#let me know if you'd rather have had lestappen nonsie and i'll write a little something for them too when i find the time <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[xiaoluclair]

2 & 3

2. neck kisses

3. forehead kisses // charlando // rating: T for language (G for everything else)

Barcelona is about to boil his skin off. He needs dive into a cold bath, burrow into an ice berg. Maybe staple a couple hundred glaciers to his back. Drown in a massive vat of deep freeze. He'd do anything for even a hint of relief.

"Why don't you take this off?" suggests Max.

Lando shrugs further into his hoodie. "Absolutely not."

So. Almost anything.

Max rolls his eyes. Gives Lando a nudge and it's fond, probably. Alex continues to tell them in great depth about one of his eighty three cats and one of its ninety four fuckups. "Absolutely massive testicle," he's saying, hands apart in front of himself in what Lando could probably safely assume to be said massive testicle. George nods along, invested.

Across the trailer, Carlos is in front of the mic. Perez stands slightly to the side in serious conversation with Lance and Bottas. There's a gap between the first two. Lando pats Max's thigh, starts to skim past Lewis while George is saying, "What I don't get is."

Lando's pretty sure there's a lot he shouldn't get with whatever Alex was saying. "'Scuse me," he says. Logan moves out of the way with an apology, a grin. He makes sure to tap Oscar's shoulder on his way past, looks back to see him glancing over one, then the other, then roll his eyes when they meet his.

"Sorry," he says, when he finally reaches the three. "Do you mind if I."

Bottas moves back a step. "Thanks," mutters Lando, drops to the floor. He observes, "You never told me you were into feet." Next to his thigh, Lance's green boots shuffle a little.

Charles barely casts him a look. "Must have slipped my mind." He takes a long sip from his bottle, doesn't shift when Lando's shoulder presses a little to his. Another pair of green shoes have joined the club. They're right by Charles's knee before it flattened out, limp and almost touching Alonso's toe.

"One of Alex's cats has a massive ball," Lando retells. "Or maybe it ate a massive ball — body ball, by the way. Like, y'know." Charles's head is against his, hair teases the top of Lando's vision. The hook of his shades is a lump against his skull. "I wasn't really listening. He'll probably tell you later - or George will."

"Fun," says Charles. It's more of a grunt really, caveman era. That'll be fun tonight. If there is a tonight. Lando's thinking of why their could be, wouldn't be, mental pros and cons list with the worn down chalk in his brain, when Charles moves away from him.

Okay, thinks Lando. Wouldn't be it is. Wonders if he should get up now, then and there. Has his palms to the floor when Charles stuffs half his head right into his throat, shades hanging from one hand. He wonders — hopes not — if Charles can feel his heart next to his ear. Perez shifts a little, knee knocking into Alonso's.

"I want you to know," says Lando, fingers nudge their way under Charles's polo to the hot skin beneath. There's a layer of sweat there — gross. He doesn't move. "I am not okay with this."

A blind scoff, over the folds of his hoodie and right into his skin. "You gave me this."

"On second thought," says Lando snippily, "I think I preferred when you were being a caveman." It triggers another noise that vibrates against him. Yeah, there we go. Lando tilts his head down, is inspecting a speck on the floor, Valtteri's boots. Head happens to rest on Charles's hair as gets an earful of it as well.

It's easier to stay that way too.

Eventually, Lance nudges Lando in the leg, leans down. "Interview," he says, intently stares at his knee, scratches it. No thanks, Lando almost says, but that's not a liberty he's afforded really, so. Charles moves against him, meaning Lando has to move his head too. Still, he isn't expecting the kiss on his neck.

"Go kick ass," Charles tells him after he's pulled away entirely, like he didn't just. Like he didn't. He winks before shoving his shades back over his nose like. Like he did just.

Lando gets another bump, this time to his shoulder and harder. "I hope you drown in snot," he tells Charles sincerely and, thumping still coming from way too high in his throat, leans forward and presses his mouth to the place burning between his eyes, slightly clammy. The dip of his chin bumps the bridge of the shades. "See you. Uh."

"Later," says Charles, and Lando can't see his eyes but.

"Later," he confirms. Charles leans back at that. He's smiling.

Lando, let through Lance's legs to stand up on the other side of him, rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie.