Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Fucking finally.”

It’s the first thing Oscar says when he swings the door open. He’s got that lazy, unbothered tone of his, but Carlos knows better—the slight furrow of his brow gives him away.

Carlos smirks, stepping inside, flopping down onto the loveseat across from Oscar’s hotel bed.

“What? You in heat or something? Couldn’t wait?”

“Fuck off.” Oscar scoffs, arms crossed tight. “You said you were coming and then took ages.”

Carlos blinks. Oh. Right. He did text Oscar over an hour ago.

Omw.

👍🏻

But then Lando happened in the corridor, and obviously, he couldn’t say, Oh yeah, Lando, I’m at the Hilton on a race weekend. A hotel my team definitely didn’t book. Because I’m gonna fuck your teammate.

Carlos tugs Oscar in by the wrist, pulling him between his spread thighs. “Bumped into Lando,” he explains, hands settling warm and familiar on Oscar’s hips. “Had to make it look like I was here for him.”

Oscar’s eyes narrow. His voice drops, quiet. “So you were with him?”

Carlos hums, tilting his head back against the cushion. “Yeah. Had dinner together. Tried to make it quick. Hope I don’t get indigestion later.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes, but Carlos catches the flicker of his lips, like he’s trying not to smile. Cute.

“Whatever,” Oscar mutters, stepping back toward the bed, tugging his shirt over his head as he goes. “Took you long enough.”

Carlos huffs a laugh, watching the soft stretch of Oscar’s skin under the hotel lighting. 

“So impatient,” he teases, settling deeper into the loveseat, legs spreading. “What, you’ve been waiting all desperate for me?”

Oscar scoffs, tossing his shirt aside. “You wish.”

Still got that little frown, still acting put out, but Carlos sees right through him—the way his fingers fumble slightly with his sweats, the way his breath is just a little too measured. He's trying not to give anything away.

Carlos smirks. “Yeah?” He tilts his head, watching. “Then take your time, baby. No rush.”

Oscar’s hands still at his waistband. His eyes snap to Carlos.

“You’re so fucking annoying sometimes.”

“Just sometimes? You say that to me every single time we fuck.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, finally shoving his sweats down. Carlos drinks in the sight like he’s been waiting all night for this. Which, technically, he has.

Oscar is strong but soft in all the right places. 

Carlos loves the dip of his waist, the curve of his spine, the solid heft of his thighs. And his ass—Jesus fucking Christ. Carlos is obsessed with his ass. Plush and perfect, practically begging for his hands. It was made to be squeezed, grabbed, marked.

Carlos bites his lip, mouth watering.

Oscar flops onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, open and waiting. He knows exactly what he’s doing to Carlos.

“I say it because it’s true,” Oscar says, grinning, flashing those stupidly adorable bunny teeth.

Jesus. Carlos loves that too. His fucking teeth.

He tries not to think too much about it. About what he loves about Oscar. About how he loves Oscar. Because that’s not what this is. That’s not what they agreed on when this whole rivals-with-benefits or whatever-the-fuck-this-is started.

Let’s just use each other to fuck the nerves off.

That’s what they said. That’s what it’s supposed to be.

So Carlos shoves it all down, tosses his clothes off, and climbs onto the bed, slotting himself between Oscar’s spread thighs. Then he kisses him—hard, deep—swallowing whatever snarky little remark was about to leave that pretty mouth.

Oscar makes a soft noise when Carlos grips his legs, lacing them over his waist. Tightens them when Carlos kisses down his jaw, his neck, leaving little bites that he knows will be there tomorrow.

And maybe—just maybe—he leaves them because he wants them to be there. Because he wants everyone to know.

Because, fuck, maybe he wants Oscar to be his.

“You smell like Lando,” Oscar breathes, voice barely above a whimper.

Carlos huffs a quiet laugh, grinding their cocks together through the thin fabric of their underwear.

“Fucking Dior Sauvage,” Oscar mutters, then gasps when Carlos nips at his throat, right over the two tiny freckles there.

Carlos smirks, bracing himself on his elbows, framing Oscar’s head. “You jealous?”

