9. CARLOS SAINZ

Surprising your boyfriend wasn't always a wise choice, for various reasons. One, however, stood out. 
Normally Carlos didn't do it, especially a few hours before the race, but since he'd seen him arrive surprisingly—and strangely—earlier than usual, and since the time was perfect that Sunday morning, he hadn't thought about it. 
More than Lando, he'd seen his car already parked when he'd arrived. 
So checking his watch, Carlos had given himself a mischievous smile, deciding he could make a special pit stop that day, for something quick and easy. 
He'd gone through secondary entrances to avoid attracting too much attention as he slipped into the McLaren hospitality. 
Reaching Lando's room, he'd slipped in without much thought, intending to scare him by suddenly appearing before him. But when he was greeted by an empty room, still quite tidy by the standards of his favorite little Englishman, he'd stopped and scratched the back of his neck. 
He knew he was there, so tilting his head to the side, assuming he was downstairs having breakfast—which was more than likely given the hour—he started to leave, but as he passed Oscar's closed door, he stopped suddenly, frowning. 
Behind that door was Lando's unmistakable voice. 
He was his usual noisy one, he didn't know the meaning of the word discretion, unlike Oscar, who couldn't even hear him. 
It was his room, Oscar had to be there too. But that wasn't the point. 
The point was the kind of voice Lando was making. 
He wasn't laughing or talking. 
He was moaning. 
The same moans he made when they fucked. Lando was very loud at those moments, and even though he put a hand over his mouth to avoid being heard by others nearby, he still managed to scream uncontrollably. 
For a moment, staring at the closed door as if he could walk through it or make it disappear, Carlos was paralyzed, and his initial perplexity quickly became a punch in the gut that materialized on his shocked and horrified face. 
It didn't take a genius; he didn't need to open it and see them. 
Those were the moans of a fuck. 
Lando was getting fucked by Oscar. 
Carlos placed a hand on the door, his forehead on it trying to hear better through Lando's screams of pleasure, hoping he didn't really know what. Maybe he was wrong, that there was a plausible explanation... but the noise he managed to hear cruelly confirmed what he'd been thinking. 
Those were two bodies slamming into each other. To be precise, the slaps of one's sweaty pelvis as it penetrated the other's round buttocks. 
But if he'd needed further definitive proof, Lando’s voice was heard more clearly than ever, not moaning, but begging.
- Yes, yes, like that Osc, I'm here, I'm coming. Don't stop, don't stop now…
It was like crashing into the barrier at full speed, feeling a 50 or 60 G. 
Carlos bit his lip as a mixture of anger and pain surges up inside him.
His first instinct was to go in, catch them red-handed, and make a huge mess, but then his hand on the vertical recess that served as a handle was stopped by Lando's likely candid response to his charade. 
‘I didn't know we were together. We've always just treated our relationship like two friends fucking. We've never talked about feelings or exclusive relationships. Did I owe you loyalty? Start by devoting yourself to me! Don't you have a girlfriend?’
But even if having a public, "serious" girlfriend meant nothing to someone who had fun sex with others, the fact remained that they had never talked about feelings or real relationships. 
Between them, it had always been just fun, they had only laughed, joked and fucked. Nothing more. 
By his own choice, among other things. Because every now and then Lando had tried to ask what they were, and he had always stopped him, sensing something between the lines. Because Lando wasn't good at hiding; you could always tell when he was feeling something. 
In fact he had understood that a good relationship was developing with Oscar, but, confident in himself, he had never given it any weight. 
Of course he should have. 
Hearing them unmistakably end, Carlos snapped out of his thoughts and hurried away silently. He moved like an automaton, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched, his muscles tense, his fists clenched, and his breathing heavy like someone trying to calm down. 
Not even outside, safe from them and standing alone behind the various motorhomes lined up in a row and packed tightly together, did he feel better. 
Only the knowledge that he had screwed up everything with Lando, that he had handed him over to Oscar, that he couldn’t really blame anyone but himself and his usual, typical overconfidence. 
A real idiot, he told himself, then managing to find the back entrance of the Williams. 
Once in his room, he remained leaning against the door, his head back, his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. How the hell had he lost Lando? 
He was burning. Everything inside him was burning. His chest, his throat, his eyes, his guts, but above all, his soul. 
As Carlos realized had lost Lando the way he'd thought gained him, he understood he didn't even have the right. 
He couldn't even find relief in arguing with him and accusing him. Accuse him of what, after all? 
He knew exactly what kind of conversation they'd have, and there was no point in seeking it; it would only make him look like a pathetic idiot. 
Lando was free to go with whomever he wanted and didn't even have to answer to him. He knew he had no right to demand clarity; he'd never asked him anything or said anything back. 
When, in the past, he was still at Ferrari, his relationship with Charles had become particularly close, Lando had been jealous, and even though it was unfounded because he and Charles were simply friends—but especially because the Monegasque was happily involved with Max—instead of reassuring him and making him see reason, he had attacked harshly, telling him that they weren't a couple and that he couldn't behave like that, that he didn't want to see ridiculous jealousies because they both had the right to do what they wanted with whoever they wanted, without even having to answer to each other. 
He had wanted it. 
- Karma. - he whispered shocked, his voice shaking. 
Now he knew what people meant by that word. 
That had to be the meaning. 
Everything you do comes back to you. Always. 
- And now how am I going to race today? How the fuck am I going to get on the track, how am I going to behave in front of those two? How am I going to fuck Lando again, if and when he wants? 
Lately they had eased off their encounters, unlike at the beginning when they had been very frequent and almost obsessive. Since the Charles thing, they'd slowly started to fuck less, but the time they spent together had always been quality, and their relationship overall had always been good; they'd always laughed and joked without any problems. 
"No, of course not. Lando had found a way to compensate with Oscar. And what am I supposed to tell them? Isn't he right? And Oscar probably doesn't even know, or maybe he does, but he's so into him that he agrees to share him with me. That would explain why he's always so tense around me. He's a weird person in general, so I've never seen anything behind it, but that's also one of the consequences of my fucking self-centeredness." 
Despite trying to use all his rationality to put the situation into perspective, with the aim of being able to get out on the track that afternoon and have a decent race, Carlos realized that it wasn't working, and when he raised his hand and held it steady in front of him, he saw it tremble and realized that if he had come across either of them in the race, his impulsive and fiery side, a typical Spaniard, would surely have taken over. 
Even though he imagined it, he didn't know how to help himself and avoid a race and possibly career suicide. Not to mention the stupid thing he knew he could do. 
- What a nice surprise! Too bad it's the wrong one! Fuck Carlos. You're such an idiot. Now you'll have to pretend nothing happened and carry on with him as usual, or face him and tell him you know; but I know exactly what I'll choose, because I'll never be able to talk about it in an adult way without losing face and making stupid scenes that I really have no right to do, so it'll be easier to pretend nothing happened. 
Finally he sighed, shaking his head, closing his eyes and throwing his head back in defeat, feeling shattered. 
"I was supposed to understand that I felt something for Lando in this way?"
What, then? Love? But wasn't it more of a sense of possession? He didn't want to devote himself to Lando, to be accountable to him for his choices and his life, to live for him, to change himself for him, to give up a piece of freedom for him. He just wanted Lando to be his without having to change anything about himself or his life. 
But he knew he couldn't demand it, and he knew it was wrong. He knew this because if it had been true love, that day, instead of setting boundaries and consciously putting a damper on their relationship, he would have gladly held him, happy to see him so invested, to see that beautiful, obvious feeling in him. 
But no, he had been afraid of it, and he had held him back. 
"Afraid of what? Can you be afraid of love and relationships?"
To that, however, Carlos couldn't answer. 

