#literally googled 'writing prompts' and then got possessed by the carcar demon

[rubyceleste]

spare carcar thought to get me through finals week?

screw a carcar thought, get a carcar ficlet

oscar/carlos prompt: truth or dare

It’s fucking stupid.

He’s the only one sober enough to think so, he knows, so his ‘Aren’t we a bit old for that ?’ falls on deaf ears, safe for Lando’s who just elbows him and calls him a killjoy. So he shuts up and forces himself to stick around and bear the sight of Max having to drink a shot of tequila out of his teammate’s navel. 

Mark told him to make an effort, so he’s trying but fuck he doesn’t know for how long if that means it ends like that every single time. He takes a swig of his beer, tries to feel a spark of excitement at the energy around him. 

It’s been a bit tough lately. He’s been told to lighten up more times than he can recall, and something is parching. Something is stuck in the crevices of his planned-out days, wound tightly together, sandpapered smooth. 

He thought, maybe, dragging himself to the life of the party would make it better. Instead, he feels like a kid who hates his own birthday, forcing a smile for the picture, only thinking about the moment he’s allowed to remove the sad looking birthday hat digging lines into his face. Out of place. Ungrateful. And it won’t get better until he finds it. What’s missing.

Surprisingly, something else finds him. Brown, wide, panicked eyes. It’s ridiculous how huge they are. 

He doesn’t have the time to inquire about why Sainz looks like a fawn about to be run over, before he feels Jack nudging his shoulder.

“Pucker up, Piastri.”

What ? 

“What ?” He quirks an eyebrow up, takes another sip.

“Sainz just got dared to kiss you.” He suddenly gets closer. His breath reeks of whiskey, and his eyes are so bloodshot, Oscar’s concerned he might pop a vessel. “On the mouth.”

As, he was saying, fucking stupid. Especially because he knew it’d end up with them deciding to totally erase the ‘truth’ out of ‘truth and dare’ just to dare stupid shit like this. Especially because he knew he’d be dragged into it. Even worse, dragged into it with the one guy on the grid he’s unable to have regular human interactions with.

Yes hello Carlos, fist bump ? Oh no, thumbs-up okay- wait, shit, fist bump still ? Okay- uh alright, why thumbs up again ? Oh you know what fuck off. I mean thanks, bye. Whatever. 

The guy doesn’t even seem keen on it, all wide-eyed, terrified void-sucking orbs that he’s seen casted at him more times than he’d like to remember. Glued to his seat, fingers tightly clutching his jeans. Painting a picture of sheer enthusiasm.

He feels eyes on him. He sighs, puts his bottle down on the table, decides to take a head-first dive into uncharted territories. Carlos’ eyes somehow find the space to widen. 

“What, I need to get up too ?” He says. Proceeds to ignore the catcalls, the barking, the fists slammed on whatever surface they reach. Bunch of animals.

It doesn’t seem to make things easier on Carlos, who walks towards him with a reticence that doesn’t resemble him. Still his gaze is locked into his. Frightened, but determined. Preyed on, but tempted. 

Carlos is good-looking. He doesn’t only notice it now that he’s standing right in front of him. He’s seen it a bunch of times, for a bunch of years. In the paddock, on a screen, face to face, in dreams. Beautiful. Hair a bit tousled from nightly effusions, pretentious monogrammed shirt sliding off his collarbone.

So sure, what the hell.

Oscar has both his arms perched behind him on the couch, doesn’t move an inch, but still, the invitation couldn’t be clearer.

Carlos stays idly for a second, and then he bends towards Oscar. Slow, steadying his every movement as though he was standing on ice, risking a clean break underneath his feet. Oscar wants it to melt so he falls, hard. 

He tilts his head to the side, inciting Carlos to go a bit faster. It spurs him on for a fleeting moment, his lips coming to brush upon his. But it’s still. Still not. Oscar clicks his tongue, uses one of his hands to grip Carlos’ hip and goes for it. 

He doesn’t expect the wave of new knowledge that comes with it. Like a craving he didn’t realise could satiate any appetite. Carlos smells like expensive cologne, laundry and midnight sweat. Tastes like mint, and coffee from the espresso martini he got earlier tonight. Bitter sugar fresh.

More.

His tongue slides on his bottom lip, asks for permission to breach. Granted instantly. Fucking hell. Carlos makes this noise at the back of his throat, it makes his own mouth vibrate. He wants to see what it feels like when it resonates all over. Try to kiss him blue. 

The angle is a bit awkward. Both his hands grasp at the arch of his waist, dig deep, until Carlos gets the hint, and settles on his lap, on him, all over him. Carlos brings a tentative hand behind his head, fingers coming to clench at his hair, and he kisses back until hesitation becomes urgency.

When they pull away for air, they share a look. At the sight of him, Oscar feels his batteries recharge entirely.

A puzzle piece falls into place, elicits electricity on every inch of his skin. 

Ah. Found it.