open him up like you need with me? Or does he like the pain of the stretch at two?”
“Charles!” Exasperated, his whole face twisted up with the tale of a man ashamed.
“Oh come on, don’t play the prude now. I’m your boyfriend, am I not? I thought you’d share everything with me.” Charles knows it’s a low blow. Using the Frenchman’s own words against him. However, no matter what he says now, he knows he can’t sink lower than Pierre.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Sleep Char, go and sleep away whatever drugs you took because this isn’t you.”
“How would you even know?! You are barely here anymore Pierre, you go and fuck around with your teammate like a horny teenager while I sit at home and wait for you! You have no idea what kind of person I am, you don’t know what I do to pass time waiting for you, what I think about. Do you remember when we were able to finish each other’s sentences, when we always knew what the other thought?” Charles shakes his head, willing the tears away.
“We’re not like that anymore. Whatever we are now, we are not in love. That’s all I know.”
The warm comfort of Pierre’s chest presses against his back. The heat of Pierre’s uncovered arms snaking around his chest seeping into his own body. God, he’s been so lonely.
“Pierre,” he warns. He can’t keep falling into this sugary sweet trap of his.
Pierre presses soft kisses against the nape of his neck, where his hair starts. “Shhh, I’m here now, calamar.”
Fuck, he hasn’t heard that nickname in such a long while.
“Stop. Pierre, stop, I don’t-”
“I won’t leave.” He whispers directly into Charles’ ear and the latter shudders when Pierre nibbles along the shell of it. “Relax, calamar. I’m here to stay. Just breathe, ok? Just breathe, it’s all gonna be fine.”
It reminded him so much of the times when they were younger. Teenagers with nothing to lose and ambitions bigger than themselves. Naive and easily excitable, they’d snuck into each other’s trailers and squeeze together, almost piling on top of each other, in order to fit into the beds too small for one person alone. They giggled and whispered about their dreams, kissing into the late nights not knowing that achieving their greatest goals would drive a wrench between them.
“I miss you.” Charles doesn’t mean for the whisper to leave his lips but he can’t hold himself together anymore when tears leak down his face, breaking on Pierre’s arm wrapped around his middle.
He feels the breath Pierre takes in, the kiss he presses to the mess of curls on top of his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not,” he grumbles. Pierre doesn’t correct him. Instead he turns Charles around in his hold, kissing him properly now. The latter protests, shoving at Pierre’s shoulder half heartedly. But he still opens his mouth when the Frenchman’s kisses become rougher, his tongue sliding over Charles’ chapped lips to ask for entry. They both bury themselves in each other; Charles fisting his hands into Pierre’s hair and Pierre holding Charles’ face in both of his own.
It’s all sloppy, spit and tongue and want; no teeth, no sharpness, only affections from a time long gone.
Charles loses himself to the memories, to the feeling of security he once experienced whenever Pierre used to wrap him up in his arms. So much so, he doesn’t realise when Pierre is tugging both their shirts off, hoisting Charles up on the large marble counter, it only hits him when his bare back presses against the mirror; hissing at the cold.
“I love you.” Pierre breathes into his lips, the storm in his eyes in full action. He hasn’t looked at Charles with any kind of emotion in too long, he can’t decipher what the flashes breaking through the clouds mean.
“Prove it to me,” he finds himself saying; his voice so soft he isn’t sure it’s even audible.
But Pierre catches it anyway, always able to pick up on the little things in Charles, making them tangible, digestible. He scoops the younger up like he weighs nothing, carrying him in his arms and over the threshold of the bathroom, almost stumbling over the RedBull coat forgotten on the floor.
He gently lowers Charles on the bed, sweeping the travelbag off so they’ll have room. He unbuttons his jeans, yanking them off in a hurry while he stares at Charles from above.
“The lights, please.”
Pierre flicks them off before Charles can even think about how stupid his request sounds. The only light illuminating them comes streaming in from the bathroom; just enough to make out shapes and shadows but not enough to stare into blown pupils, decipher any colour in the iris, to map out birthmarks across smooth skin.
Pierre peppers feather light kisses across his chest, teasing his nipples with little kitten licks. “So beautiful.” He presses it into Charles’ skin with the next kiss. “Mon petit.” On his sternum. “Je t’aime.” Right over his heart.
“J’ai besoin de toi.” And even though it’s dark, Charles can see the honesty in his eyes. He feels the despair when Pierre kisses him on the lips, pressing his hot skin against Charles’ bare chest.
“I’ll do anything for you Charles.” His fingertips skitter along Charles’ ribs like fingers on piano tiles. Down, down, down in a waltz of lust. Though whatever shimmers in Pierre’s eyes isn’t lust. Maybe affection, maybe love; a different kind of love. But Charles can’t tell, he hasn’t seen this look in Pierre’s eyes for too long, can’t comprehend what it might mean any longer.
