Work Text:
“Fuck,” Lando muttered to himself. He had an incoming call from a potential client; they had spent several days trying to schedule this goddamn phone call, and Lando hadn’t realized that he had accidentally double-booked himself.
He weighed the pros and cons quickly. Yes, the sponsorship would be an excellent opportunity for Quadrant Design and Product Development - and Max was keen on this partnership - but the personal chef was going to arrive for an interview any minute, and Lando really, really fucking needed to eat.
He groaned, then he was struck with an idea. Max!
Lando answered the phone, “Hey! This is Lando Norris. Thanks so much for agreeing to this chat.”
“Lando, good to talk to ya-”
“Sorry to interrupt, but could you- could you hold on one second?”
“Er- sure-”
“Great!”
Lando’s buzzer rang. He groaned again, raking a hand through his hair, and walked to the intercom. He pressed the button with his left hand while texting Max with his right. “Come on up,” he said into the intercom. Then, to Max:
- fewtrell, i can’t do the call with ricciardo. pulling you in.
He conferenced in Max, who - to his credit, which Lando was very hesitant to afford him normally - picked up immediately. “Daniel! Sorry about that. Listen, something just came up, but I’m leaving you in the hands of my number two guy!”
“Mr. Ricciardo, pleasure to meet you-”
“Have fun!” Lando said, then left the conference call. He took a single deep breath, and not a moment too soon, because just then he heard a knock at the door. Fourth personal chef in as many months…Jesus, Lando hoped this guy would stick.
Lando marched to the door and opened it - and had to keep his jaw from dropping at the most handsome man he had ever seen, tanned and gorgeous in a perfectly ironed three-piece suit and a big smile framed by scruff and dark, perfectly coiffed hair that fell just past his earlobe.
“Mr. Lando Norris?” said the incredibly attractive man who wanted to cook for Lando. (He said his name like Lanno. Je-sus.)
Lando grinned and stuck out his hand.
“At your service. Or, well, maybe you’re at mine. Carlos, yeah?”
Carlos smiled and shook Lando Norris’ hand firmly. He had heard of his company, but not much of the man himself other than via referral from the couple whom he had most recently worked for. It was hard to believe this twenty-five-year-old ran one of the quickest growing something-or-the-other companies in England, but that was the way the world worked, apparently. And this literal millionaire was in sweats and a massive hoodie. Carlos supposed that, too, was how the world worked: the chef in a suit, and the client in, basically, pajamas.
“If all goes well, yes, I’ll be at your service,” Carlos chuckled. Lando stepped aside and motioned for Carlos to follow him in. Carlos looked around as politely as he could; it was a huge penthouse apartment, with floor to ceiling windows and sparse furniture. What wasn’t sparse was the office they had just walked past - there were at least three monitors at the workstation (who needed that many monitors?!) and what looked like sound-proofed walls.
Lando took him to the living room. It was a fairly dreary day in London, but that didn’t take away from the spectacular views. Carlos whistled and Lando smiled. “Yeah. Pretty sick, huh?”
“Beautiful,” Carlos agreed. Lando gestured for Carlos to sit in a somewhat squeaky, black leather armchair. Carlos wasn’t crazy about the current trend of minimalist interior design - though he wasn’t sure if Lando’s apartment was minimal or neglected.
Though, upon reflection, that was precisely why Carlos didn’t like minimalism.
“You might hear my phone go off a bunch,” Lando said, slightly apologetically, “just ignore it. It’s nothing important. Or, well, not as important as this, anyway.”
Carlos raised his eyebrows in surprise. Lando grinned kind of sheepishly.
“I’m rubbish at remembering to eat. S’why I need a personal chef. Bad enough not remembering to eat - and then I don’t have food in the place. Then there’s no point going to the gym, because I’m not eating so-”
“No gains,” Carlos said, nodding. Lando nodded too.
“Anyway. You worked for George and Alex, yeah?”
“Yes. They were very nice. I cooked for them for, mm, almost two years? Until they had to move.”
“They told me it was the only reason they let you go, that they had to leave,” Lando said.
Carlos tried to open the portfolio he had brought with him to give Lando his resume, but Lando shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay. Don’t need the formal stuff. I trust Alex and George, like, a lot. If they recommended you, that’s good enough for me. This is more- well, I guess this is more for you than for me.”
As Carlos mulled this surprising line of conversation over, Lando continued: “George and Alex said they offered to pay to have you move with them. You said no. To moving to Thailand. Why?”
Carlos laughed a little distractedly. “Yes,” he said, “I, ah, spent too long trying to come to London to leave. Also, too far from my family.”
“Even for a stable job?”
“Even for a stable job. Er. Mr. Norris-”
“Lando.”
“...Lando. What do you mean this is more for me than for you?”
Lando sighed and curled up in the much more comfortable - and, from the looks of it, rumpled-with-use - sectional that he had chosen to sit in. “I’m- well, I’m kind of a pain in the arse to cook for,” Lando said, rather bashfully.
“O-kay,” Carlos said, frowning. He leaned forward in his seat. “What makes you say that?”
“Er. My past experiences with personal chefs. Mutual displeasure. That’s a business term of art, by the way,” Lando chuckled. “Much more polite than saying they couldn’t stand my taste, and I couldn’t stand their food.”
“I see,” Carlos murmured. Well, he’d had two incredibly picky sisters growing up. He wasn’t cowed. “Well, that does not make me feel worried. Can I ask you what you like and don’t like?”
Granted, Lando did immediately launch into quite a long list of dislikes; Carlos opened up his portfolio, pulled the pen from his breast pocket, and began rapidly taking notes. Prominently: fish, seafood, or any variations thereof. Absolutely a no. Nothing overwhelming to the senses. Some textural dislikes. The likes were, granted, somewhat basic and perhaps, to some chefs, limiting.
To some lesser chefs, anyway. Carlos’ mind was already churning with ideas. He looked up from his pen and pad; Lando was watching him somewhat nervously. He had brought his thumb to his mouth and was chewing at it slightly. Carlos wanted to smile; he was just twenty-five and had so much responsibility on his shoulders.
“Ay, this is nothing,” Carlos said honestly. “I can get creative. I prefer it, anyway.”
Lando dropped his thumb. He smiled a little, and Carlos was intrigued to note the slight note of hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Can I ask one more question?”
“Yeah, mate, ‘course.”
“Are you open to expanding your palate and tastes?”
Lando laughed. He didn’t answer. Carlos waited a few seconds, then said, “Um. That was a serious question. Sorry.”
“Oh. Shit. No. I’m sorry. Also, uh…no. To your question.”
Carlos made a note, then nodded. “That is okay.”
“That’s not…” Lando paused to search for the words, “like…offensive? To your profession?”
Carlos laughed and tucked his pen back into his breast pocket. “My profession is to feed people who don’t have time to do it themselves. You will be surprised - I am mostly not able to be creative. This gives me a lot to think about, and that is my favorite part of cooking.”
Lando’s smile well and truly hit his eyes. He looked very pleased. “That’s awesome to hear. Seriously. I’m starving.”
Carlos burst out laughing. Lando stood and said, “You’ve got the job. My previous chefs came in once a week. Is that going to be the same with you?”
That was the quickest job interview Carlos had ever experienced. Carlos stood; as he did, he made a mental note to send George and Alex an email thanking them for the referral. “I like to come in twice a week, if that is okay,” Carlos said. “Especially for people who work from home.”
“Ah, sick, fresh food throughout the week,” Lando said eagerly. He motioned for Carlos to follow him again and Carlos did. Lando was leading him to the kitchen - a huge space, stocked with incredible, top-of-the-line appliances that made Carlos’ mouth water, but that depressingly looked quite unused. “Groceries?”
Carlos went to inspect the food processor. It looked industrial. “I go once a week, but I will run out to get groceries if you decide you want something special. I went shopping with Alex and George the first time, but then went by myself after. I’m sure you’re busy-”
“No, s’fine, I’d like to come,” Lando said quickly, surprising Carlos. Carlos smiled. Lando shrugged and said, “I like grocery stores. They remind me of my mum and dad. Just doesn’t make sense to go when I don’t know what I’m looking for, you know?”
Carlos smiled and nodded. “Okay. You can decide if you want to keep it going after the first time.”
Lando shuffled a little. Carlos cocked his head at Lando. Lando said, “Er. I wasn’t joking about starving.”
Carlos burst out laughing, and Lando grinned a little lopsidedly. “Okay, um, let me see what you have in the kitchen, eh? I’ll see if I can come up with something.”
Lando looked so relieved. Dios, when did he last eat? “I- shit, sorry, I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss,” Lando said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and groaned. “Shit. Okay. Uh.”
He motioned wildly at Carlos and said, “The place is yours. Do whatever you want. Uh. You can use my car if you want- keys by the- dammit, Fewtrell, I’m fucking coming- by the front door! Sorry! See you in a bit!”
And then he ran to his office as he yelled into his AirPods, “Jesus, Max- Oh! Hey, Daniel! Didn’t realize you-”
The office door closed behind him, and Carlos was alone in the massive kitchen, feeling bemused. He set about searching through the cupboards, pantry, and fridge. There was very little to work with - but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Carlos smiled.
He loved a good challenge.
Carlos was proud of what he had come up with. It was basically a glorified grilled cheese sandwich, with three different types of cheeses, and picked through with thinly sliced onion and eggplant (he made sure to obscure those within the cheese, just in case Lando didn’t like the taste of the vegetables), and some tomato soup out of a can he’d found that he reinforced with actual tomatoes that looked like they were on the cusp of going bad. He’d tossed some feta and parsley into the soup to add creaminess and earthiness. It tasted good.
