𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒
summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.
content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. reader has a mom and dad. original side characters. dates. golf. miscommunication (done right). reader is bad at feelings. flirting. d/s undertones. light dom!carlos. switch!lando. switch!reader. brat!lando. hair-pulling. light pain kink. light praise kink. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. threesome m/m/f. vaginal sex. protected sex. overstimulation. carlos sainz jr’s canonically big dick. petnames. orgasm delay? envy and jealousy.
pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader
word count: 18k words. (new record!)
from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)
this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)
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Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.
It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.
It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.
Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.
Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.
You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.
It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.
Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.
It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.
The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.
The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.
“Well, look at you! You stayed!”
You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.
Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.
Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.
Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.
“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.
“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”
You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”
Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.
You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”
“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.
“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]
The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.
“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”
“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.
“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”
“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”
The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.
He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.
The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.
Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.
Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.
The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”
Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.
Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.
You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]
Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.
“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]
Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”
“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”
“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”
“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”
You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.
“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]
“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”
“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”
Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”
You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”
“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]
Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.
Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.
You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.
The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.
You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.
“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”
You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”
“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”
“¿Qué?”
“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”
“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”
Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.
The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.
Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.
“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]
“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.
“Oh.”
“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”
You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”
Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”
Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.
“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.
“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.
“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.
“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.
Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”
You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”
You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”
Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.
You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”
Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.
Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.
“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]
“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”
“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.
“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.
“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”
Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”
Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”
You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”
Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]
“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]
Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.
They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.
You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.
Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.
You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”
“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”
“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”
The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.
“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.
“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”
“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.
You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.
“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”
“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”
You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.
“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”
The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”
You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.
The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.
The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.
The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.
The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”
You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”
The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”
The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.
“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.
“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”
You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.
“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”
You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.
“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.
The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.
“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”
“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”
One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.
“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.
You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.
Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.
Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.
Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.
The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.
You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.
“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”
Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?
“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”
“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.
Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.
“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”
Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”
Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.
“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.
The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”
“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”
The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”
You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.
Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.
“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.
“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”
“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”
They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.
They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.
They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.
It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.
Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.
You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.
“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.
You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”
“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.
You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.
You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.
“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.
“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”
“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.
“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]
They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.
The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”
“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago.
“It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.
Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.
You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.
The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.
With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.
The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.
His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.
Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.
“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.
You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.
“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”
“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”
“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.
“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”
The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.
“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.
“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”
How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.
The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.
He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.
You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.
“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”
“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”
The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.
The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.
He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”
Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”
Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.
“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”
Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.
He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.
The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.
The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.
“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”
The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.
“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”
You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”
The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.
The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.
Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.
The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.
“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”
He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.
“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]
The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.
The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.
“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.
Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.
“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.
The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.
They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”
The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.
You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.
Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.
Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.
Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.
He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.
Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.
There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.
A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.
Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.
Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.
The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.
You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.
It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.
Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.
“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.
“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.
“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”
“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”
You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.
“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”
The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.
“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.
Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.
“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”
The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.
“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”
You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.
The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.
A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.
“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.
His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”
Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.
Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.
Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.
Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.
The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.
You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.
The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.
The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.
It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.
Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.
“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]
Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.
His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”
Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”
The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.
A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.
Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.
You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.
Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”
Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”
Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.
Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.
It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.
Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.
Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.
His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.
Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.
“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”
Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.
Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.
Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?
You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.
“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”
The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.
“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]
“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.
The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”
The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.
His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.
“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“
Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”
The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.
You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.
He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.
The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.
Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.
Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.
“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”
The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.
There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.
He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.
Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”
“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]
The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.
“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”
Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”
You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.
“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”
You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.
Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!
A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.
You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.
Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.
You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.
With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.
“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]
He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.
Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.
“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.
“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.
He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.
Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.
“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”
“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”
You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”
Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”
You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”
Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”
You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.
Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”
You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.
Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.
You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.
You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.
You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.
“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”
Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”
“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]
“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.
“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]
You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”
You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“
“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“
“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]
“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]
Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”
Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”
Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.
You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”
Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”
“It’ll work.”
He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.
You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”
Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”
“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”
The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.
“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”
“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]
His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.
You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]
You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.
“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”
You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”
“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]
Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”
“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”
He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.
Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]
She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”
“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”
She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”
Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”
The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.
You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.
Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.
The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”
You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”
You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.
The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.
And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.
You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.
Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.
“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.
“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.
“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”
“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”
“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”
“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”
You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.
“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.
“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.
Incoherent screaming. Isa.
“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.
“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.
Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”
The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.
You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.
The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.
You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.
The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.
Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”
Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.
When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]
The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.
The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.
Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.
It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.
You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.
And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.
Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.
The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.
Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.
They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.
Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.
You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”
They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.
“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”
“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.
“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]
You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.
Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”
The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”
“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”
“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.
“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”
Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.
“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”
You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.
“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]
“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.
The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.
“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.
You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”
Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.
He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.
“See you next summer.”
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why i think aradia and john work so well
(with some stuff i’ve been wanting to yap about for ages)
have you guys ever given arajohn / johnradia (idk if its popular enough to even have a standardized ship name) any thought …? i know it seems kind of out of left field. i’ve considered it and i think its. really really good. i have a bunch of thoughts to unpack. come join me. and maybe grab a snack or something because i didn’t realize how much i'd actually have to say about this
(fantastic art by skeletood)
the other day i made a tweet that did rather well where i said, “john and aradia shouldve talked more. its so simple but i like how she actually earnestly answers his questions. so many characters in this comic are so mean to john for just wanting to know more give him a break”
putting it out there now im not big about shipping for the sake of shipping. there needs to be real chemistry. i need to sense that as a reason why two characters would potentially be a good influence on each other. i never knew why i was always so obstinate about this because it’s fictional and not materially hurting anyone, but i think it might be because i’m not sure how to justify it or explain it if not.
i strongly believe john and aradia would have had it made out for them if circumstances allowed it. (what i mean by “ship” or “johnradia” extends to any kind of interpersonal dynamic, even if just a good friendship. it doesnt even have to be romantic, just some sort of dynamic with them.)
unfortunately aradia originally committed herself to staying out of trolling the kids over their timelines, so john and aradia never talked until year 3 on the ship in the dream bubbles but they never had a truly proper one-on-one without outside meddling. i think if john knew aradia better and her story beforehand, she had more time to explain herself and her history, he wouldnt have been unsettled. and also of course if his experience with the trolls didn’t suck so bad because he already had expectations for how antagonizing most of them were.
i found people’s sentiments about johnradia elsewhere too. i remembered that they were both on the song art for ascend, and searched ao3 to see how many fics have been written to gauge how substaintial it’s been in the homestuck fandom. only 17 of them turned up. but the people who do talk about it are either curious about it or really do like it, and that interested me.
clearly it’s pretty niche character relationship to be depicted in any fanwork and i can understand why. despite being so small, from what ive seen it seems universally agreed upon to be nice. i haven’t seen a single person object to it. what ive seen falls into two categories: “wow i didnt think about this before but i actually dig it” or “(starving) finally some good fucking food”
the pattern im seeing is that people think it’s “random”, but i disagree. there is something there substantiating it even if they’re unable to articulate it.
the fanfic these comments are from is chronology of wind. that fic is really, really good, and sadly unfinished. i have more abstract reasons to believe why aradia and john would be good in theory, so actually seeing someone else actually make something with them helped me read it in action, to get a more tangible feel of the dynamic beyond what we have in canon.
i wouldn’t normally make claims about a relationship with regard to homestuck canon by looking at their relationship in a fanfic, because i think you all know by now i am very nitpicky about accurate characterization, and it does not go unnoticed by me when people get it right because for some reason it feels like a one in a million thing (even though it really shouldn’t be?). so this was a special case. the tone was completely consistent with canon. this fic is so in-character i’d basically consider it an extension of canon. to me it’s like they took the same characters and plopped them into this scenario to see how they’d interact. guys… i love that stuff so much. i love fanfiction or fanworks that depict realistic extensions of canon and stays true to the energy and tone of the source, but deepens it. there isn’t enough of it imo. i want to see more of it.
anyway, what i read of their conversations in that fic basically aligned with what i was thinking in my head about what i’d expect it to be like. i was able to compare how aradia and john talked to how aradia and the other characters interacted, their comparative attitudes towards each other—how they’re treated by others compared to how they treat each other.
have you noticed john and aradia’s communication values are both based on sincerity, being in the proper know, treating people fairly, and thanklessly taking on the necessary work that “must be done” in order to have what they really want — a good time that feels meaningful? and they accomplish this without any adjustment in how they talk to each other.
john is always subtly (or not-so-subtly) asking the people around him to answer him soberly and to the point so he knows whats going on and what that means for what his options are. he needs to know to what end he will be applying his absurd energetic drive into making shit happen. aradia honors his time before john can even become uncomfortable with the amount of time being eaten up by conversation. contrast this with rose, who seems to go on for a while with prose-like conversational adornments. in dire situations that need rapid explanation and definitive answers so he knows what to do, this is really the last thing he needs. aradia doesnt waste john’s time. she answers all his questions, and does it politely to boot. his time talking to her doesn't feel wasted.