Oscar scoffs. “’Course not.”

Liar.

Carlos drags his lips up Oscar’s jaw. 

“You know how Lando is, cariño.” He presses a quick kiss to Oscar’s lips—just a taste, just to see if he’ll chase after it. And, oh, of course he does. “No sense of personal space. Always all over me.”

Which is true. Lando’s a fucking gremlin, constantly clinging, constantly touching. Runs on skinship and human heat like some kind of stray cat.

Oscar rolls his eyes, but his hips still rock up, rubbing their cocks together again.

Fuck. They get hard so easily.

Carlos groans, kissing him again, but Oscar keeps talking against his lips, breathy and insistent.

“You don’t get annoyed?” he murmurs, words slipping between kisses. “I hate it sometimes, when he keeps touching me.”

Carlos nips at his lower lip. “Oh yeah?”

“You should too…” Oscar breathes, fingers curling into Carlos’s shoulders, clinging.

Carlos hums, amused. “I should?”

“Yeah…”

Oscar’s pupils are blown, his breaths shaky, but he’s still running his mouth.

Carlos flicks a thumb over one of Oscar’s pebbled nipples, making him jolt. “Why?”

Oscar whimpers, thighs twitching around Carlos’s waist. “Because…”

And then—nothing.

Carlos waits. Expects him to say: Because you shouldn’t let a fucking twink keep fumbling all over you when you’ve got a boyfriend.

But Oscar just shuts up.

Carlos gets it, mostly. He wouldn’t have imagined dating a 30-year-old at 23 either. But fuck, it stings, the way Oscar keeps fighting it. Like he’s trying to convince himself this is nothing. Like Carlos is just some passing fling, easily boxed away.

Still, Carlos just looks at him, fond and amused, before kissing him again. And again. And again.

Oscar kisses back greedy, licking into Carlos’s mouth, sucking on his tongue, biting—because of course he fucking does. He can’t just take something without making it a fight first.

Carlos groans into his mouth, annoyed and wrecked all at once.

When they break apart, there’s a string of spit connecting their lips.

Oscar swipes his tongue over his own, then shoves at Carlos’s chest, trying to squirm free, to push his boxers down—because of course he’s impatient too.

Carlos grabs his wrists before he can. Pins them to the bed.

“Calm down,” Carlos mutters.

Oscar just glares up at him, chest rising and falling fast.

“Why’re you being so slow today?” His brows pinch together, voice all breathy and snappy at once. “Old man pace—“

Oh, fuck off. Like Carlos wasn’t just thinking about how unhinged it is that he’s a 30-year-old hooking up with a 23-year-old who still looks so fucking boyish. Like that’s not already haunting him.

“We’re doing it my way tonight,” Carlos says.

Oscar blinks up at him, eyes narrowed. “Your way?”

Carlos nods, holding him down firmer. “Yeah. My way.” He tilts his head, pretending to think. “You complain too much, Oscar. I should put some sense into your little mush brain.”

Carlos thumbs at the waistband of Oscar’s underwear, then pushes them down, slow. Oscar gasps as the cool air hits his cock, flushed and leaking against his belly.

Carlos hums, rubbing a thumb over the head, spreading the slick mess there, watching Oscar’s thighs twitch. Fucking beautiful.

"Pretty cock," Carlos murmurs, wrapping a hand around the base, giving it a lazy stroke.

Oscar keens, body jerking, but Carlos presses him down, one strong hand firm on his waist, holding him still.

"Fuck—" Oscar wheezes, voice cracking. His back arches. His hands fist in the sheets.

Carlos just keeps stroking him, lazy and unhurried, fingers squeezing just enough to make Oscar’s breath catch. He watches every little reaction—the way Oscar’s hips stutter, how his stomach tenses with every slow drag of Carlos’s fist.

Carlos smirks. “You’re very pretty like this, cariño. Y’know that?” His voice is soft, like a confession. “Sometimes I wish I could bend you over the conference couch and just fuck you there.”

Oscar groans, something wrecked and needy slipping past his lips. “Christ, Carlos— I—”

Carlos just chuckles and Oscar looks up at him through the shade of his lashes, pupils blown, lips swollen and slick. His pale skin is flushed pink, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. 