He hoped Lando would like it. Just then-
“Oh, shit, that smells amazing!”
Carlos smiled and turned to face Lando, who must have padded over too quietly for Carlos to notice. He had gotten rid of his AirPods and was trying to peer around Carlos to catch a glimpse of the food. Carlos swiped the back of a spoon against the plate; the resultant smear of tomato soup looked quite classy. He plopped a sprig of parsley in the center as garnish, and placed the grilled cheese sandwich on an empty part of the plate. He had already poured the soup into a bowl. He placed both dishes on the island and said, “Voila.”
Lando was staring at the food with undisguised hunger. “Can I-”
“It’s your home,” Carlos laughed. Lando grinned and fell upon the food. Carlos wanted to offer to get him a chair, but he decided against it; he had been a chef long enough to know that people that ravenous shouldn’t be interrupted. So, he watched, pleased, as Lando ate; then, lest he appear creepy, began washing the pot he’d used for soup.
Eventually, he heard a noise. He looked over his shoulder; Lando was pounding his fist lightly against the countertop. He looked absolutely euphoric. Carlos grinned.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” Lando moaned. Carlos laughed - he hadn’t expected the CEO and founder of Quadrant to be so-
Well. Cute.
Carlos grabbed Lando a glass of water. Lando took it gratefully and drank it down. “Thank you. For the water and the food. Super good. Did I mention you were hired?”
Carlos laughed. “You did, yes.”
“Okay, well, you’re like, super hired.”
Carlos grinned and leaned against the island. “I have never been super hired before.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” Lando said. Then, “When were you thinking of getting groceries?”
“Oh, I was about to pull up some recipes and make a grocery list. Maybe half an hour? You don’t have to- if you’re busy-”
“Nah, I want to,” Lando said. He was looking down at his phone. “I’ve got some nonessential calls I can pass off to other people. Might need to take a quick call on the way there, though.”
“I can drive, if you would like,” Carlos offered. In truth, he was always wary of anyone driving while talking on the phone, Bluetooth earphones notwithstanding.
“Can you?” Lando said. Then he grinned, “Sweet. Yeah. That’d make my life easier. I can shoot off some emails, then I’ll be all yours.”
There was a beat.
“For the, uh, groceries. I mean.”
Carlos smiled and nodded. “I will be here whenever you are ready to go.”
Lando nodded, waved a little at Carlos, then walked away. Carlos smiled wider. Lando had surprisingly rosy cheeks.
Carlos had just finished putting together the list of groceries when he heard Lando clap his hands loudly and yell, “Carlos? Let’s get this party started!”
Carlos snorted. Definitely twenty-five. He tucked his phone into his pocket and said, “Yes, I’m ready.”
Lando had changed into a different set of co-ords. He was wearing a better-fitting sweatshirt in a pale pink that suited him incredibly well, and matching sweatpants. His sneakers were white, adding to the pastel color palette.
He was about to reach for the car keys Lando had mentioned when Lando said, “Er- the apron?”
“Hm? Ay- of course,” Carlos laughed. Mentally, he shook his head as he pulled the apron off and jogged back to hang the apron where he had found it. He hadn’t made that mistake in a while. When he walked back, Lando said:
“There. Now you’re not overdressed at all.”
Carlos chuckled and retrieved the car keys. He let Lando lead the way; he had no idea where the garage was. As they stood inside the elevator, Lando suddenly glanced at Carlos as though struck with a thought.
“Wait- you don’t wear that every time you cook, do you?”
“Not when I’m cooking for myself,” Carlos said.
“Well. Duh. But that means you wear it all the time when you’re working!”
“That is correct, yes.”
Lando stared at him. “Why?” Lando asked. “I literally made my own company so that I wouldn’t have to wear suits all the time.”
Carlos laughed. Actually, Lando had been making him laugh quite a bit. “I don’t know,” he mused. “Maybe it is what you said. I do not wear a suit when I am cooking for myself. But my job is also cooking. I think it helps create a distinction between cooking for pleasure and cooking for work, no?”
Lando thought about that. He walked out of the elevator; Carlos followed. They didn’t speak again until they had gotten to his car - a beautiful sports car that looked like it was straight out of a James Bond movie. Carlos whistled. Lando smiled.
“Yeah. I love her. Don’t get to take her out nearly enough - and I guess I’m not really taking her out now, either. Uh. You’re a decent driver, right?”
“Considered a Formula 1 career,” Carlos admitted. Why was he telling Lando that? But Lando’s eyes brightened gorgeously.
“Yeah?! No kidding! I was a karting champion when I was a kid.”
Carlos raised his eyebrows. That was a crazy coincidence. “Yes? Huh. Must have missed each other on the circuit.”
“Yeah, my family stopped being able to afford it when I got a little older,” Lando said. Carlos nodded; he knew this story well. He also understood that this meant Lando’s money was likely new to his family. Carlos unlocked the car and slipped in. It smelt new. He adjusted the car seat and mirrors as Lando slipped in as well.
While Carlos backed up - ginger on the accelerator; the car was very responsive, and Carlos was even happier for his decision not to let Lando drive if he was going to be on the phone while doing so - Lando resumed their earlier conversation.
“Don’t you get to cook for pleasure while you’re on a job?”
Carlos mulled that question over. “I think,” he said slowly, eying the GPS; Lando had fed in where they were heading while Carlos backed up. It was, surprisingly, not a very fancy grocery store. Though given Lando’s background, that perhaps made sense. “It can depend.”
“On?”
“On what I’m cooking, definitely, but also who I am cooking for. Some people are more pleasurable to cook for than others.”
“Oh.”
Silence, for a few seconds. Lando was typing into his phone. Carlos assumed he had lost interest in the conversation; fair enough. He was already being quite courteous by even engaging Carlos in conversation.
But then, Lando said - so quiet that Carlos had to strain to hear him - “I don’t think you’ll find cooking for me very pleasurable, then.”
“Ay, don’t say that,” Carlos said, with slightly more heat than he had intended. He moderated his voice. “We have only just started working together. And between you and me, I am a very good chef. Definitely better than whoever you hired before.”
Carlos saw Lando grin a little from the corner of his eye. “Yeah? That’s a bold claim. You don’t even know who I hired.”
“No,” Carlos admitted, “but I still believe I am better.”
Lando grinned wider. “I hate fake-humble. I’m glad you think you’re a very good chef.”
And as Lando swore and excused himself to take the call he had mentioned earlier, Carlos found himself smiling as he drove.
Grocery shopping once a week did, in fact, become a routine. Lando was an incredibly busy man, but he somehow always managed to be around when Carlos walked in through the door. Lando had given him the spare key that first day and had insisted on an incredibly generous salary. He had winked and told Carlos, “I build in the severance pay.”
That made Carlos surprisingly upset, but he chose not to say anything. It was, after all, an extremely generous salary. Lando had also told Carlos, while they were at the grocery store, to pick up anything he wanted to keep around for his own purposes. “I know I eat like some American frat boy, so you don’t have to stick to my boring menu.”
“Ay,” Carlos had said, feeling chagrined, “I don’t cook boring food.”
Lando had just grinned. Carlos had grown to really like his grin, the way it wrinkled his eyes, showed off his gap tooth, quirked up his ears.
But Lando really was insanely busy. During his second week there, Carlos had gone nearly the whole day without seeing Lando past their initial hello. It was almost 4pm and Carlos had to leave. He had frowned to himself then knocked on Lando’s door. When Lando opened the door, he looked exhausted. Carlos grew concerned.
“Dios. Are you okay, Lando?”
“What? Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. What do you need me for?”
Carlos blinked. “Nothing. I just- I’m about to leave, and, um, you have not eaten today.”
Lando stared at him. Then the realization dawned. “Shit. You’re right. Shit. Thank you. Shit. Sorry.”
“Lando, why do you say sorry?” Carlos demanded. He shrugged on his coat - it was a chilly March evening - and said, “Eat. Please. Or I will feel very neglected.”
Lando laughed, and it briefly erased the exhaustion from his face. “Can’t have you feeling neglected. Thanks, Carlos. I’ll see you next week?”
“If you don’t starve to death,” Carlos muttered. Lando grinned.
“I need to get one of those apps that tells you to eat.”
“Or ask your mother to remind you,” Carlos suggested. Lando made a face.
“Jesus, no. She’ll come up to stay with me.”
“But at least you will be alive, no?”
“Physically, anyway. Emotionally-” he struck a tragic pose, a perfect pantomime of pathos, “I’ll be an empty shell.”
Carlos rolled his eyes. “Okay, Sir Empty Shell. Good night.”
“G’night!” Lando said. Carlos walked to the front door and opened it. He lingered, briefly, pretending to straighten his coat; from the corner of his eye, he watched Lando make a beeline for the kitchen. Satisfied, Carlos let himself out.
The next morning, in the middle of his own coffee and breakfast, despite his better judgment, he felt compelled to text Lando.
- Eat breakfast.
Almost instantly, Carlos received a response.
- Thx mom.
Then, a few minutes later, a picture of a half-eaten cheese and mushroom omelette. At the edge of the frame was Lando’s hand making a thumbs-up gesture.
Yes. Carlos felt very satisfied.
Carlos had always cooked to music. AirPods were, for all their faults, revolutionary in his work. He could listen to whatever he wanted without fear of getting his earphones tangled on something stupid, like the handle of a pot or even the knife he was using. There was always the risk of the AirPods falling into some broth but that had, thankfully, not yet happened.
But at one point, Lando nearly scared the shit out of Carlos by being there when Carlos turned around. He had nearly dropped the dish of Spaghetti Bolognese he’d just finished cooking.