But that afternoon, when he took to the track, instead of stepping aside after the numerous blue lights during the race and his engineer's warning, Carlos hadn't let Oscar pass. He hadn't even thought about it; he'd done it completely instinctively, without hesitation, even causing him a minor damage due to a contact while lapping. 
Even afterward, on the microphones, he hadn't apologized and stuck to his knowingly mistaken position, denying the evidence and offering pathetic excuses for his behavior. 
He knew he wouldn't be able to do it later, either.
In both cases, while he knew he was wrong, he couldn't help it.
Because Oscar had taken his Lando away from him, and even if he'd tried to take the blame, it would simply have been easier to put it on to someone else; because in the end he was the one who had to live with himself, and if that was the only way, he would have hated Oscar, being unable to hate either Lando or himself. 
Until, perhaps, one day, he would only hate himself, consumed by ignored and repressed feelings. 

NOTE: We're still at the Hungary GP ’26, but on Sunday. It was a way to show that everything is going well between Lando and Oscar, even if there aren't any substantial changes. Also inspired by the problem Carlos and Oscar had during the race, I decided to include the Spaniard's version as well. Then Langkawi happened and I had the inspiration for the final. 
Besides, I liked showing how things change depending on the pov: what for Lando was an act of jealousy towards Charles, for example, Carlos logically interpreted in a completely different way. 
I made the fanart for the famous chapter 6, but they're not ready yet, I hope to be able to complete them for the last chapter. 
Thanks to everyone who follows. See you next time. Kisses, Akane