Carlos swipes his thumb over the tip again, making Oscar jolt. “Tell me, baby. You like that idea?”

Oscar’s breath shudders. His lips part, then close again, like he doesn’t know how to say it. But Carlos sees the way his thighs tense, the way his cock twitches in his grip.

Then, soft and wrecked—"I want that—"

Carlos stills. His stomach fucking flips. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Oh?” Carlos tilts his head, his grip tightening just slightly. “That’s nasty, baby.” He lets out a quiet, breathy giggle. “You really want them to see you like this? Polite, composed Oscar, all wrecked and open on my cock? Everyone watching?”

Oscar chokes on a sound—half a whimper, half a groan. 

“No—no. Not that, Carlos—” He shakes his head, biting his lip, looking almost desperate.

Carlos strokes him again, watching the way Oscar shudders beneath him, all tight-jawed and flushed, barely holding himself together. Stubborn. Always so fucking stubborn.

“Then what?” Carlos murmurs, leaning in close, breath warm against Oscar’s lips. “What do you want, cariño?”

Oscar makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, hips jerking up as if that’ll get him anywhere. “Want you to fuck me.”

He tries to kiss Carlos again, but Carlos pulls back at the last second, just far enough that Oscar whines, soft and pained, chasing after his mouth. Oh, that’s nice. Carlos grins.

“Yeah?” he asks, teasing, and then—because he can’t help himself—he pinches the flushed tip of Oscar’s cock, just to see him jolt.

Oscar gasps, whole body twitching, but he doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut, lips pressing into a firm, stubborn line.

Carlos tuts, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. “Come on, cariño. Beg.”

Oscar’s breath stutters, nostrils flaring. He opens his eyes, glassy with tears, his skin flushed all the way down to his chest, but still, he breathes through his nose, firm and resistant.

“Not gonna beg.”

Carlos huffs a quiet laugh, tilting his head. “No?”

Oscar shakes his head.

Carlos’s grin turns sharp. “Okay then.”

Oscar eyes him, suspicious, but before he can say anything—before he can mouth off—Carlos jerks him fast, fist working him quick and messy, slick sounds filling the space between them.

Oscar wails.

Not a moan, not a gasp, but a full-body, breathless, broken wail, his hands flying up to clutch at Carlos’s wrists, hips lifting clean off the bed as his orgasm rips through him, sudden and helpless.

“Oh, fuck—” Oscar’s voice cracks, body trembling as his cock spurts over his stomach, his chest, warm and sticky.

Carlos watches, fascinated, grinning as he works him through it, drawing it out, milking him for every last drop.

Oscar thrashes, panting hard, making these tiny, punched-out noises with every aftershock, but Carlos doesn’t stop. Just keeps stroking him, even as Oscar’s oversensitive cock twitches and jerks in his grip.

“F-Fuck—fuck, Carlos—” Oscar’s voice tight and desperate, his thighs kicking uselessly against the mattress. “S’too much—!”

Carlos just hums, watching the way Oscar writhes, his body caught between pleasure and oversensitivity, muscles jumping under Carlos’s hands.

“Too much?” Carlos murmurs, tone dripping with mock sympathy. He strokes him faster.

Oscar shrieks.

His back arches clear off the bed, hands flying up to push at Carlos’s shoulders, but he’s so weak, so sensitive, that Carlos barely even feels it.

“Come on, cariño,” Carlos croons, leaning in, pressing kisses along Oscar’s jaw, his throat. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna beg?”

Oscar shakes his head wildly, face scrunched up, panting. “I’m not—”

Carlos squeezes the base of his cock, slow and mean.

Oscar sobs, full-body trembling.

Carlos chuckles against his skin, teeth grazing the soft column of his throat. “We’ll see about that.”

Carlos gives Oscar a moment—just a moment—to catch his breath, to blink up at him all hazy and wrecked, his body still twitching, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. 

Oscar might think he’s done, but Carlos isn’t finished yet. Slowly, he shifts down the bed, dragging his palms over Oscar’s thighs, pressing them open again when they twitch like he’s about to close them.