“Jesucristo- Lando!”
Lando collapsed into peals of laughter. Carlos carefully put the dish away and clutched at his heart. “Dios. You can’t do this to me, Lando! It’s your food on the line!”
Lando was still laughing, but he managed to say, “It’s not my fault you had your AirPods in! Shit- your face-”
He burst into giggles again while Carlos composed himself. He realized, at that point, that this could have been a professional blunder; he had been used to cooking for people while they weren’t around. But with his client actually in the same home while Carlos was cooking, he needed to be more mindful.
He sighed. “No, this is my fault. I should have at least one of these things out, no?”
Lando took a deep breath. Then he said, more serious, “I mean, I guess? I also wanted to freak you out a little. That was my bad though, you could have actually hurt yourself.”
Carlos smiled a little. Then Lando continued: “You know, if you want, you can just connect to the home speaker system. I won’t hear it in my office.”
It was a nice offer, but Carlos shook his head, “No, no, you won’t like my music when you do hear it.”
Lando rolled his eyes. “Carlos, c’mon. You’re here twice a week, all day. You might as well make yourself comfortable, yeah?”
“I am very comfortable,” Carlos insisted, but Lando just walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Carlos froze a little.
“Mate. I’m serious. And that goes for everything around here. Whatever you need to do to make yourself comfortable-”
Lando plucked at the shoulder of Carlos’ shirt; he usually removed the suit jacket for actual cooking. “Y’know. As comfortable as you can be in this shit.”
“Very comfortable,” Carlos said, gently swatting Lando’s hand away. Lando laughed.
“Connect to the system. Password’s 7-8-2-3.”
Then Lando walked away, and it occurred to Carlos he didn’t know why Lando was trying to get his attention in the first place.
Still, Carlos did connect to the sound system. And when Lando came back out again, he reacted about as predictably as Carlos had expected. As Carlos sighed, Lando exclaimed, “Jazz? Are you listening to fucking jazz?”
“Lando,” Carlos groaned. Lando dissolved into laughter again.
“Jazz? Fucking- Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald- jazz?”
“I like jazz,” Carlos muttered.
“Yeah, you and every seventy-year-old out there. How old are you, Carlos?”
Carlos mumbled, “I’m only thirty. I’m young. Other young people like jazz.”
Lando snickered. “‘Young people,’ he says. Like a seventy-year-old.”
“This is why I said I would not use the sound system, eh?” Carlos said, blushing slightly. “I can go back to my-”
“No, no,” Lando said firmly. Then, with a cheeky grin spreading across his face, he said, “I need to learn how to be culturally agile with old people.”
Carlos forced himself not to laugh. He kept his face and voice stern, and said, “I have to be respectful because you are my boss, but I would kick you out of this kitchen if it was mine.”
Lando grinned. “Yes, I am your boss. And no, you can’t.”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, that’s the spirit.”
Before Lando knew it, several weeks had passed with Carlos as his personal chef - officially longer than any of his previous hires. Lando had never felt this well-fed, especially not once Carlos’d started texting him reminders to eat throughout the week. It was nice, having a personal chef who was so invested in Lando’s literal survival. To prove that he had eaten, Lando would send Carlos reviews of all his meals. It was a sophisticated system, really. There were three criteria: taste, texture, and presentation.
Taste was always a 10/10. Texture was mostly high as well. Presentation, on the other hand.
- a 0? A 0?!?!?! Lando!
- mate its in tupperware. dunno what you expect
- i expect u to take it out and put it in a plate!!!
- wtf no that’s not efficient
- then dont rank presentation
- nah
- lando! U have to HONOUR ur food
- what sort of gwyneth paltrow shit is this
- who???
- nvm. wdym honour.
- put it in a fucking plate. make it look nice. like i do for u.
- ok 1st of all if i could do that myself i wouldn’t need you. also i’m not doing that sauce smear shit
- then dont rank presentation
- make me
- im quitting
- ok ok i wont rank presentation
- :)
Carlos would take the tube to Lando’s penthouse on Mondays and Thursdays. On Mondays, Lando and Carlos would go grocery shopping together. It had become a reliable routine; Lando blocked the time out on his Google Calendar every week. It was odd; the experience centered him. And he made it clear that he wouldn’t answer the phone in that time unless it was something really dire. Like, life-threateningly dire.
Max had only tried to pretend something was that dire once. And after Lando had chewed him out for it, he’d never tried anything similar since.
And anyway, Carlos was so fucking nice. He was easy to talk to, and Lando loved trying to make him laugh. He also genuinely gave a shit about Lando. Lando wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over that, really.
One Monday in early May, Lando chucked a bottle of milk towards Carlos towards the end of their shopping trick. He hadn’t meant to; he’d grabbed it and it was sticky, so Lando made a disgusted noise and chucked it towards the cart. Or, well, he’d tried to chuck it towards the cart. Instead, he had chucked it at Carlos, who tried to catch it - and, unfortunately, succeeded. At which point, the bottle cap fell off.
Lando gasped and covered his mouth. There was milk all down the front of Carlos’ perfect suit. Carlos glanced down and blinked.
“Well. That is embarrassing,” he mused.
“Oh my god- oh my god- Carlos! I’m so sorry, oh my god!”
Carlos laughed, heedless of the people who were eyeing them. He pulled a little packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket and started dabbing at the milk. “It’s fine, I’ll just take it to the dry cleaners later.”
“No- absolutely not!” Lando said, aghast. He grabbed the tissues from Carlos’ hands and started wiping at Carlos’ jacket and shirt himself. He was mortified. “This is my fault. I’ll get it cleaned for you.”
“Lando-”
“No, shut up, let me fix this.”
When a somewhat bored looking teenager came by carrying a bucket and mop, Lando reached for his wallet and thrust a wad of cash at him. “Here- thanks, mate. Sorry.”
The teenager looked down at the cash with wide eyes. Lando muttered to himself and took the cart from Carlos. “Look- we’re almost done. I’ll check out, and then we can go to the dry cleaners?”
Somehow, Carlos still looked amused. “I will need something else to wear in the meantime, Lando.”
Fuck. “Um- you can borrow my clothes. When we get back. O-or I could buy you something- a new suit-”
Carlos’ eyes widened. Then he said, “No. You will not spend more money! It was an accident.”
Lando sighed. The milk was the last thing they needed to get, anyway. “Fine. We’ll check out and go back home?”
“Okay.”
So they did, Lando apologizing profusely the whole time, and Carlos brushing his apologies aside as though his suit wasn’t going to smell like yogurt for the rest of eternity.
Lando hadn’t really looked to see what clothes he was handing Carlos. Carlos took whatever Lando had given him gratefully and gone to the spare bedroom to change. For some reason, Lando felt compelled to stick around and wait for him. He gnawed at his pretty fucked-up thumb. It was a bad habit; he didn’t intend to give it up anytime soon.
But when Carlos stepped back out wearing Lando’s clothes, he had forgotten all about his bad habit. It was hard not to stare. He had only ever seen Carlos in utterly formal clothing and perfect hair. But seeing him now, in a mint hoodie and pale beige sweats, incongruous with his nice oxfords, his hair all rumpled and soft-
Lando shivered.
“What do you think?” Carlos asked. He was still smiling. Lando struggled to come up with something to say. He shrugged a little and said, “I’m glad they fit.”
Carlos didn’t question it. Lando was relieved. It was worse, somehow, when Carlos set about putting the groceries away, and then even worse when he started cooking.
He was already comfortable in Lando’s apartment. Lando knew that for certain. But now, he looked comfortable too. Cozy.
At home.
Lando swallowed painfully.
“I- um. I’m going to take a call.”
“Of course. Hey, thanks again, eh? For the dry cleaning and clothes?”
God, he was smiling so brightly. God, he was so- Carlos.
Lando just smiled and nodded, then he turned around and, as he headed back to his office, pretended to take a call.
One day, as Carlos was wrapping up labeling Tupperware (he had started including presentation tips for meals he was particularly insistent on being honored), Lando joined him in the kitchen. He looked a little anxious.
“Everything okay?” Carlos asked. He frowned and set aside his marker. Lando fidgeted.
“Yeah. Yeah. Just- kind of a long day.”
“Every day is a long day for you,” Carlos said. Lando smiled a little.
“I guess. Um. You know how my parents were supposed to come visit?”
“Yeah…”
“They ended up having to cancel the trip.”
Carlos winced in empathy. Lando had been telling him about this visit for a while now. He had been really looking forward to it. His parents had settled in Belgium once Lando had started making serious money. He hadn’t seen them since Christmas, and it was June now.
“Ay, Lando,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
“Why’re you sorry?”
Lando gestured towards the island. “I’d asked you to make all this extra food for them and now-”
Carlos shrugged. “I’ll freeze the extras, Lando. I don’t care.”
But Lando didn’t look assuaged. He toyed with the neck of his jumper, then said, “I’m- honestly, I’m feeling kinda shitty.”
Carlos’ heart broke for Lando. He’d never seen him this genuinely sad. Quietly, Carlos asked, “Can I do anything…?”
Lando tightened his grip on his jumper then, stammering, said, “Could you- could- would you mind…staying for dinner?”
Carlos was not expecting that. He must have been silent for a little too long because Lando quickly said, “You don’t- have to, just- you know. If you want-”
“Lando,” Carlos said, his stomach twisting, “yes.”
“You don’t- yes?”
Jesus. Jesus. He looked so hopeful. Carlos nodded fervently. “Of course, Lando.”
When Lando smiled again, wide and so big that it broke Carlos’ heart, Carlos felt the reckless urge to hug him and make sure he never stopped smiling again.