john's impatience with this sort of nonsense is also why i can’t see something like dirkjohn working out, for example. to me it feels like @entropicbias also deeply understands this on some level because i literally couldn’t have demonstrated what i mean by it any better myself than that. i'm gonna have to to hit him up about how much i genuinely respect that like tbh hes one of the few i absolutely trust to handle writing and depicting these characters in situations and their interpersonal dynamics. and also care about doing their characterization justice as much as me.
of course people are still entitled to like whatever they like, ship whatever they want to. i dont care. but i just don’t think it would work from the perspective of the minds of the canon characters, how they generally think and approach situations. and i can already tell people might ask me how do i know this? what makes me an expert? i’m not more than anyone else is (although i have been called a "characterization expert" from my friends), but i do know that i can pick up on the energetic chemistry between people, including characters, honestly precognitively, without even thinking? like if it’s stiff or tense or awkward, if people aren’t free to express themselves uninhibitedly, if they feel unsafe or uncomfortable. i can sense this almost instantly. it’s something that’s a visceral feeling in my body i cant express and i have to rationalize it after the fact. like i’m doing now in fact writing this big analysis.
> listen to me talk about my special interest boy
for the next section to make sense, you probably want to read this post. i initially started writing it within this post to explain but there was so much brewing i had to explain the context that it turned into something i wanted to post on its own terms.
> okaaaaaayyyyy i read all that
thank you, really. my main point is using the conceptual tools provided by this system to expIain why aradia and john feel nice together and why i’ve seen people positively perceive the idea of a relationship between them even if it seems “random”.
framing them in this system, it wouldn’t be random! there’s a good reason they seem to fit nicely. this is because john and aradia have complementary forms of information metabolism. information metabolism is talked about in this section.
Jung’s psychic types are the types of cognition, or intelligence. But it would probably be easiest to call them types of IM [information metabolism], since the main difference between the types of people lies in their exchange of information with the external world.
Aushra Augusta, Commentary on Jung’s Typology and Introduction to Information Metabolism
aradia megido’s type of information metabolism (otherwise known as a TIM) is LII. john egbert’s TIM is ESE.
aradia and john’s types are duals. you can read more about what that entails here. in theory, their interactions would reflect the duality dynamic. reading chronology of wind, that one really in-character fic that explored their dynamic made me excited because they do!
michael pierce gave an overview of his impression of the characteristics of this intertype dynamic. despite only rough knowledge in socionics while he wrote this, his understanding of duality was spot on to me from my experience and others and i wanted to share it here. (fittingly, i believe he is also LII.)
Now we have the famous duality relationship: in a nutshell, this role is characterized by two traits: 1) a very close psychological distance or intimacy, and 2) a great ease of interacting with each other. It is sometimes described how meeting one's dual can be the event of a lifetime, because it inspires aspects in each party's character that they had never expressed before: the pair may even drop out of society for a time in order to focus on just each other, and to explore themselves through interaction with each other. The curious thing in this relationship is that these parties are rather different in outlook, and when they are not actually interacting as potential friends it's probably more likely for them to dislike or mistrust each other because of how different they are. […] However, when they are able to interact normally, it is a strange and wonderful discovery to realize that the interaction is unexpectedly smooth and invigorating. It's hard for people to describe, but as I understand it: while both parties recognize their differences on the surface, these differences are created by a root structure that coincides perfectly with each other, so that the differences on the surface are entirely complementary and cause no friction at all.
it’s also meaningful to consider that the structure of my own psyche is LII as well. so i’ve got a bit of a bias towards aradia and john.. not in the sense that what i actually say about them is personally biased, but that the bias is moreso my personal attention to people and characters of these two types in particular to see how my own experiences are reflected in them. i really do feel of a reflection of my own thought and work process in aradia and in the more abstract sense she is like an extension of myself. when people say they like aradia as a character i get secondhand joy from that because shares certain specific traits with me. of course i am still my own person though.
these are some of the most apt profiles i've found for these types at a glance. again, think about these characters as you read these descriptions. [from here (ESE / LII)]
ESE (Ethical-sensory extrovert) - john
The trademark quality of this type is a focus on socializing and guiding social situations and interactions so that the people involved can have fun and enjoy themselves. ESEs are typically in the middle of what is happening socially and know about the latest events and what people think and feel about them. They are skilled at bringing people together in fun and interesting ways and making everyone feel actively involved. Their friends know them as people who love life and feel most at home in social situations surrounded by other fun people.
In their pursuit of fun-oriented and stimulating social interactions, ESEs typically neglect to structure their own thought processes and views in a way that would help them know exactly what they think and why. They are receptive to others’ attempts to help them introduce more structure and logical consistency in their life and thinking processes. They gravitate most to people who open up to fun and emotional interaction easily, yet are also skilled at systematizing thoughts and views and explaining ideological matters.