Oscar makes a breathless noise. “Carlos—”

Carlos hums, nuzzling into the crease of his thigh, licking over the soft skin there, his breath hot and teasing. “Mm?”

Oscar groans, tossing an arm over his face. His cock is hardening again, flushed red, sensitive where it rests against his belly, twitching every time Carlos breathes too close. He’s trying so hard not to react, but his body betrays him, his hips shifting, like he can’t help himself.

Carlos grins. Fucking adorable.

“You’re done already?” Carlos teases, pressing a kiss to the inside of Oscar’s knee, stroking slowly over his trembling thighs. “That’s cute.”

Oscar glares down at him, but it’s weak, glassy-eyed. “Shut up.”

Carlos just laughs, before finally—finally—licking a slow stripe up the length of Oscar’s cock.

Oscar gasps, legs jerking, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Oh—”

Carlos hums against him, wrapping his lips around the flushed head, sucking, gentle at first—just enough to tease, to make Oscar whimper and try to push up into it.

Carlos presses his hips down with firm hands, holding him still.

“Relax, cariño,” he murmurs, muffled against Oscar’s skin. 

Oscar shudders, thighs trembling. “Fuck, Carlos—”

Carlos sinks down slow, mouth stretching around him, tongue pressing firm against the underside. The weight of it, the heat of it, makes Oscar moan, his hands flying up like he wants to pull Carlos off—or push him deeper, maybe both.

Carlos breathes through his nose, takes him deeper, sucking just a little harder, and Oscar thrashes, a wrecked, desperate sob tearing out of him.

He’s so sensitive, his whole body shaking, his cock twitching in Carlos’s mouth. He doesn’t know whether he wants to shy away or chase more.

Carlos loves that.

He slides a hand up, pressing it firm over Oscar’s tummy, holding him down while he sucks him slow, deep, his tongue teasing every sensitive spot, his lips tight and wet around the shaft.

Oscar whimpers, hands flying up to clutch at Carlos’s hair, pulling hard. He’s gasping now, mumbling breathless curses—“Carlos, fuck, Carlos—”

Carlos moans around him, and that’s it—Oscar groans, loud, hips jerking, his cock kicking in Carlos’s mouth as he comes again, hot and messy, his entire body locking up, then sagging all at once.

Carlos swallows him down, working him through it, lips still wrapped tight around the softening cock, his tongue flicking over the oversensitive head just to watch Oscar writhe.

Oscar sobs, pushing weakly at Carlos’s head. “C-Carlos, fuck— too much—”

Carlos just hums, mouth still wet and filthy around him, sucking slow and obscene until Oscar is shaking so bad it’s almost cruel.

Only when Oscar is fully spent, his cock twitching, too sensitive to take even a hint more, does Carlos finally, finally let him go, pressing one last kiss to the flushed tip before pulling off with a slick pop.

Oscar is completely boneless, his chest rising and falling in short, desperate gasps, his skin flushed all the way down to his thighs.

Carlos grins, licking his lips.

“You good, cariño?” he murmurs, trailing kisses up Oscar’s belly, up to his heaving chest.

Oscar just whines, high and broken, tilting his head away like he can’t answer, like he’s too gone for words.

Carlos laughs, pressing a kiss to his throat, smug and satisfied.

Carlos kisses him, deep and slow. “Can give me one more, baby?” His voice is soft, coaxing, but there’s a heat under it. A promise. “Or two? I still want to fuck you.”

Oscar shudders. Probably because Carlos is swiping his fingers through the mess on his belly and pressing it right over his hole, rubbing slow circles, teasing just enough to make Oscar gasp.

Carlos tilts his head, watching him. Studying him.

“Hm? Answer me, Oscar.” He presses a little more firmly, circling, massaging, never quite giving him what he wants.

Oscar just stares up at him, glassy-eyed and dazed, pupils blown wide, and nods.

Carlos grins. Yeah. Finally. Oscar’s not so mouthy now.