Carlos had prepared steak, mashed potatoes, and grilled vegetables for that particular day. He told Lando which meals to freeze and, while Lando did that, he properly readied plates for their dinner. Lando shook his head at what he called “the faff with the sauce,” and Carlos just barked at him to keep packing things away in the freezer. Lando snickered. Carlos smiled to himself.
They sat down to eat dinner at the actual dining table, not just the kitchen island where they had occasionally eaten quick lunches together. It made no sense to sit on either end of the table, so they sat across from one another. Carlos suggested a wine pairing, and Lando made a face.
“Wine? Mate…”
Carlos rolled his eyes and pulled out a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. That satisfied Lando.
And then he began eating. And then he began complimenting Carlos.
The problem with Carlos Sainz was that he knew he was a damn good chef. He just- didn’t necessarily enjoy being told as much. And with Lando…Dios…
“Carlos,” Lando announced, after a bite of mashed potatoes, “I will kill you before you stop cooking for me.”
Carlos didn’t know whether to blush, run away, or burst out laughing. Or:
“Carlos, what the fuck. This is your best yet. So fucking good.”
Carlos fidgeted in his seat. He tried to take the compliment graciously. But Lando’s cheeks were so red, and his face was alight with pleasure, and Carlos couldn’t not squirm.
And then Lando moaned and Carlos nearly broke his kneecaps against the dining table. He found himself praying that Lando would finish eating soon. And he did. And then he had the audacity to grin at Carlos, with that fucking gap tooth, and all those birth marks, and all those curls, and say:
“Not too bad. Could have been presented better though.”
And this time, Carlos had a decent excuse to leave the table, feigning disgust. He took his plate to the kitchen and, before Lando could follow him in, grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths.
Pull yourself fucking together, idiota.
And he did too. When Lando came into the kitchen to help clean up, they laughed and joked and talked like usual. Then Lando walked Carlos to the door, and his smile turned shy again. And he said, “Carlos?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. I- this meant a lot to me. We can do this more, you know. Just have dinner and hang out.”
Carlos should have said no. Should have asserted boundaries. Should have said that this was a special occasion and that Lando shouldn’t expect more.
But Carlos Sainz was not a fucking liar, unfortunately, so instead he said, “Lando, of course. I would really like that.”
And Lando’s eyes crinkled, and his eyelashes. “See you Monday?” he said, and it was breathy and musical and lovely.
“Have a good weekend, my friend,” Carlos murmured, like he wasn’t entranced. Then Lando smiled and slowly started closing the door, and Carlos had to force himself to leave. Because if he didn’t, he would stay there, staring like an idiot, until Monday.
“Can you teach me how to cook?”
Carlos nearly spat out his espresso. It was a beautiful summer day, and Carlos had taken to having an espresso outside before he began cooking for the day. Lando frequently joined him, usually to take calls. Carlos lazily realized he didn’t actually know what Lando did for work. He was content with that.
And then Lando hit him with that question.
Carlos stared at Lando, wounded. “Lando,” he gasped “ay, and what about my job security, huh? Is Quadrant expanding into cooking?”
Lando burst out laughing. He nudged Carlos’ foot with his own and said, “No! I won’t let Quadrant expand. I’m already on my last fucking nerve.”
Carlos smiled a little. That much was evident. He had suggested Lando consider getting an actual personal assistant. Lando had laughed it off, then immediately frowned thoughtfully. They were now interviewing PAs for Lando. Carlos was hopeful it would lessen Lando’s immense burden doing- whatever it was he did.
“And anyway,” Lando said, plucking Carlos’ espresso from his hands. He took a sip of it, then made a face, and gave it back to Carlos. Carlos took it and forced his fingers not to shake. Lando liked his espresso with a lot of milk and sugar. Why did he take a sip of Carlos’ espresso knowing that wasn’t how Carlos drank his? “We’ve been over this. I am never firing you.”
Carlos laughed. “Then why do you want to learn how to cook?”
“Well, just because I’m not going to fire you doesn’t mean you won’t leave at some point.”
The thought made Carlos’ throat constrict. “Always you say these things without thinking,” Carlos muttered. He plopped a hand onto Lando’s head and ruffled. Lando yelped and batted Carlos’ hand away, laughing. “But yes. I agree. Cooking is a good life skill. I will teach you.”
Lando grinned. That day was far too busy to begin, but once every other week or so, Lando would find some time or the other to take “lessons” with Carlos. It was easier once Lando finally hired his PA. Carlos got Lando his own apron, a small gesture that somehow caused Lando endless delight - and Carlos endless consternation.
“How the fuck do you tie this thing?” Lando muttered. In fairness, it needed to be tied quite firmly, front and back. Carlos didn’t half-ass aprons.
“Hold on, let me-”
Carlos stood behind Lando and reached around him to grab the ties. He adjusted the straps so that the apron was tight around Lando’s torso, then crossed the ties around the back, then the front, then back again, where he tied it in a secure bow.
Carlos swallowed. Had he realized how small Lando’s waist was before? Had he felt the urge to- hold Lando by the waist before?
“Th-there,” Carlos said, slightly thickly. “That’s how you do it properly.”
Lando smoothed a hand over the front of the apron, then looked over his shoulder to grin at Carlos. “Maybe I will diversify.”
“Not so fast, Lando,” Carlos warned. “I still cook your food. I can still poison my competition, eh?”
Lando turned to face Carlos and said, somewhat smugly, “Then you’ll be out of the best damn job - and boss - of your life.”
“I hate you,” Carlos said, even though Lando was right. Lando just grinned. Suddenly, his hands thrust forward (Carlos forced himself not to gasp), and he reached around Carlos’ waist to grab the ties at the back of his apron and pull them loose. Carlos yelped and tried to dance away from Lando, but Lando had a good grip on him, and they both nearly tumbled to the floor, laughing hysterically.
In August, on a particularly sticky evening that made Carlos immensely grateful for the AC in Lando’s apartment, Carlos stayed late. He had come up with a slightly risky recipe, and as much as he was certain Lando would like it, he was loathe to assume as much. He wouldn’t pull a fast one on Lando. Never. So, it was easier to wait until Lando was done chatting with his PA to ask for his opinion. Carlos wondered why he was so nervous. He had never made anything Lando had hated. And he had been cooking for Lando nearly half a year at this point.
Still. That didn’t mean it was impossible.
Lando’s office door opened, and the PA walked out, looking slightly harried. Carlos smiled at him, but he just looked at Carlos mistrustingly. Carlos frowned. That PA had always been kind of rude to Carlos. He didn’t understand it.
But then Lando walked out after the PA and smiled at Carlos and Carlos forgot all about what’s-his-name’s grudge. Carlos smiled back at Lando.
“I’m leaving,” the PA announced, somewhat edgily. Lando startled back to attention.
“Oh! Yeah, thanks for taking notes on that meeting. You don’t have to come by tomorrow.”
And the PA left. Carlos thought he had shut the door a little louder than was strictly necessary. Lando shrugged a little. “Dunno why he insisted on coming over to take notes. Zoom exists for a reason.”
Carlos laughed and motioned Lando over. “Here, I want you to try something.”
“Oh, yes, this is my favorite game,” Lando said. Carlos smiled, somewhat tentative.
“Well, this is something new,” Carlos said, slowly. Lando raised his eyebrows.
“Carlos…you’re scaring me.”
“It’s…maybe got…a lot of crunch in it.”
Lando looked slightly pained. Crunchy or toothsome elements in something otherwise soft was one of Lando’s least favorite textures to eat. “Carlos,” he groaned, and Carlos held his hands up.
“I know. I know. Textures. I know. But please. I think you will really like the muffins, okay? You can have them for breakfast! Dessert for breakfast!”
“What’s the crunch,” Lando grumbled. Carlos wanted to touch the corner of his mouth.
“Poppy seeds and pepitas.”
“What do those words mean-”
“Lando,” Carlos pleaded, “if you hate them, I will take the muffins home with me. I promise. But when have I ever made you anything you hate, eh?”
Lando grumbled something that sounded vaguely like “never.” Carlos nodded with satisfaction.
“Exactly. Will you trust me?”
Lando looked up into Carlos’ eyes. Carlos smiled encouragingly at him. Lando sighed and nodded, and Carlos exulted aloud. He grabbed one of the muffins from the muffin tray and handed it to Lando. Lando stared at the muffin mistrustfully. Then he reached for it, and stopped his hand short, and started giggling hysterically, nervously.
“Oh my god. What are you making me eat!”
“Ay, Lando, come on. Try a little. Vamos, I believe in you.”
“Carlos,” he whined, so Carlos broke off a piece of the muffin and held it out to him.
“Come on. Just this bit. Yes? Please?”
He sought out Lando’s eyes. “Look at me,” Carlos said. “You don’t even have to look at it. Okay?”
And Lando kept his eyes on Carlos. And Lando, slowly, hesitantly, opened his mouth. And Carlos held the little piece of muffin to Lando’s lips and watched as Lando gingerly closed his mouth around the morsel. For the barest, barest second, Lando’s lips touched the tip of Carlos’ finger. It sent a bolt of electricity through Carlos. But he cast the thrill aside in favor of inspecting Lando’s reaction.
He chewed. He chewed. And then - miracle of all fucking miracles - he moaned. And Carlos nearly cried.
“I hate you,” Lando whispered, and Carlos just laughed joyously as Lando moaned again and said, “it’s so fucking good.”
“I told you! I told you! I have never made anything you hated!” Carlos cheered. Lando just grabbed the rest of the muffin from Carlos’ hands and ate it greedily, while Carlos whooped and danced in celebration.