LII (Logical-intuitive introvert) - aradia
The trademark quality of this type is a focus on logical, structured thought and generating true assertions and views. LIIs are typically strict thinkers who are concerned that everything fits together in a logical way. They are skilled at understanding, generating, and criticizing logical arguments and instilling their views in the people around them. Their friends know them as people with well-organized thoughts and opinions who know what they think and can elucidate their ideas to others.
In their pursuit of logical understanding, LIIs typically neglect their external social interactions and activities that would help them lighten up and experience a connection with other people. They are receptive to others’ attempts to create these fun and lighthearted situations for them. They gravitate most to people who are interested in their opinions and understanding of things, but are also skilled at organizing social interactions and creating a sense of emotional unity.
ive recently consciously experienced the feeling of duality for the first time since i've been communicating with my mom's high school classmate, and it is definitely a real thing. i even remember mom pointing out she noticed when we were all talking on the phone over a year ago that i perked up whenever he said stuff. here is how i explained it:
its bonkers how only once i experience something for myself i’m able to explain in detail what makes it so great based on what my impressions about it were because i tend to have a peculiar way of describing the qualities of an experience. my specialty is deep precision in my analogies for what it’s like. so now i can tell you how conversations with your dual feel… heres the status report.
it’s weightless. its so strange. like the topic conversation stretches into infinity that you can pick right back up at any time. it’s hazy and unfocused but still pleasant (unless you’re particularly self-conscious and need to unlearn hiding your true self). but the best parts of it come when you have a specific issue or insecurity that comes with being your most natural self that the world seems to misunderstand about you, or just not give you what you don't even know you’ve been looking for.
i think you might mutually intimidate each other at first because you're lowkey both expecting to be made fun of for your inadequacy with certain types of information that the other is nuanced with (and you’re not), but it never comes. you don't feel like what your dual wants in life is wrong.
your dual seems so talented in all the ways you hope to shine but you’re always unsure of.
for the introvert (me) wishing they felt their own active presence as an object (Se, Ne, Te, Fe) like the extravert does.
for the extravert, wishing they felt their own relationships with other objects (Si, Ni, Ti, Fi) like the introvert does.
any other intertype relationship (ITR) vs. duality is like the difference between 99% and 100% totality of a solar eclipse, except it’s the level of understanding with another person, like the eclipsing of your own information metabolism with theirs. of course there are other things that influence how well your relationship with this person goes, but i am talking strictly about when it comes to basic communication, the level of understanding you share.
sometimes it might feel like you dont have much to talk about or the topic is unfocused, because you two ARE opposites in many ways after all, especially at a glance (domain of interests usually come with specific macroelements. theories about thought structures—like socionics, for instance—are in the domain of intuition, while physical interests and experiences are in the domain of sensorics.) i’m LII in the NT club (researchers) and my dual ESE in the SF club (social-communicative).
so they’re constantly providing you with information from their own niche in life that you may be entirely unfamiliar with, but for some reason still interests and relaxes you to hear. you might not feel like you have a lot to say about the topic since but you are fully amazed by this person’s activity. it also makes you feel more sure of yourself and more confident that people truly appreciate and need your natural abilities.
> let’s break it down
here’s some lightly modified descriptions of the information blocks in LII and ESE's information metabolism models from pyatnitsky so you can get an overarching impression of how their type contributes to the informational sphere. i added some of my own adjustments and borrowed some sentences from stratiyevskaya's descriptions. additionally, you can click on the name of the block for an explanation of the role it plays.
i put about a week’s work into these collages but my goal with them was to actually show where i think these information blocks are most pertinent in these characters specifically and where they apply so it’s not just some abstract thing, just as supplementary examples as needed. (for the meaning of these information elements individually you can refer to cysia’s document.)
LII (Logical-intuitive introvert)
EGO (-Ti? -> -Ne!). Analytical thinking. They are well aware of the interrelationships of some objects or phenomena with others, and what laws are in effect or not in effect. On the basis of a comprehensive analysis, they put forward insights about the global essence of specific objects and phenomena, their possibilities. They acutely charge the situation with potential energy. For every situation, there is an archetype.