When they run along the line of Charles’ soft lounge pants, dipping underneath in a fleeting tease, his lips fall open on a quiet gasp. “So tell me, chéri. Tell me what you want.”
In a moment of weakness, small in the face of his own emotions storming over him, Charles grasps Pierre’s hands by the wrists, effectively stopping his movements. He knows he must look as pathetic as he feels, succumbing to the cry of want within him, and he simply hopes the light doesn’t reach far enough to paint the emotions on his face in different shades of dim yellow; all for Pierre to see like a book opened at the part of the big reveal, the height of the showdown.
“Love me,” he whispers because saying it out loud feels like a promise falling in on itself, breaking like a mirror punched by angry fists. Sometimes the big things must be said as quietly as possible so reality won’t hear them, the Gods in the sky unable to decipher the words on their lips so they can’t spin a tragic tale of another hero sacrificing all he has and losing even more in a battle impossible to win.
Yet his quiet confession is like thunder to Pierre’s ears. It reverberates through him like the gong of the church bells when he stands too close. Although he knows this is far more holy than any book could be; Charles lies so openly beneath him, spelling his thoughts out so clearly, painting the perfect picture of long lost love. No Holy Mary could ever look as much like a prayer as him, no saint could ever put this holiness to words, no prophet could form words to describe the miracle God has brought upon this world in the form of Charles Leclerc.
And Pierre is ready to worship. He removes Charles' pants all the while not breaking the fierce kiss he entangles the other in. His hands find Charles’, entwining their fingers while his mouth covers every inch of newly exposed skin; lips slick with French prayers, pressing each word into soft flesh in hopes of it seeping into the depths of Charles’ being.
Hopefully this way he’ll understand his worth, Pierre thinks.
Worship turns into confession when Pierre slides his boyfriend’s briefs down, takes his dick in his mouth until it’s slick with silent apologies, dripping with spit and pre-come. He chokes on tears, that he tells himself he has no right to spill, Charles’ dick and regrets. He thinks it’s a fitting image; a man bowing under the weight of his sin to kiss the only holy thing in his life, tarnishing it.
Meanwhile Charles buckles under his touch, head thrown back in the pillows while he squeezes Pierre’s hand almost rhythmically. His mouth has fallen open on silent gasps, a whine erupting from his chest when Pierre licks over the slit in his head.
Pierre tears his hand away from Charles’ embrace for only a few seconds so he can reposition them, a pillow under Charles’ hips, Pierre further down so he can fit himself between his lovers’ thighs. It makes Charles anxious anyway, searching for the other frantically.
“Shhh, I’m here calamar. Right here.” He links their hands back together, fingers brushing in a perfect depiction of flesh knitting itself together over a wound. “I’m staying chéri. I’m here and I’ll stay.” He presses kisses to every knuckle of every of Charles’ fingers in his hold.
Charles can’t even try to muffle the sob that wrecks through him at this. He doesn’t have to worry about wiping his tears though because Pierre is quick to kiss them away.
Pierre has never thought he would someday know what sin tastes like but when his lips ghost over the skin of Charles’ cheeks, salty tears collecting on his tongue, he shudders with the revelation. He put them there. He is responsible for Charles’s misery. It’s a thought he won’t ever be able to shake.
“Forgive me.” He mouths along the younger’s jaw. He himself isn’t even sure who he’s seeking forgiveness from; a familiar prayer on his sin covered lips.
Pierre takes his time opening Charles up, the lube grabbed from the bedside table where it has been lying in the drawer, discarded, for far too long. He presses kisses to Charles’ abdomen, quiet words of affection which he knows the other won’t be able to hear as anything but nonsensical mumbles.
It’s no wonder though, he would need the time anyway; Charles is so terribly tight, a reminder like a reprimand in the face - this is your doing. Or well, lack of doing rather.
The consequences of his actions are catching up to Pierre and maybe it’s only now, outside of those dangerously fast cars, that he understands it’s not about the speed with which he can run from them. They will always catch up, meet him at an unsuspecting corner, find a shortcut he has never heard of and they will make him pay.
He guesses this is retribution, to see Charles cry like this beneath him,because of him. To feel the strain in his boyfriend’s muscles where pain is carved deep into his bones. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the phantom scars littered across his skin; because of him. No words of his will ever undo this.
After he manages to scissor three fingers into Charles, the latter whimpering from his actions, throwing his free arm over his face to either not have to see Pierre or cover himself, Pierre isn’t sure - the Frenchman finally slides his own white briefs down.
White. The colour has never fit him much.