“You’re a fucker, but you’re a genius,” Lando whispered, and Carlos had never heard better praise in his life.
Later, as he took the train home, smiling to himself, he remembered the petal-like softness of Lando’s lips against his fingers. His smile faded; Carlos touched his thumb and forefinger together and felt - could have sworn it, too - the residual electricity. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not while he showered, not while he brushed his teeth, not while he got into bed. And he certainly didn’t stop thinking about it when, in a moment of abject weakness, he touched himself that night and came with Lando’s name on his tongue.
- Carlos!!! Happy birthday!!
- oh god how did you find out
- also thank you!
- two very gay birdies just told me
- lando!!!!!!!
- stfu im allowed to say that ok
- what are ur plans??
- call w my parents and sisters then maybe go out for a nice dinner myself. seeing my friends to celebrate this weekend tho
- so ur not doing anything today?? like ur actual bday?
- other than taking myself out lol no
Carlos went about his morning routine. He brushed his teeth and cooked breakfast as he FaceTimed his parents. Mamá and Papá looked happy and healthy, and they missed him. He smiled. He missed them too. Then he saw a notification on his phone that made him freeze.
- can i come w u? we can have a small celebration. wherever u want. just tell me and i’ll be there
“Carletes?”
“Sorry,” Carlos said to his parents, a little shocked still, “you know Lando, my boss?”
“You can stop calling him ‘Lando, my boss,’” Mamá muttered. “You talk about him enough.”
Carlos blushed. “Well, he just asked if he could get dinner with me tonight. For my birthday.”
A slow, knowing smile crept across his mother’s face. “Interesting.”
“No, not interesting,” Carlos said, blushing even harder. “He is my-”
“He is Lando, my boss,” Mamá and Papá chorused, and Carlos sputtered and found an excuse to end the call as his parents giggled together and made off-color jokes at his expense.
But Carlos just sat and stared at his phone. Then, with shaky hands, he typed:
- u don’t have to
The reply was near instant.
- i WANT to. ur my friend. and weve never hung out outside my stupid apt.
Oh.
Carlos took a deep breath, trying to blunt the sharpness of his emotions.
- la vache argentee at 7? they have a dress code tho
- :)))) ok ill find some good shit to wear
That evening, when Lando approached La Vache Argentée (Carlos had gotten there early - nerves?), Carlos nearly fell over at the sight of him. He had only ever seen Lando in casual clothes, jeans at most, but this was Lando resplendent. He must have gotten a haircut; the sides of his hair were trimmed short, and his curls fell lovely and loose over his forehead. He wore a warm looking yet formal pale green sweater over a white button down, the collars crisp and starched, and a light, black blazer over top. As he drew nearer, Lando’s smile widened and he waved. Carlos forced himself to wave back.
This isn’t a date. He’s your boss, who happens to be friendly with you, and it’s just your birthday. Be fucking normal.
“Happy birthday, mate!” Lando said, and he hugged Carlos, and Carlos knew he would not, in fact, be fucking normal. Carlos hugged Lando back around his waist (he had no reason to have such a small waist), then pulled away quickly to smile at him.
“Thank you. Really. And for being here, Lando.”
“Don’t even thank me,” Lando said. Then he smiled a little shyly. “Honestly, means a lot that you’re willing to see your boss outside business hours.”
“Ay, Lando,” Carlos said, frowning. “I think we are past this, yes?”
Lando looked at him. Then he smiled more honestly. “I think so too,” Lando said, then they both walked into the restaurant.
Dinner was wonderful. Carlos helped Lando pick something off the menu that he knew Lando would like, and Lando was even game to try some wine with his meal. “Don’t think this means I’ll start pairing wine with my breakfast though,” Lando warned Carlos, and Carlos just said, “Thank god for that.”
Carlos laughed more than was probably acceptable at a fancy place like this. Lando giggled too, and they engaged in a brief, yet intense game of “grab the receipt” at the end of dinner. Carlos won. But Lando pouted so hard at Carlos that he ended up turning the receipt over to Lando with a deep sigh. Lando gleefully snatched it from him and pulled his credit card out with a flourish.
“I will get you back,” Carlos muttered. Lando just smirked at him. It was a very attractive expression.
As they left the restaurant, Lando nudged Carlos and said, “Can I drive you home?”
Wildly, Carlos wondered if they would be going back to Lando’s apartment. Then he realized what Lando was saying. “Oh, you don’t have to, I can take the tube-”
Lando frowned at Carlos and said, “I’ll drive you home. Unless you have somewhere to be or someone to see…?”
“Just you,” Carlos said, and hoped the night would mask his blush. Lando’s smile was too sweet for decency.
They ended up sitting in the car outside Carlos’ flat for nearly half an hour. Lando had a crazy busy week ahead, and he expressed gratitude for Carlos’ intervention regarding a PA. That made Carlos happy. The PA definitely didn’t like him, but as long as he made Lando’s life easier, Carlos didn’t really give a shit.
“How’re your mum and dad?”
“They’re good, yes. Missing me. I might go back for Christmas,” Carlos said. “Or they might visit soon.”
For some reason, Carlos felt compelled to say, “They really like you, by the way.”
Lando looked surprised - it was hard to tell exactly what his face was doing in the pale moonlight, shaded as they were in the car. “Yeah? What do they say?”
His voice sounded eager, pleased. “They make fun of me for calling you ‘Lando, my boss.’ My mother says I talk about you enough that I don’t need to say who you are-”
Carlos cleared his throat. He didn’t need to say all that. Lando just watched him. His eyes looked so…soft. He smiled. “That makes me happy,” Lando said, and it was heartbreaking in its simplicity.
“I should…let you go,” Carlos said. Then, awkwardly, he reached out to touch Lando’s wrist, resting on the steering wheel. Lando looked at the touch, then at him. His eyelids were heavy, lips slightly parted. Carlos longed to- Carlos just longed.
“Thank you. For tonight,” Carlos said, voice low. “I don’t really care about my birthday a lot. This was…special, to me.”
Lando, slightly haltingly, took the hand that Carlos was touching his wrist with and squeezed it. “I’m not very good with words,” Lando said, and the moon cast one side of his face in utter shadow. The part of his face thrown into relief seemed anxious, but also determined. “But- you’re my friend, Carlos. A really good friend. I don’t- I like spending time with you. I like making things special for you.”
“You’re very good at that,” Carlos whispered before he could even think about it. Lando’s eyes widened. Before Carlos could embarrass himself any further, he patted the dashboard in what he hoped was a conclusory manner and said, “I’ll see you on Thursday?”
Lando blinked, then said, “Oh. Yeah, obviously! Take care, mate. H-happy birthday.”
Carlos smiled at Lando, his friend, and left the car. He didn’t look back until he got indoors. Then, he looked out of a window. He couldn’t make out Lando’s face, but he thought he saw Lando slump over slightly before he drove off.
He didn’t trust a single thing he saw. Not that night. Not with his head obscured by moonlight and a friendship that he wanted to be so, so much more.
Something was wrong. Carlos barely saw Lando on Thursday. He frowned; they were supposed to continue cooking lessons that day. Instead, Carlos went about his usual routine, humming along to Nina Simone and making fresh meals for Lando. He had had a lot of free time since beginning work for Lando. He normally served as a personal chef for several households simultaneously. But Lando paid him so well he didn’t really need the extra work. Instead, he developed recipes, tried food at different restaurants, and even started writing again. It had been years since he was able to write freely. It felt good. And it was, frankly, all because of Lando.
When Carlos heard Lando’s office door creak open, he whipped around. “And where have you been,” he began, sternly, before trailing off. Lando looked exhausted. More exhausted than Carlos had ever seen him.
“Dios,” he breathed, then rushed to Lando. He touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers. Did Lando lean into the touch? “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Your parents-”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re fine, I’m fine. That bad, huh?” Lando chuckled, and it was a sad thing. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His curls were disheveled, and his clothes looked slept-in too.
“What happened?” Carlos asked again. Lando’s gaze dropped. He was trying to avoid Carlos’ eyes. “Lando?” Carlos insisted.
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Ay, what a stupid question,” Carlos muttered. “I won’t be mad. Okay?”
Lando sighed and said, “I fired my PA.”
“Lando!”
“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”
“I’m-” Carlos fought for the words, “I’m not mad. I’m just confused. Explain to me.”
Carlos guided Lando towards the living room. Lando sat down heavily on the sectional. Carlos excused himself momentarily, then ran to the kitchen and grabbed one of the sandwiches he had made for Lando’s lunch. Lando took the plate, but he kept it in his lap. “I fired him because-”
Lando looked at Carlos challengingly. His mouth had a stubborn set to it. His body language yelled obstinance, but his eyes were still soft. “I take care of my friends,” Lando said tightly. “And he was being an asshole about you.”
Carlos’ eyes widened. He sat down on the sectional beside Lando. He tried to come up with something to say, but Lando continued, now well and truly angry, “Xenophobic, shithead bullshit. You- taking advantage of- my kindness, me-”
“Lando,” Carlos whispered.
“Saying I shouldn’t trust you, that you distract me-”
“Lando.”
“Like you’re some nobody and not my fucking friend.”
Carlos wanted to hug Lando. He wanted to shake him. He wanted to calm him down. He wanted to kiss him.
“So you fired him because of me,” Carlos said, trying to maintain his own calm. Lando nodded, his eyes daring Carlos to say something. Carlos said, “I wish you didn’t fire him.”
“Didn’t you hear me? He was a-”
“I know. I got the sense, also.”