“You’ll be good for me, right?” Carlos asks, shifting down between Oscar’s legs again and dragging his tongue over Oscar’s soft, spent cock just to feel him twitch.

Oscar trembles, lets out a tiny, broken noise, and whispers, “Yes…”

Carlos hums, pleased. “Good boy.” He noses at Oscar’s cock, presses a kiss to the tip, just to feel how Oscar shudders under him. “See, I think you can give me another, cariño.”

His fingers press just a little, teasing, circling. Oscar whines, thighs tensing, fighting the urge to squirm away—or press into it.

Carlos bites back a laugh, dragging his fingers through the mess on Oscar’s stomach again, smearing it over his skin just because he can. 

“All right?” Carlos presses a kiss to Oscar’s hipbone, tilting his head to watch him.

Oscar blinks at him, slow, like it takes effort to remember how to open his eyes. “Mhm.”

Carlos laughs, slipping a finger inside, just to feel the way Oscar clenches around him, the way his lips part, his breath catching.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Carlos says, smug as anything. He crooks his finger, stroking over that spot, and Oscar jerks, legs falling open even wider.

His fingers curl weakly into the sheets, but he nods, breathless. “Please.”

Carlos groans, half in disbelief, because Oscar never fucking begs. And now he’s just lying here, wrecked and trembling, looking at Carlos like he’s the only thing keeping him from floating right out of his own body

“Fuck,” Carlos breathes, leaning up to kiss him. “How am I supposed to stop when you’re like this?”

Oscar whimpers, and Carlos swears under his breath, dragging his hand down Oscar’s trembling thigh, fingers digging in. He grabs the lube and slicks up his fingers fast, almost messy, because Oscar is still looking at him like that—

Carlos can’t have that. Oscar belongs right here. Under him, around him, with him.

“Breathe, baby,” Carlos murmurs, pressing his fingers inside, watching the way Oscar’s mouth falls open, the way his legs twitch.

A soft, punched-out moan slips past Oscar’s lips, his body clenching down before melting again, already pliant, already so fucking open for him.

Carlos grins, curling his fingers just right. Oscar wails, hips jerking up into nothing, thighs shaking.

“That’s it,” Carlos praises, breath warm against Oscar’s damp skin as he leans down, licking into the soft heat of his inner thigh. “Give it to me.”

Oscar whines, hands fluttering uselessly before gripping Carlos’s hair, tight. His cock is still flushed and slick, twitching helplessly against his stomach, and Carlos can’t not have it in his mouth. He wraps his lips around the head, sucking just enough to make Oscar arch off the bed, a wrecked little sob spilling from his lips.

“Carlos—”

“Mm?” Carlos hums around him, eyes dark with amusement, fingers still stroking inside him, stretching him open. Oscar is already so close again, strung tight, toes curling, body tensing up like he’s trying to hold on.

But Carlos won’t let him.

He slows down, eases off, letting his fingers stroke softer, his mouth go lighter. Just enough to keep Oscar on edge. Not enough to let him fall.

“Don’t—don’t stop—” Oscar gasps. His fingers tighten in Carlos’s hair, tugging.

Carlos chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss to Oscar’s twitching cock before pulling back. “I thought you liked to be courted, baby.”

Oscar whimpers, frustrated, eyes glassy and wide. “Carlos—”

“What?” Carlos licks his lips, watching him squirm, watching the way his cock jumps, desperate and needy. 

Oscar glares at him, but it’s weak, his body betraying him with every tiny, shivery twitch.

Carlos grins, pleased. Taps two fingers against his rim, teasing.

Oscar jolts, hips stuttering. “Please,” he pants, voice wrecked.

Carlos hums. Yeah, okay. He’ll stop teasing.

This time, when he presses in, he doesn’t stop. He sucks Oscar back into his mouth, deep and wet, tongue dragging along the underside, fingers pressing against that spot just right.

Oscar breaks.

His body tenses—then melts, his spine bowing off the bed as he gasps, spilling over with a choked-out cry.

Carlos groans, swallowing it, holding him down, feeling the way he shakes, the way he clenches around his fingers, the way his whole body shudders through it.