Super-EGO (-Fi? -> -Se!). Normative ideas about relationships between people and ways to get out of unpleasant ethical situations. Understands ethics as founded on the principles of fairness; to do to one side of the equation that you do to the other. Volitional manifestations in order to protect their living space are carried out only on the basis of personal experience. Because of the limited opportunities to fight back, they react painfully to attempts of any interference in his life. Does not respond to any arbitrary crudeness or volitional pressuring. Does not compromise goals, stubbornly clings to them. Avoids direct confrontation if possible, would rather talk civilly and earnestly. Uses their naturally strong sense of the conditioning of objects over time to avoid collisions with their material interests. Due to this, they may appear as someone with very little weaknesses.
Super-ID (+Fe -> +Si?) Attracts information about a good mood, a specific positive state, or a feeling. They would like to think that they can eliminate serious inconveniences, make the environment around them more comfortable. This skill needs to be evaluated. They are unconsciously activated when there is a need to make the environment more comfortable, which should lead to a better state, raise the mood at least in the immediate environment. In friendly, comfortable, and informal company, their cool exterior thaws and they start lighting up with joviality.
ID (+Te! → +Ni?). Has developed guidelines and methods that relate to specific practical activities, technological effectiveness, and resource use. Spontaneously feels the correct allocation of resources over time, which allows them to effectively solve tasks at an unhurried pace. This pace is deeply rational in nature.
ESE (Ethical-sensory extrovert)
EGO (+Fe! -> +Si?). Perception of the world is fundamentally emotional. Feels the emotional atmosphere well in any situation, knows the relevance of the way of expression, the place and weight (importance) of the internal state in each situation. Flexible approach to solving problems of managing and expressing emotions. They show bright emotionality both negative and positive. Creatively produces around themself comfort, coziness, conveniently arranges space, surrounds others with beautiful things, changing thereby the general condition and mood. Usually opinionated about their tastes.
(wow i really went all out on that this one that tumblr wont even display it in full resolution, so here. john just has so many more lines to choose from, sorry!)
Super-EGO (+Te! -> +Ni?). Practical and technological thinking is tightly based on acquired knowledge and patterns of solving similar problems. Methods of business activity in both general and specific areas are selected based on the opinion of reputable sources, or adjusted to one of the mastered templates. Predicting specific changes in the sphere of their interests is carried out only on the basis of personal experience. He is not able to compare his own method of forecasting with others, so he is sensitive to criticism of poor timing or deadlines, does not like situations that feel like a waste of his time; he is lost in connection with negative events. Guided by purely personal experience, he chooses specific times and deadlines for various tasks with a normative understanding of business activity in general.
Super-ID (-Ti? -> -Ne!). Attracts information about the order, specific logical relationships in the field of activity or interests. Needs someone to suggest specific ways to make connections between phenomena, patterns, and rules. Tries to be reasonable himself, even though he knows that this is not characteristic of him. Sometimes he openly talks of his actions that were poorly reasoned through, as if inviting other people to laugh at his thoughtlessness. The ordering and systematization of thought opens up a new way of understanding of events that are happening around him, as well as new prospects, potential, and capabilities. He likes to think that he understands the essence of a situation and lights up with new ideas. This skill needs to be evaluated. It is unconsciously activated when it is necessary to create order, clear consistency and clarity on a particular issue, especially if their abilities are recognized.
ID (-Fi? -> -Se!). Involuntarily keeps track of communications in their social circle. Without hesitation, they use a variety of ways to establish and maintain relationships that have been developed in his personal practice. Good relationships are important for personal inner confidence in a situation. To prevent unfavorable relationships, they are inclined, often without even realizing it, to act with pressure, forcing a showdown, forcing the partner to change the relationship for the better. Frequently demonstrates his resoluteness, persistence, and purposefulness, as if proposing his behavior as a model for imitation. Usually tells in much detail what obstacles were created before him, and how he overcame them, what he was told in response, and what he replied with, and so on and in the like.
(full res)
you might be able to see already how they would complement each other's thought process nicely. here are some descriptions of what the communication between these types is like:
+Fe! : program function of ESE and dual-seeking function of LII
The ESE periodically tells emotionally charged "program" function stories, telling of how somebody has acted and what they have done. The main orientation of ESE's leading ethical program is: "No one should be offended." The LII carefully listens to these statements, and, demonstrating a full understanding of these issues, develops logical basis for them, e.g. in calm persuasive voice he explains how the ESE has acted justly and fairly. The effusion of turbulent emotions coming from the ESE is counterbalanced by their absorption by the LII, who breaks them down into fragments by asking clarifying questions of the ESE.
-Ti? : dual-seeking function of ESE and program function of LII
The ESE is tuned to accepting information when it's relayed in clear logical form. He issues requests for logical explanations delivered from a point of view of generalized rules underpinning specific life events, which he receives from the LII, who delivers clear unambiguous interpretations, places the dots over all "i's", and demonstrates good understanding of problems that are of concern to the ESE. Not receiving information of this kind, the ESE begins making demands of those around him to be "intelligent" and understand the reasons of his actions.