Lando stared at him. His voice cracked when he said, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Carlos shrugged. “First, I don’t care. Seriously-” he said, when Lando opened his mouth to protest. “I really do not give a fuck what someone I don’t care about thinks of me. The thing I do care about is that whatever your PA’s name was-”
“Liam.”
“Liam. What I did care about was that Liam was making your life easier. You actually had free time, Lando. You were sleeping better, you were happier. I wish you had not fired him for me.”
Lando just looked at Carlos, and this time there was no mistaking it - his eyes were teary. Carlos wanted to hug him so fucking badly. “Why do you care so much about me?” Lando asked, and Carlos remembered again that he was only twenty-five with a whole world on his shoulders.
So Carlos did hug Lando. And he said, “Because I take care of my friends also, Lando.”
Carlos didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but at some point, he realized Lando had fallen asleep against his chest. Carlos wanted to lay down with Lando. Instead, he very gently withdrew from Lando and carefully, slowly, laid him down on the sectional. He shifted Lando’s legs so that they were on the couch too.
He probably should have woken Lando up. He probably should have told him he had work to do. But Carlos wasn’t that good of a man. So, instead, he drew all the curtains and lowered all the blinds and went back to the kitchen to continue working. Lando was still sleeping when Carlos let himself out. He was still sleeping when Carlos walked back in, grabbed a post-it note, stuck it on Lando’s office door, then walked back out again.
HIRE A FUCKING PA.
Autumn was Carlos’ favorite season in London, and October was his favorite month of the year. But his October took a nose-dive when some of Lando’s friends from uni decided to visit him in London. Lando had finally hired a new PA, and the difference from September to October was massive.
“I am happy to cook if you want to have a dinner party for them,” Carlos said the morning Lando’s friends were due to arrive. Lando made a face at Carlos around a mouthful of pancakes. “Please swallow before you speak,” Carlos muttered.
Lando swallowed and then said, “I’m not an idiot! Also, no.”
“No…?”
“No to you cooking for them.”
Lando tried to leave the kitchen at that point, but Carlos grabbed Lando by the hood of his sweatshirt and kept him in place. Lando pretended to choke to death. “Lando. What is it?”
Carlos released his hoodie. Lando sighed and pouted. Carlos stifled a smile; he loved Lando’s silly pouty face.
“I,” he said, sniffing, “don’t want to share your food with anyone.”
Carlos raised his eyebrows at Lando, who grumbled and said, “They’ll try to steal you from me. Or offer competing jobs.”
Carlos didn’t think he could raise his eyebrows any further, but that didn’t stop him trying. “Okay. So, that’s stupid.”
“Hey!”
“Lando,” Carlos said, tenderly, “working for you is more than enough for me.”
Lando’s face lit up. Then, Carlos said, “You exhaust me.”
He dodged a head of broccoli that Lando threw at him (where did he get that?) and laughed. “Don’t waste food! Lando, seriously. I’m very happy in this job. I will not let anyone else steal me away, eh? Does that make you feel better about letting me cook for tonight?”
Lando looked slightly mollified, but he still said, “No.”
Carlos sighed and leaned against the kitchen island. “Okay. What is happening, actually?”
Lando shuffled around, grumbled a little more, before sighing and saying, “It’s just- okay, you cook for me. Fine. I can live with that. But you’re also my goddamn friend. And if I made you cook food for other people, they wouldn’t get that. I don’t want to take advantage of you, you know?”
Carlos’ heart melted. “It doesn’t bother me,” Carlos insisted. But then Lando shook his head.
“If you’re going to be there, I want you there as my friend. Not as my chef.”
Yep, his heart was a puddle in his ribcage. Loudly, Carlos said, “Aw, Landito! C’mere!” and wrapped an arm around Lando and squished him to his side. Lando squawked and tried to pull away, but Carlos kept him in a vice grip until Lando pretended to suffocate (again).
The compromise was this: Carlos would help Lando figure out catering and a menu. Then he would go home and change and come back in time for the dinner party.
This time, when Carlos reentered Lando’s house, he was wearing jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a leather jacket for warmth. It felt odd to be dressed so casually. It also felt kind of right to be dressed so casually. What also felt- something was how Lando looked at Carlos. He hadn’t changed too much, just into jeans instead of sweatpants, but he looked as lovely as ever. Carlos smiled at him. Lando smiled back.
“I’m glad you didn’t chicken out,” Lando said softly. Carlos laughed and shook his head.
“I am not a chicken.”
“Say chicken again.”
“Fuck you.”
Then, a booming, familiar voice-
“Is that Carlos fucking Sainz?!”
Lando grinned at the look on Carlos’ face and stepped aside so that Carlos could see George and Alex walking down the foyer to greet him. Carlos laughed with surprise as he hugged first Alex, then George.
“Lando! You hid this from me,” he said accusingly, as George clapped his back. Lando looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Maybe. Told you I wanted you here as my friend.”
Carlos’ heart needed to stop melting so easily. It was unsustainable. “Can I get you a drink?” Lando asked. “Wine?”
“I’ll have wine, yes.” Then, leaning in, he whispered to Lando, “the pinot grigio you keep in the back. I don’t think you know how fancy that wine is.”
Lando snickered and whispered back, his face close to Carlos’, “I didn’t know. It was a gift.”
Then he touched Carlos’ elbow before walking off towards the bar. Carlos smiled after him. Suddenly, he realized George and Alex were staring at him.
“What?”
Alex’s eyes had calculation behind them. That was bad news. George just said, “So, things with Lando going well?”
“Ah. Yes. He’s an excellent boss.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” George said with a smirk. Alex nudged his boyfriend.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Carlos said, “So! Tell me! How is Thailand?”
It was a pleasant evening. The pinot grigio was excellent, and Lando even tried a sip from Carlos’ glass. Then Carlos felt George and Alex’s eyes on him and cleared his throat before taking the glass back from Lando.
But the downturn to Carlos’ October came when Lando’s friend, yet another Max, rubbed his palms together and said, “So. Lando. I hear you’ve been single and fucking boring, yeah?”
Ay, dios.
Carlos sipped his wine. Lando had topped it off for him during dinner, and now he was nearly done with his second glass. Lando, sitting across from Carlos, blushed furiously.
“Jesus Christ, can we ever talk about anything that isn’t my fucking love life?” Lando exclaimed. Carlos was in agreement. He sipped his wine and ignored George’s eyes.
“Mate, you need to put yourself out there,” Max said, his eyes glittering. Lando shuffled uncomfortably as his other friends - though, notably, neither Alex nor George chimed in - voiced their agreement. “Get on dating apps! Shit’s easy. Plus, it’ll be easy for you especially - everyone loves a millionaire.”
Lando made a face at Max. Carlos sipped his wine. He hated this conversation. He also hated it even more when another one of Lando’s friends, some nameless, faceless man Carlos didn’t bother to learn the name of, said, “Which is why it’s a good thing that I’ve made an account for you already.”
Carlos was fucking furious. He was also in the minority, along with Alex who said, “Wait, without Lando’s permission?” and George who said, “Hey, c’mon.”
Lando, for his part, was mute and shocked. His other friends crowded around the nameless one with eagerness, looking at the profile that he’d created for Lando.
“Likes: Sports cars, having an ambiguous sexuality, being a millionaire.”
Carlos stared at them. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was too angry to trust himself to speak. Lando just looked shell-shocked.
“Dislikes: Everything else.”
They all laughed. George stood and whipped the phone from the nameless dude’s hands, ignoring their protests, and handed it to Lando. “If you’re going to do this,” he said to Lando, firmly, “then I don’t want it to be a joke. Yeah?”
Lando took the phone quietly. Then, for some reason, he looked at Carlos. His eyes were wide and searching, like he wanted something from Carlos. Carlos didn’t know what to give him, or say to him, that wouldn’t be entirely selfish. So, instead, he shrugged a little, and said quietly, “It’s up to you.”
Carlos didn’t know if what he’d said was a good thing or bad thing for Lando, but it was definitely bad for Carlos, because Lando just nodded, then started rewriting his likes and dislikes.
Carlos drained his glass of wine. He counted the minutes as everyone gathered - minus George and Alex, who were definitely watching Carlos now - worked on Lando’s dating app profile with him in earnest.
“What are my dislikes?” Lando said quietly.
Surprising textures. When people don’t tip properly. Being patronized. People asking stupid questions when they want to ask a real question. Rain when it’s hot out. When people don’t replace items they don’t want in the right place at the grocery store. Flattery. Fake-humble.
Instead, Carlos leaned in towards Lando and said, “I think I need to go.”
Lando looked up at him with a start, wide-eyed and so fucking vulnerable that it made Carlos want to kiss him. He didn’t. He just smiled apologetically, and Lando said, “Okay. I’m glad you came.”
Carlos wanted to say me too. Instead, he just smiled, ruffled Lando’s hair, and said, “See you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
“We’ll see you out,” Alex said, and George stood up too. “Dunno when we’ll see you again.”
Carlos nodded. The three of them left to the foyer, leaving behind loud laughter and jokes, and when Carlos turned to say goodbye to George and Alex, they looked…sad.
“Hang in there,” George murmured as he hugged Carlos tightly.
“For what?” Carlos said, trying to drive the bitterness from his voice.
“Dunno. For whatever it is you’re hanging in there for. It’ll work out.”
They withdrew from the hug. Then Alex hugged Carlos, and Carlos said, miserably, “Is it that obvious?”
“Only if you’re looking,” Alex said, rubbing Carlos’ back comfortingly. Carlos hated how much that helped.
“And you guys were looking, eh?”
George chuckled, and Alex smiled warmly at Carlos. “We’re always looking,” Alex said.