He pulls back just enough to admire him, ruined and spent, chest rising and falling in shaky, uneven breaths.

Carlos smirks, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s hip, his fingers still deep inside him.

“Still with me, cariño?” he murmurs, stroking lazy circles against his prostate just to hear the weak little noise Oscar makes.

Oscar’s lashes flutter. His lips part, but nothing comes out except a soft, dazed little, “…Yeah.”

Carlos grins. “Good,” he says. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Oscar makes the sweetest little noise when Carlos pulls away, all wrecked and needy, and fuck, Carlos almost doesn’t have the patience to undress properly. His hands are shaking with how bad he needs this, shoving his boxers down with none of his usual smoothness.

And Oscar—God, Oscar—just moans when he sees him, blinking up at him like he’s still trying to process the sight of Carlos’s cock, thick and hard and dripping. Like he’s remembering how it feels inside him.

Carlos grits his teeth, fists his cock at the base, gives it a slow stroke because he needs something to stop himself from just pushing in right then and there. 

“Fuck, cariño,” he groans. “Look at you.”

Oscar’s legs fall open even wider in invitation, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed, still so fucking wrecked from his last orgasms. His cock is soft now, spent, resting against his stomach in a mess of come, but he still wants it. Wants more.

Carlos groans, barely managing to get his lube-slick fingers around his cock before he’s pressing in, sinking into the tight, wet heat of Oscar’s hole, and—

“Fuck—”

Oscar whines, a sharp little noise that punches right through Carlos’s gut, his body trembling with how good it is, how deep Carlos is stretching him open.

Carlos drops his head, panting, hands gripping Oscar’s waist tight, fingers digging into soft skin, pressing hard enough to leave marks. 

"Shit,” he breathes, dragging his hips back before pushing in again, shuddering at the way Oscar takes him—tight and warm and fucking perfect. "You—fuck.”

Oscar makes another one of those soft, floaty little noises, barely there, his hands weakly curling against Carlos’s back, useless, no strength left in him to grab hold. He’s just taking it, letting Carlos move him, push him, stretch him open again and again.

Carlos loves him like this. Loose-limbed and messy, his body pliant, clenching up every time Carlos fucks in deep. His pretty little cock gives a weak, pathetic twitch against Carlos’s stomach, trying so hard to get hard again, but can’t, too overstimulated, too fucked stupid—but still, still, so fucking pleased with Carlos stuffing him full.

That—fuck. That sends something wild and hot ripping down Carlos’s spine, has him grinding in deeper, holding Oscar tighter, pulling those soft little noises from his swollen lips.

Carlos groans, dropping a kiss to Oscar’s damp temple, reaching down, finally wrapping a firm hand around his pretty, flushed, sensitive cock.

Oscar makes a sound.

High and breathless and completely wrecked, half a whimper, half a gasp, his thighs twitching on either side of Carlos’s waist as Carlos starts again.

"Ah— no—too much—"

Carlos just laughs, low and smug, his mouth against Oscar’s cheek. "Too much? Baby, you can’t be done yet.”

Oscar shudders, his legs jerking, his lips parting around another ruined, desperate noise.

Carlos hums, thumb swiping over the swollen head, spreading the slick mess there, grinning when Oscar whines, tries to twist away, but—nowhere to go. He’s stuck, pinned under Carlos’s weight.

"You can give me one more, right?” Carlos murmurs, fingers stroking slow and torturous. "Be good for me, cariño? You’re so good at it, letting me use you like this.”

And God, he means it. He means every fucking word because Oscar is perfect like this—boneless and whimpering, too wrecked to fight it, too pliant to do anything but take it. 

Carlos is drunk on it. His brain is gone, fried, fucking melted in the heat of Oscar’s body, in the way he twitches under him, the way his hole clenches every time Carlos moves. It’s insane. It’s fucking insane how badly he wants him.

Oscar tries to shake his head, tries to fight it, but it’s fucking pathetic, the way his body just melts at Carlos’s touch, the way his hips jump when Carlos tightens his grip, stroking him raw, chasing after it.