He lathers lube all over his cock, generously because he doesn’t want to hurt Charles any further, but he doesn’t push in yet. Rather he moves to tangle his lips with Charles’, hoping to portray all the emotions he can’t find words for; all the things he’s too afraid to say. If anything, Pierre is a coward and he’s very well aware.
“Please,” Charles asks him through a breath and it’s all he needs before he carefully, ever so gently, sinks into his lover.
It’s like a missing puzzle piece finally falls into place. A tight fit, yes, but Pierre is slow, pressing his lips everywhere he can reach.
Charles gasps, squeezing Pierre’s hand tightly while his other comes up to fall around the other’s neck. And the further Pierre moves into him, the louder Charles gets. Once Pierre has moved all the way, bottoming out, the younger draws out a loud moan.
God, he needed this.
The hand over Pierre’s neck fists itself into the man’s hair instead, grabbing tightly while Charles pants. He isn’t used to this anymore.
And as if reading his thoughts, Pierre murmurs, “I’ll go slowly. I’ll take good care of you, calamar, I promise.”
Charles just moans.
The drag of his velvety walls against Pierre’s dick is almost too much. An imposition Pierre isn’t sure he can handle. His free hand digs into Charles’ hip, pressing his fingers into the flesh there, burying his blunt nails until he leaves behind little red crescent moons.
When he pushes back in it’s like heaven’s gates have opened up for him. Pierre is all but seeing white, blissed out while Charles’ absolutely feral noises confirm he feels the exact same.
Though when Pierre opens his eyes the expression on Charles’ face contradicts his noises, painting them in a light of pain instead.
“Let it out, chéri.” Pierre leans down, his bare chest covering Charles’, draping himself over the younger. He kisses up his neck, so gentle it’s not going to leave any marks. Mouthing along his jaw open-mouthed he finds his way to chapped lips. “Let it all out. It’s fine, Char, it’s all going to be fine.”
But his words do little to soothe the Monegasque, who can only cry harder in his misery. His chest tight with the sobs ripped from it, whole body rocking with the movement, fingers shaking where they grab harder for Pierre. Like he needs something to hold onto in this world of ever changing dirt and gold. You don’t know what you have until it’s too late.
“I’ll love you forever.”
Pierre had never mentioned not loving someone else on the side. Maybe that was their mistake.
“I promise calamar, I promise to you.” He didn’t say what he promised. Charles wasn’t sure he wanted to know when Pierre kept kissing him, kept moving, kept holding his hand.
What is a promise worth, rotting in the mouth of a dishonest man?
“Forever Char.” The words echo around Charles’ head until he feels the hot liquid shoot into him. Pierre groans into his lips, stealing Charles’ breath right from the source.
Then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, he disentangles his fingers from Charles’ and takes his face into the palms of his hands instead. They’re warm, burning up with the shame of a hundred promises forgotten. “I’ll love you forever Charles.”
Charles cums soundless, dripping onto his abs.
“As long as you’ll let me and longer. I’ll love you even if you don’t want to see me again, I’ll love you even when you forget about me, when you’ll find someone better because you deserve someone better and I know one day you’ll find him. You’ll move on, you’ll love him more than you ever loved me but no matter where you’ll be then, just know I’ll look at the sky each night and I’ll think about you. I’ll think about all I messed up, all I missed in your life, all I should’ve said. And I’ll love you Charles.”
Tears fall onto Charles’ face, mixing with his own.
“I’ll love you from across every ocean, in every time and place. And when the devil finally comes to take my soul down to hell, because that is where I deserve to go Char, then I’ll tell him about you. You and your beautiful face, your eyes that sparkle whenever you laugh. I’ll tell him about your stupidly handsome dimple and the twinkle in your eyes whenever you talk about something you love. And damn it Charles, he will want to come up here to see it for himself.”
Pierre sniffles, wanting to wipe the tears from his eyes, it isn’t his place to cry God damn it! But he can’t tear his eyes away from Charles, can’t take his hands away from the soft skin. He can’t leave Charles. God fucking damn it he can’t do it again.
And Charles? He just drags Pierre down by his hair, connecting their lips with the glue of broken dreams, failed ambitions and the despair of love. He doesn’t know if they are meant for each other, soulmates or just hopeless lovers. But he knows that if Pierre was to leave at this moment, a piece of himself would be ripped right from his very person and he would not be able to ever get it back.
That would have to be enough.
“I love you.” Please don’t leave me.
“I know chéri.” He presses another kiss to his lips, oh so gentle, dropping his forehead against Charles’. “I’m so sorry.”
You shouldn’t have to.
You deserve more.
Don’t do this to yourself.
Leave me for someone better.
“I love you so much.”