Carlos didn’t go home. Like an idiot, he went to a bar. Like an idiot, he had a few more drinks than he needed to. Like an idiot, he saw a pretty girl and considered it. But then when she smiled back at him, he felt like such a fucking asshole that he just shook his head, bought her a drink as an apology for leading her on, and told her to take care. Then he left and meandered his way back home and fell asleep wondering if Lando was out at a bar himself, getting picked up by some dickhead who didn’t deserve him.
But then, neither did Carlos.
October didn’t get any better when Monday came around. Carlos woke up to a text from Lando. Normally, this would have made him more eager to get out of bed, but the text read:
- hey. is it ok if you come over tmrw instead of today?
Carlos wanted to be petulant and ignore the text. Instead, he replied:
- yeah np. what’s up?
- just not going to be around tn bc im going out w someone. and theres still leftovers from thursday night.
The worst part was that Carlos didn’t even react to the text. He felt absolutely nothing.
- ok. have fun and stay safe.
Carlos waited for the reply. There was none. And that was when the feeling of utter sadness swept him up like a hurricane.
The day passed somehow. So did the night. Carlos didn’t hear from Lando all day, nor had he heard from him the morning after. But Carlos was a good employee if nothing else, so he went to Lando’s apartment anyway. He didn’t know what would be worse: if Lando was there, or if Lando wasn’t. Because that would mean-
“Carlos?”
His heart stopped. Carlos followed the sound of his voice: Lando was sitting on the kitchen island, his legs crossed beneath him, eating scrambled eggs out of some Tupperware with chopsticks. Carlos stared at him. Lando stared back.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Carlos picked his way around the island. Lando had heated up some breakfast for Carlos too; Carlos didn’t bother eating at home on days he was working. He had thought that maybe Lando wouldn’t have heated up food for him on a random Tuesday. He was wrong. Carlos grabbed a fork from the drying rack and noticed some dishes in the sink.
Not letting himself hope, Carlos carefully said, “How was your date?”
“Oh. Um. I didn’t go.”
Carlos turned to face Lando. Lando was concentrating very hard on his scrambled eggs. Carlos put some sriracha on his eggs, but he didn’t start eating yet.
“Why not?” he asked, still feeling like he was walking on a tight rope. Lando ate slowly, then swallowed, and said:
“He led by asking if we were going back to his place or mine.”
Carlos waited. Lando didn’t offer any more. So, Carlos, trying desperately to keep his voice even, said, “And what did you say?”
Lando smiled a little. “I told him to fuck off and deleted the app.”
Carlos didn’t know whether to smile or not, but for the first time since Thursday, he felt like he could actually stand upright. Then Lando sighed, and rubbed his eyes, and said, “Jesus. I’m sorry. I don’t- you don’t need to listen to this.”
“Lando-”
“You don’t need to listen to me just because I fucking pay you.”
Carlos’ back stiffened. He put his Tupperware and fork aside with some violence and snapped, “Is that what this is?”
Lando’s eyes widened and he turned to stare at Carlos.
“I’ve been working here too long - I’ve been friends with you too fucking long - for you to pull this shit now.”
Lando mouthed Carlos’ name. But Carlos kept speaking, genuinely pissed off. “I like fucking talking with you. I like when you tell me things. I like telling you things. I like being here, Lando. I love- I love being your friend.”
Carlos’ words hung between them. On some level, Carlos knew he should have apologized. But he didn’t regret saying what he had said. He was sick of Lando second-guessing their relationship, Carlos’ fondness for him. But then Lando smiled, wide and open and beautiful and Carlos loved him so much.
“I really love being your friend too,” Lando said softly. And Carlos loved him so much. He thought he might say it too, in a moment of utter weakness - a moment that was more a characteristic of being around Lando than a single, discrete instance - but then Lando’s phone rang sharp and loud and Lando nearly fell off the kitchen island. Carlos lunged forward to help him, but Lando had corrected his own balance with an embarrassed giggle.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I gotta go. Tell me if you need anything?”
“Always, Lando,” Carlos said, then watched Lando disappear into his office. Carlos smiled and set about washing Lando’s dishes. He didn’t have to. But he wanted to. He always wanted to.
They were meant to go grocery shopping. What neither of them had had the foresight to look into, however, was the weather forecast for that day. It nearly scared the shit out of Carlos when he saw a sharp, bright bolt of lightning cut the gray London sky in half, followed by a truly terrifying burst of thunder.
“Jesucristo-”
Lando burst out of his office as well. “What was that-”
And then the sky exploded into rain, and Lando and Carlos stared out of the windows of the penthouse, looked at each other, and silently agreed they would postpone grocery shopping until the storm subsided.
The storm did not subside. Lando poked his head out of his office throughout the day to say something to the effect of, “Still going, huh?” then disappear back into his office. It still hadn’t subsided by the time that Carlos was done working. In fact, it had gotten more violent, with whistling gales that hurled random bits of debris into the air. Lando joined Carlos at the window. Carlos was wearing his duster. Lando turned, looked him up and down, and said, “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Ay, Lando-”
“Absolutely fucking not. I’m not losing my chef to the apocalypse.”
“It’s not that-”
Lightning bisected the sky again, and Gabriel sounded the trumpet of doomsday, and Carlos yelped an unmanly yelp. Lando glared at Carlos. Carlos sighed and took his duster back off. “Well, I am not wearing a suit past work hours,” he announced.
He didn’t. Lando threw him the mint hoodie and sweatpants he’d worn all those months earlier.
Lando had decided the apocalypse was worth ending work early. They badly needed to go grocery shopping, but there were still leftovers from Thursday’s dinner, and Carlos managed to make some very inventive snacks. They spent the rest of the night sitting on Lando’s plush carpet and watching movies. Carlos nearly fell asleep during a Marvel film, and Lando poked him awake so that he wouldn’t miss the ending. Carlos was grateful; he was enjoying himself. He just hadn’t been sleeping very well since Thursday and sorely needed the sleep.
Still, by the time they did end up retiring for the night, it was well past midnight. Carlos was struggling to keep his eyes open, which was probably why he asked Lando, “So where am I sleeping?”
Lando looked at him oddly and said, “The guest bedroom. Right?”
And Carlos looked at Lando equally oddly and said, “The guest bedroom. Right.”
The other option was the living room. Just the living room. Where else would either of them have meant. Right?
Carlos didn’t have the brain cells left to keep thinking about it. He brushed his teeth using the spare toothbrushes Lando kept in the en suite and passed out.
October was getting better.
When Lando woke up the next morning, the first thing he remembered was that Carlos was also sleeping in the same apartment as him. With a groggy surge of hope, he looked beside himself, and found an empty bed.
Right. Of course. Carlos would be in the guest bedroom. Obviously.
Obviously.
But he could hear clattering in the kitchen, and he could hear Carlos’ horrible jazz on the speakers, and sure enough, when he left his too-big bed and too-big bedroom and walked to the kitchen, he saw Carlos, in nothing but a hoodie and boxer shorts, his hair all fluffy and wild from sleep, cooking bacon and eggs on the stove. He was humming along to “At Last” by Etta James. (Why did Lando know the name of that song?)
When Carlos caught sight of Lando, he smiled at him and said, “Good morning. Coffee’s ready.”
Lando didn’t know he could want to wake up to the same thing for the rest of his life so badly.
“Hey, Car-los.”
That was bad news. That was definitely bad news. Carlos sighed, turned off the faucet, and crossed his arms as he faced Lando.
“What.”
“What ‘what’?” Lando said, the picture of innocence. That was even worse news. Carlos glared at him, and Lando threw his hands in the air and said, “Fine! Okay! My fucking friends want to go clubbing for my birthday and I want you to come with me!”
Carlos stared at Lando. Lando looked at Carlos pleadingly.
“No.”
“Thank you- Carlos!”
“I hate clubbing,” Carlos said, and Lando strode up to him and grabbed his apron. Carlos stared at Lando’s hands on his apron.
“Carlos, please. I hate clubbing too. I need someone there who’s not going to be horrible.”
“Your friends are shit,” Carlos deadpanned. Lando nodded. “Except for George and Alex. Max is okay, I guess.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay, well, I’ll get new friends, but only if you come clubbing with me. Please. And it’s my birthday! And-”
He patted Carlos’ chest, and said, impishly, “You’re my best friend. So you have to come.”
Oh, son of a bitch.
“You cannot use that, Lando!” Carlos exclaimed. “You cannot use the best friend card like this, eh? Where’s the meaning in it!”
“Buuut I’m saying it because it has meaning in it. So it’s fine,” Lando said, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I will tell Alex and George you said I am your best friend,” Carlos sniffed. Secretly, his heart was beating so loud he was afraid Lando could hear it. But then Lando waved his hand cavalierly.
“Oh, it’s fine, they’re each other’s best friend.”
“They’re dating,” Carlos muttered.
“Exactly.”
Carlos wanted to lay down on the floor and think about that for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, Lando was still gazing up at him pleadingly, and Carlos groaned and said, “Dios mio, fine. But I am never going clubbing again, yes?”
Lando cheered and slapped Carlos’ cheek happily. Carlos grabbed his wrist and said, “Also, you are buying my drinks.”
“I was going to anyway, mate,” Lando smirked. Carlos wanted to kiss him. Instead, he released Lando’s wrist with a disgusted noise and shooed him out of the kitchen.
“I have to change my recipes now,” Carlos muttered. “All carbs. All carbs! And hangover food!”
“Ah, I won’t drink that much.”
As it turned out, Lando was absolutely wrong on that front. When Carlos got to the club the next day, a Friday night and Lando’s birthday, Lando had apparently already started pre-drinking. He saw Carlos and was delighted. Lando broke the line to rush to him and hug him.