"No, no, I—”

Carlos grins, knows he’s got him, can feel the way Oscar’s cock twitches, how he’s right fucking there, already slipping, slipping, slipping—

"Shit—fuck—" Oscar’s whole body jerks, his back arching, his breath catching in his throat as he comes again, messy and weak and exhausted, his spent cock giving just the tiniest spurt before his body locks up, shaking.

Carlos groans, grinding into him, fucking into the tight, perfect squeeze of his hole, chasing his own release, but—

Oscar gasps, his body tensing up again, and—oh.

Oh, fuck.

Oscar gasps, his whole body going stiff, his thighs squeezing tight around Carlos’s waist, and Carlos feels it—feels the way Oscar’s cock twitches again, how his whole body convulses with another orgasm, dry and devastating, not a single drop of cum left, just pleasure so raw and overwhelming that it makes Oscar sob into Carlos’s throat.

Carlos’s breath stutters. His vision whites out.

Carlos grips his hips tight, slams in deep, his hips stuttering as he finally, finally comes, spilling inside Oscar with a groan that rips straight from his chest.

He collapses against him, face buried in the crook of Oscar’s neck, panting, trembling with it, feeling it down to his bones.

Oscar just whimpers, barely fucking conscious, body limp and spent and wrecked, breath coming in weak little puffs against Carlos’s ear.

Carlos presses a kiss to his throat, nuzzling in, too fucked out to move. "Holy fucking shit.”

Oscar just hums, dazed, fucked dumb.

For a long moment, neither of them move, the room still thick with heat, their breaths slowing, catching up. Oscar’s skin is hot, damp, flushed all over. Carlos can feel the little twitches of his muscles, the way his thighs still shake.

Carlos drags a hand down his spine, soothing, grounding.

Oscar hums again, loopy and wrecked, barely even a sound.

Perfect.

Carlos finally shifts, moving to pull out, slowly, careful—

And Oscar whines.

A soft, broken little sound, like even that is too much, like he can’t take it but doesn’t want to lose it either. His body flutters, clenching down, trying to keep him there, please, don’t go, as Carlos pulls free.

Oscar shudders, breath catching, whole body trembling before it goes slack.

Carlos grins.

Oscar is completely gone.

Carlos can see it in the way he lies there—wrecked, hazy, lashes damp, lips parted, barely breathing properly.

His body is slack, heavy in the sheets, twitching every so often, little aftershocks still rolling through him. Even his poor, oversensitive cock gives a pathetic little twitch, and Carlos smirks.

Oscar is so quiet.

No biting little remarks, no complaints, no brusque, post-sex grumbling. Just deep, heavy-lidded blinks that barely stay open, his body loose and pliant in the sheets.

Carlos smooths a hand down his chest, over his stomach, tracing the mess between his thighs.

Oscar flinches, a tiny whimper spilling from his lips, legs twitching like he wants to close them—but he’s too tired to move.

Carlos hums, amused, soothed, pressing slow, lazy kisses into the dip of Oscar’s collarbone. “Too much, cariño?”

Oscar makes a soft, strangled sound, blinking slowly, like he can barely process what’s happening.

Carlos slides a hand between his legs, pressing against his spent, sticky cock, feeling the way Oscar shudders.

A little pinch—his thigh, his hip, the soft, overstimulated head of his cock.

Oscar jerks, a tear slipping free, face turning away into the pillow.

Carlos grins, shifting to kiss at his cheek, licking away the wetness.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, pinching again, watching Oscar tremble. “So cute like this, all soft and quiet for me.”

Oscar gasps, breath catching hard, like it’s all too much.

His lip wobbles.

Carlos’s heart clenches.

“Hey,” he soothes, tilting Oscar’s chin up. “No tears, baby.”

Oscar sniffles, blinking rapidly, his whole body too raw, too overwhelmed.

“You’re fine,” Carlos soothes, shushing him, pulling him close, kissing at his hair, his cheeks, his swollen lips.

Oscar melts, a tiny relieved noise leaving him, pressing closer.

Carlos scoops him up, carrying him to the bathroom, getting him under the warm water, supporting his boneless weight.

Oscar lets him, eyes half-closed, sighing into every gentle touch.