-Ne! : activating function of ESE and creative function of LII
The ESE feels uncomfortable if he doesn't extend his help to people who are in need of it. His subconscious orientation is: "care and guard the talented", be kind and attentive towards other people. The LII usually meets such criteria by proving in action his aptitude at uncovering hidden capabilities, winning trust, passing on the knowledge. The ESE creates supportive conditions for people who are capable but lacking in assertive "push-through" qualities, among whom the LII finds himself, and a special work regime that protects such individuals from overloads on sensing functions. Newly discovered possibilities inspire and promote the pragmatic and business-oriented activities of the ESE. He can support a new undertaking or initiative with an enormous amount of energy and enthusiasm, light up by new ideas. Only the LII is able to, even having a vague general notion about the subject, construct a developed theory or idea of any issue. This theory shows to be promising in the process of its concrete application within its field.
+Si? : creative function of ESE and activating function of LII
LII tries to take care of their well-being, but may gravitate towards demonstrative asceticism, exhaust himself with work, studies, or exercise. The ESE periodically takes care of creating an environment that "charges" the LII with pleasant sensations: a reception of guests, a good meal, a visit to a theater or a concert, an interesting trip, and so on. At the same time the ESE takes pleasure in this himself.
+Te! : role function of ESE and observing function of LII
The role function of the ESE manifests as business-oriented activity and initiative, supplying interesting information, provision with material assistance to those who are in need, general restlessness and fussy busyness. This function is normative, i.e. the ESE seeks to comply with the norms and accepted ways of doing things. The nuancing of the understanding of these norms, i.e. introduction of activities that go beyond them, is possible only by considering LII's advice and recommendations. The LII serves as a director of this function, adjusting its workings by advocating the necessity of practical application of some beneficial ideas, rejection of useless though spectacular ideas, and the need to ensure standards of life not below average by rejection of equalization.
+Ni? : vulnerable function of ESE and demonstrative function of LII
The ESE poorly feels the flow of time, both physical, which manifests as running late and poor distribution of his strengths over time, and historical, which manifests as poor ability to anticipate consequences of actions and tendency for traditional ways of solving problems. The ESE finds it difficult to make radical choices. The LII fully takes this aspect onto his shoulders. He has an unconscious ability to distribute activities in time, thereby avoiding work stress and overloads, and is capable of making a radical choice. The LII is able to calmly wait and in the necessary moment get to work when the wasteful fussiness of the ESE reaches its critical point.
-Fi? : ignoring function of ESE and role function of LII
On this function the ESE gives advice and makes demands concerning the creation of appropriate psychological distances in form of proper behavior, courtesy and politeness, denouncing rudeness and boorishness. In this manner, the ESE adjusts LII's role function, which in itself contains a set of large psychological distances: a sullen stubborn look, unsociability, etc. With such fine-tuning it becomes easier for the LII to come into contact with people, whereby he becomes more animated, resolves many of his ethical problems that previously frightened him, gains greater insight into human relationships and a more accurate understanding as to whose side to take in situations of conflict.
-Se! : demonstrative function of ESE and vulnerable function of LII
The LII finds it very difficult to exert pressure on other people from his own will and initiative, especially in cases when he needs to attain something for himself. He finds this difficult to do - to press ahead in certain situations, to gather all the required paperwork, to stand in lines and queues, to petition for his own interests, even the ones that are of vital importance to him. He finds it difficult to push a person away, to sharply refuse someone, to quarrel loudly and defend his rights, to put an end to relations that have exhausted themselves. The ESE doesn't directly affect this function, i.e. he doesn't verbally criticize and teach the LII on this aspect, but takes over its functioning completely. The ESE exerts a constant, sometimes intrusive and imposing pressure on other people if there is a need to achieve something, to defend justice and demand fair treatment, to protect interests of those who are close and dear to him. The ESE goes to the right jurisdictions, inspires people around him and directs them towards work and purposeful activity, keeps up a high pace of life himself, and breaks off relations with those who don't deserve trust.
and some miscellaneous excerpts from literature i liked a lot. (i can't remember the sources i used since i've been working on this on and off, for the past week and i was just spilling things onto the post. i think stratiyevskaya?):
Mood - that’s what matters in this dyad - emotions and feelings. Anything that suppresses and overshadows good mood is considered unethical in this dyad and is strongly condemned.
