Look at me. Watch me. This Is For You

I Didn't Ask You To Come Here

Lewis is just about to get a grip, to open his eyes and drive back to his hotel to do what he's been doing for weeks when these thoughts get into his head. He'll go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet and fuck his fist until he's practically heaving with it. The image of Carlos' folded hairy arms, and thick bottom lip sending him over the edge.

But he's too drunk out of his mind to move an inch, and has never been one for ubers. So he sits in his car and tries to breathe as his head spins. And then like a bolt of lightening, too fast for Lewis to process if it's even real or if he just imagined it, Carlos is opening the passenger door and falling into the car besides him. Lewis hurries to cover his tented erection with both hands, his eyes wide as he stares at the person getting into his car and sitting next to him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Lewis can't help but ask, his words slightly slurred. "You left," Carlos says, out of breath.

"So?"

"So I knew you'd be here," Carlos says, angry. "And I didn't want you to be by yourself. You're fucked up."

"You're fucked up," Lewis says with a frown of his own. "I can smell you, you reek of alcohol."

"Oh, real mature. Let's play the 'who is more messed up' game right now, that's just great." Carlos crosses his arms.

"I'm not the one holding car keys and contemplating driving though Lewis, am I?" Carlos gestures for Lewis to hand him the keys he's unsuccessfully hiding in his hand.

"I didn't ask you to come here," Lewis says, turning in the seat so he can look at Carlos more fully. "I left you with Isabel, exactly where you wanted to be, Carlos. So fucking go. Go be with her, go fuck her in the woods, I don't care. Just leave me alone."

"No," Carlos ignores him. "I'm not leaving."

Lewis grinds his teeth together and shifts to look out the front window, once again gripping the wheel. Carlos fucking Sainz ruins everything. All Lewis wanted to do, once he got away from the party and the people in the woods, was to be alone. To think about the things he can't talk about, especially with the one person currently sitting in his car who refuses to acknowledge the signs. Lewis just wants to be by himself, to be alone in his head with the confusing things, the new parts of himself, these images he can't seem to shake.

Boys. You, Carlos.

Lewis realizes he's hard, and puts a hand down in his lap, to cover his erection before Carlos can notice. It happens everytime he's angry or drunk, or in close proximity to Carlos. Fucking Carlos and his folded arms. Lewis chances a glance to his right, to see if he's been caught, and almost jumps a foot into the air.

He has been caught, because Carlos is looking. He knows. He stares at it, in his drunken haze, the tented denim of Lewis' crotch that one hand can barely conceal. Lewis' jaw drops as his cock jerks in his briefs, a bit of precome leaking out.

Carlos stares at it, unblinking, for a few more seconds. His thick dark locks cascading over his forehead. And then he must realize what he's done, what he's doing, because he slowly brings his head up and looks at Lewis' face. They lock eyes and Carlos' entire head, neck, and chest flare up like he's embarrassed. Horrified. Seconds away from an aneurysm. They're both caught, it seems. Carlos snaps out of it and looks towards the front window, his breath slightly off kilter, his face a mess of emotion. His hands shake a bit as they run up and down his thighs, like his palms are sweaty and he can't control it. And since Lewis Hamilton is a fucking mess, he gives up. He just... gives up. Instead of thinking it through, or looking into it further, Lewis reaches for his belt. In three seconds flat, it's undone and open.