Carlos kisses at his temple, at the corner of his mouth, whispering, “So good for me, cariño. Perfect.”

Oscar shivers, fingers twitching, like he wants to hold on but doesn’t know how.

Carlos guides his hands to his own shoulders. “Just hold onto me, baby.”

Oscar does. Clings onto Carlos’s arms as Carlos washes him.

Once they’re clean, Carlos lifts him again, gets him bundled up in bed, tucking the blankets tight, wrapping him up warm.

Oscar shivers, eyes fluttering, barely able to stay awake—but his soft, round ass shifts under the covers, inviting, and Carlos cups it, kneads it, working slow, soothing strokes into the plushness.

Oscar sighs, lips parting around a tiny, pleased sound, fully relaxed now, fully sated, safe in Carlos’s arms.

Carlos grins, pressing a last kiss to his ear.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs, holding him close, feeling the weight of Oscar finally falling into deep sleep.

“The fuck was that yesterday?”

Carlos hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, and Oscar’s already running his mouth, pressed too close in the tangled mess of sheets.

Carlos groans, buries his face deeper into the pillow. “Mm?”

“You broke me.”

Carlos cracks an eye open. Oscar is sprawled out beside him, half under the sheets, still naked from the night before. Hair a mess, lips puffy, fresh little bruises dusting his skin. He looks absolutely wrecked—and he has the audacity to be pouting about it.

Carlos smirks, rolling onto his back. “No, I made you cum five times.”

Oscar scowls. “Four and a half. The last one didn’t count.”

Carlos laughs, stretching his arms overhead. “It definitely counted.”

“I dry came,” Oscar argues, throwing a leg over Carlos’s hip. “That’s not an orgasm, that’s my soul escaping my body.”

Carlos hums, hands lazily smoothing over his waist, feeling the leftover warmth between them. “Then I did an amazing job.”

“You did a criminal job.”

Carlos just grins, pulling him in, nosing into his hair. “Want me to take responsibility?”

Oscar freezes.

It’s tiny, almost nothing, just a split-second hesitation—but Carlos notices.

Feels the way Oscar tenses, like his brain is already working overtime to deflect, make a joke, get out—

Carlos doesn’t push.

Doesn’t ask.

Doesn’t make it weird.

Just rubs slow, lazy circles into Oscar’s back, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. A quiet, grounding touch. Nothing demanding. Nothing heavy. Just there.

And then—

“I want breakfast,” Oscar mutters into his shoulder, quiet, almost grudging.

Carlos goes very still.

Not because of the words. But because of the way he says it.

Because if Oscar wanted to shake this off, he wouldn’t say that. He’d roll his eyes, make a joke, say he had somewhere to be. An excuse. A way to send Carlos away, like always.

But instead—he’s here. Half-curled into Carlos’s chest. Letting him touch him. Saying something that means staying.

Carlos breathes slow. Careful.

Oscar must realize what he just said, because his body tenses again, fingers twitching like he’s about to backpedal—

Carlos doesn’t let him.

“Room service?”

Oscar hesitates.

Then—

“…Room service,” he mutters, like it’s a concession.

Oscar knows exactly what he just implied.

Carlos grins, chest going all stupid and warm, dragging Oscar fully on top of him, making him grunt in protest.

“Carlos—”

“Shh.” Carlos rolls them over, pinning him under the sheets, lips already brushing against his jaw. “I’ll order after.”

Oscar groans, but Carlos doesn’t miss the way his hands cling to his shoulders, the way his breath catches when Carlos kisses him, slow and sweet.

“Did you like it?” Carlos murmurs between kisses.

Oscar scoffs against his lips, but—

“I did,” he answers, quiet. Shy.

Carlos grins. He says it just to tease, just to see— “You were so good for me, Oscar.” His voice drops, just to watch the way Oscar’s breath stutters, the way his fingers tighten against his skin. “Perfect.”

The prettiest shade of pink blooms across Oscar’s cheeks. But he’s still a mouthy little brat.

“Shut the fuck up,” Oscar grumbles.

Carlos just laughs, kissing him again.