The ESE does not allow the LII to limit him in the possibilities of consuming the amount of pleasures and joys, which he considers to be necessary and sufficient. Fortunately, both partners in the dyad - LII and ESE - are obstinate and unyielding. Both are demanding, unwilling (and not allowing anyone else) to lower the bar of their requirements, unable to give in and make concessions (especially in anything that is of principle for themselves). Both know how to make their partner reckon with their interests and insist on the fulfillment of their demands.
LII is impressed by the emotional generosity of ESE and his spiritual responsiveness. All this finds the deepest understanding in LII, since he is tuned to the same priorities and values. For his part, ESE admires the ability of LII to speak clearly and definitely on every issue. ESE is struck by the harmony of the reasoning of LII, the amazing clarity, accuracy and laconicism of his statements. To ESE it seems that for LII, there is nothing incomprehensible in this world; he can give a comprehensive explanation on every issue. And everything that ESE thought about before is gradually being built into a definite and clear system of views, which he can now very freely and naturally present. Confusion and chaos in his worldview gradually gives way to a stable logical order, as if someone patient and careful was sorting all his thoughts into shelves. Such clarity inspires and activates ESE; he begins to see some prospects for himself, new opportunities. His energy and activity, in addition to emotional and ethical expression, also receives sensory realization: ESE begins to take care of LII and carefully looks after him. If LII is a colleague with whom ESE is especially pleasant to communicate with, he begins to treat him with something tasty, homemade; will make some small, but beautiful and necessary gift (for example: new cologne or a warm scarf).
> okay that's great and all but when are we talking about john and aradia specifically?
yes, that was the point of this post. i just had to build all that up first so i could walk you through my thoughts in a fully substantiated way.
considering chronology of wind again, john doesnt realize it but he needs aradias frankness and insight. even if she’s unable to explicate on vague things, she states the reason why instead of making him feel stupid (it would create a doomed timeline) but thats all john needs to hear. she is self-effacing and only tells him the truth, and we know other people can take advantage of john’s suggestibility in this way. aradia tells john who is or isnt trustworthy, what actions would be useful/necessary and which ones wont, without any selfish personal motive a la vriska or terezi.
^ (juuuust the record my nitpicky ass doesn’t agree with the truth of the classpect interpretation on behalf of the author in the last bit BUT that is beside the point here. the point is that she is answering john’s question in a way that is meaningful for him)
aradia doesnt realize it but she needs john’s friendy goofiness to brighten her up because she is surrounded by people who antagonize her when she’s literally not even trying to get under anyones skin. everybody gets frustrated at her “spooky nonsense” because theyre afraid of their own mortality, basically telling her to put a lid on it because thinking about hard truths makes THEM personally uncomfortable. but to her it’s always just been a fact of life. plugging your ears to reality is ignorance, but at the same time that doesn’t mean there’s no meaning in anything. she wants to help people see this and she dedicates herself to becoming a psychopomp for the deceased and earnestly trying to make people feel emotionally and physically comfortable in their situation through exploring their memories.
john isn’t hostile towards her. by being herself she is immediately able to earn john’s trust when they initially talk. this is also true in canon; the one time they talked when john initially comes up to her, saying “can i ask you something? seem reasonable, and pretty nice.” unfortunately he asked her the one question she didn’t have much to say about, and i can’t blame him for expecting all the troll girls to be basically insane at that point. but i don’t think aradia is insane. yes she is odd, but i think it’s evident that she has a good head on her shoulders with knowledge of the way the universe around her works, and in the end wants to simply bask in watching it play out. i think she deserves to get childishly excited about it, especially considering she was dead for most of her developmental years.
aside from getting his answers answered, john shows curiosity about her and her species and even care about her well-being and state. this naturally comes from their conversation’s ebb and flow. aradia tells this straightforwardly, without bells and whistles and without trying to trick him, unlike the other trolls who seem keen on well..trolling him.. and providing him with unclear answers to those sorts things. maybe aside from vriska, but she did have a little bit of an attitude about it wherein her and john’s dynamic felt uneven or off-rhythm, with a large psychological distance. it’s a different feeling with aradia, however. they exchange information on the same rhythm and so are able to achieve a closer psychological distance in communication.
there are no judgments coming from aradia about john being “stupid”. she doesn’t underestimate him. it’s not just that john wants to understand (although he does), but he needs to understand what he is doing. aradia compliments john about the traits he possesses that allow him to be effective. i guess in a way i’m doing the same thing with john right now.
john is so mobile and strung along by being the action hero going from place to place as a can-do deliveryboy that he never has time to reflect on his losses, think through them, and accept them.
literally who else is more qualified in all of homestuck than aradia for talking to john about these things?
on top of all of this, they have objectively significant connections beyond just mutual self-realization in a way i think could've been fleshed out. there is potential here.
for a story, i can think of a way that a conversation between them could plausibly happen using the systems established in homestuck's mythology. in canon, we see that john never met aradia until year 3 on the golden battleship in the dream bubbles when he goes to sleep.
but john still dreamt out in the furthest ring. that means during those 3 years it was possible for john to have had a dream with her in it, or at least aradiabot. i know john didn't know aradia's name beforehand but let's just explore the possibility that they could have had met before that. remember that all these aradiabots were once this person.
aradia had obtained john's crosbytop, his dads hat, and his wallet quite a while before their sgrub session. theres your entry
imagine john seeing that
memories of dear old dad get stirred up through the link of seeing those items
the dream bubble transforms
john is forced to stand in his memories and explore grief and the meaning of life with aradia
physically being in the space around him would definitely help john reflect easier i think because it will force him to actually exist within the space and talk to someone, taking some time out for this. he wanted to know if anything could've been done or if he was just too late to save them. i know aradia would be able help him slow down and introspect. don't forget the opportunities created by the properties of these spaces that are glubbed out in the furthest ring by the horrorterrors that meld the labyrinthine time and space of their surroundings to the memories of the people and finding others through common points in memory. i would imagine that objects known by multiple people would provide a common point in memory to bring them together.
The bubbles allow the players of Sburb/Sgrub who have lost a life to continue dreaming. The reality constructed in the bubbles is a combination of the memories of everyone inside the bubble accessible to any who has learned the bubble's nature. According to Aradia, it would be quite difficult to exit a bubble to get into a new one, however someone inside a bubble can travel to another one through common points in memory, taking their own memories with them to be integrated into the new bubble. These memories mix and combine, but in general, no new memories are created.
Additionally, the bubbles store the consciousness of a player who has lost their dream selves and their original selves, making them double as a form of afterlife; the player is then capable of accessing the memory of anyone else who has gained access to the bubbles. Living players, who have lost or become their dream selves, appear in the dream bubbles when they are asleep. It is in this fashion that the bubbles can be used as meeting places between the dead and the living; even those from alternate universes and doomed timelines can be found in a bubble. Furthermore, in addition to memories, the bubbles can to some extent reflect the thoughts of a player. Beyond that, the bubbles can also behave similarly to Skaia's clouds, showing things that are in some way relevant to the player - such as when coin-flip Dave saw alpha Dave grieving over Bro's corpse - something he was not aware of before being shown it by a bubble.
physically reflect the thoughts of the player…… rubs hands
john and aradia share points in memory related to those objects, and to top it all of they are directly related to john's dad on the same day he died, while aradia grew up with them as bizarre alien artifacts from an archeological dig. the memories are more emotionally charged for john, and i think that distinction would probably be relevant to them both.
to be honest i think after speaking with him for a bit she would readily tell john that she regrets not talking to the kids from the universe her team created sooner before she died, but is glad that she can in the afterlife. in canon, alpha aradia told a doomed dave, "i think its absurd i never introduced myself to you in all that time i spent moping around the lab. guess i wasnt in a very good mood".
now not all the aradiabots would know who john is, because the trolls only found out about the humans once they created the genesis frog and hid out in the lab in the veil from jack who infiltrated their session. the aradiabot in the lab was the last one that survived. so if any one of them would know who john is, it would be the aradiabot that exploded. aradia's dream self ascended to god tier in jack noir's rampage on trolls' derse and took those memories with her which we can assume is what made the last aradiabot explode. its known that any original copy that dies when another rises up becomes a ghost and lives on in the dream bubbles, which would include her. a doomed aradiabot we see in the comic, which was the one that originally landed to alternia in the past, becomes more lighthearted after she dies, a bit more like her alive counterpart.
oh yeah, and the more obvious surface-level connections to top it off? ghostbusters? john ain't afraid of no ghost girl. john would be genuinely interested in what aradia living as a ghost irl on her planet and not as a gaming abstraction in the furthest ring would be like. i imagine she would be able to explain the subjective experience and that she had to prototype herself into the kernelsprite order for her server player to see her. there's also no way john hasn't seen a movie as classic as indiana jones and judging from her poster i can imagine he probably thinks it's sweet that aradia's strife specibus whipkind is a reflection of her own personal tastes, interests and hobbies.
so yeah i've just been chewing on all of this and thinking about it but i know i needed to just get this out there somehow. obviously since i spent two weeks putting this post together i'd be happy to hear your thoughts
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