“You came!”
“You asked me to, cabrón,” Carlos said, hugging Lando back. He was so warm. He felt so good to hold. “Happy birthday, Landito,” Carlos murmured to Lando, and Lando pulled back and beamed up at him. Carlos politely greeted Lando’s friends, wishing desperately that Alex and George were there too. Then he realized that Lando hadn’t let go of his arm. And that made things slightly better. In fact, Lando only let go of Carlos’ arm once they had seated themselves in the VIP booth. He gestured to the server to bring bubbly for everyone. Everyone cheered, but Carlos waved the server over to whisper, “Except for him,” motioning to Lando. “He does not like champagne. Prosecco for him. Also some lime.”
The server winked at him, and Carlos smiled politely. He was sitting thigh to thigh with Lando, watching as Lando downed his prosecco in one big gulp.
Ah, mierda. Carlos just knew he would be taking Lando back home tonight. To Lando’s penthouse.
When Lando’s friends all stood saying they wanted to dance, they dragged Lando along with them too. Lando turned back, laughing, and looked at Carlos with a question in his eyes. Carlos smiled at him and said, “Go on, Landito.”
Lando looked slightly disappointed, but he nodded and went ahead. Carlos felt bad. But he really didn’t like clubs. Instead, he leaned over the little railing that separated the VIP booth from the fray and watched Lando dance. Carlos smiled and sipped his champagne. It wasn’t bad. And Lando looked really happy.
Then he caught movement. Someone walking towards Lando. A woman who whispered something in his ear, and Lando nodded and smiled but ignored her, and she walked away. Carlos forced himself not to chuckle. She had made a valiant effort.
But Carlos definitely didn’t chuckle when Lando was next approached by a man in his mid-thirties, maybe close to forties. He didn’t whisper anything in Lando’s ear. Just danced beside him. Then behind him. Then Lando turned his head, barked something, and the man just smiled.
Carlos downed his drink. The server, watching the foregoing with some intrigue, topped up Carlos’ drink. The man filtered away from Lando, then was replaced by yet another, around the same age, shooting his shot. He was rebuffed, but he kept dancing. Carlos downed his drink again, shook his head when the server made to refill his champagne, then fumbled for some change to tip the server with.
Then, feeling like an idiot on a mission, Carlos made a beeline for the dance floor and for Lando. He hadn’t danced in a club since he was- well, since he was Lando’s age, actually, if not younger. Certainly not after he finished culinary school. Still, dancing came easily, and he edged his way towards Lando, and put himself between Lando and the rotating group of late-thirty-somethings that were trying to hit on him.
Lando didn’t notice him for a little while. Carlos wondered if he should dance his way back to the booth. He felt like an idiot. But then the champagne crept up on him, and Lando finally noticed Carlos, and his eyes lit up like twin diamonds and he was beautiful, and he was all Carlos could see, and he knew, now, that Lando was dancing with him, and not just beside him.
Carlos didn’t touch Lando. And Lando didn’t either, not really, though he sometimes ran his hand down Carlos’ arm, and sometimes plucked at the buttons on Carlos’ shirt, and at some point had his arms around Carlos’ neck - if only so briefly - and at some point he had put on Carlos’ leather jacket - which suited him immensely - and at some point Carlos ended up taking Lando to the bathroom to hold his curls back while he threw up into the toilet.
That was when Carlos sobered up spectacularly and realized it was time to get Lando in bed.
He made Lando rinse his mouth out with some water he cupped in his own palm, then followed that up by making Lando drink out of his hand.
“I will take you home,” Carlos murmured. “Is that okay, Lando?”
“Yes, please,” Lando said, and he sounded very eager. Carlos smoothed his curls; he was well and truly out of it, his poor Landito. Carlos wrapped an arm around Lando to support his very wobbly frame, and together they made their way to the VIP booth to grab Lando’s coat.
“You can close his tab,” Carlos said to the server. The server eyed Lando.
“What about his friends?”
Carlos snorted. “They can buy their own drinks, vultures,” he hissed, then was surprised at the force of his own sentiment. He cleared his throat, bid the server good night, and left with Lando’s coat in one arm, and Lando in the other. Luckily, getting a cab was easy. What was less easy was how comfortable Lando appeared to be, snoozing against Carlos. The taxi driver eyed them.
“Your boyfriend okay?”
“He’s not- yes, he is okay, thank you.”
They arrived at Lando’s building. Carlos tipped the taxi driver generously, then gently extracted Lando from the vehicle. There was no way around it. He put on Lando’s coat, slightly tight in the arms, then picked Lando up bridal style. It was easier than dragging him along. Carlos nodded to the doorman, who greeted Carlos warmly and with familiarity - and followed the proceedings with interest. Carlos cleared his throat, hit the up button on the elevator using Lando’s foot, and stepped inside.
“Car-los?”
“Ey, Lando,” Carlos whispered, happy that he was waking up. “How are you feeling?”
“Like dancin’.”
“Ay, you did plenty of that tonight, mi am- Lando.”
Shit. Shit. Carlos needed to put Lando safely to bed and leave. Was he still tipsy?
“I’m going to put you down for a second to get the keys, okay?” Carlos murmured. Lando nodded, then nuzzled against Carlos’ chest. Carlos took a deep, steadying breath. He walked out of the elevator, gently placed Lando down onto his feet, and quickly unlocked the door.
“Can you walk?”
“I like you carrying me better,” Lando giggled. Carlos rolled his eyes and picked Lando back up again and crossed the threshold of the penthouse. He kicked the door shut behind him, then went straight to Lando’s bedroom.
He realized he’d never been in Lando’s bedroom before. It was huge. Where the rest of the apartment was still somewhat sparse (though Lando had started filling it up with more decor, after Carlos had pointed out there was too much echo around), Lando’s bedroom was filled with memorabilia, photos, karting trophies, all kinds of things. It was a little messy in there, but his bed was perfectly made.
“Carlos?”
“Mm?”
“M’glad you came tonight.”
Carlos smiled as he walked to Lando’s bed. “I am too, Lando,” he said, depositing his adorable burden onto the sheets. He walked to the other side of the bed and untucked the duvet. Lando kicked off his shoes, then rolled over to where Carlos had just prepared the bed for him. Then, as Carlos pulled the covers over him, Lando opened his eyes properly and touched Carlos’ cheek. He smiled. Carlos froze.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“You should stay.”
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus Christ. Carlos’ heart was a fucking percussion instrument, and the beat was a fucking death metal beat, and Carlos was going to fucking die.
“I should not stay,” Carlos said, his voice small and dry and unconvincing to himself.
“You should stay,” Lando insisted. “With me. Here.”
Carlos closed his eyes to take a breath, and that was a mistake, because he felt Lando’s lips brush his, and it was so sweet, and it felt so good, and his lips were so soft, and Carlos was a weak, weak man who should have pulled away, but Lando made a noise that was so perfect and Carlos deepened the kiss (because it was a fucking kiss) for just a moment, an indulgent, horrible, selfish moment, and he could have died, and he wanted to die, and he wanted to kiss Lando forever.
But instead, he touched Lando’s cheek, pulled away as gently as he could, and gazed into Lando’s endless, lovely eyes, and said, “Mi vida, I must go, and you must sleep.”
And Lando, wonderful Lando, Lando who Carlos loved so much, so, so fucking much, nodded, curled up into the sheets, and fell asleep.
Carlos looked at Lando. And because he couldn’t let himself think, set about fixing the duvet around Lando, fluffed his pillow, retrieved a glass of water from the bathroom and some aspirin, set it on his bedside table, along with a note that said:
EAT THE FRENCH TOAST IN THE FRIDGE TOMORROW.
He then shut all the blinds in Lando’s room, shut the blinds in the living room, and stole back into Lando’s bedroom for one, final look at Lando, before seeing himself out. He bid the doorman goodnight - the doorman looked a little disappointed - and walked home.
It was not a short walk. Partway through it, Carlos realized he was still wearing Lando’s coat, and that Lando was likely still wearing Carlos’ jacket. When he searched for his keys, he wondered how long he had been walking with his fingers touching his lips, lips that Lando had kissed. And as he fell into bed and stared at the ceiling, he wondered how he could look at Lando again and not think, every time, about how he never wanted to kiss anyone other than Lando ever again.
Lando woke up and wanted to die. He nearly screamed from the agony. He wanted to throw up and also had nothing to throw up and also didn’t want to move.
Painkillers. Fuck, why so far-
But then, beside him, a bottle of aspirin. A blessed, perfect bottle of aspirin. And a glass of water, blessed, perfect water beside that. Lando groaned as he sat up, contemplating death again, but scarfed down the painkillers and water. It was so dark, thank god, but he could nonetheless make out a post-it note stuck to his lamp. Squinting, he groggily tried to make out the words.
Then, to his own shock, Lando smiled. It was Carlos’ handwriting.
Christ, Lando loved that man. Also, why was he wearing his jacket?
- ur amazing. also i have ur jacket.
- i know. also i have urs. did u enjoy ur birthday?
- cant remember a ton. remember dancing w u. thx btw
- for what?
- ik u dont love clubs. but u had fun anyway. for me. so. thx…bestie :)
- dont get used to it. bestie.
Carlos always felt slightly melancholy around the holidays. He missed his family, and he was still a month out from getting to see them. It was easier with Lando around though. They spent more and more evenings just hanging out, now, even outside of work. Lando had started distancing himself from his shitty friends once he’d woken up to texts about how the drink tab had been closed.
“I think I hate them,” Lando had declared. And Carlos just nodded, because that was what Lando’s asshole friends deserved.
Another day, Lando broke off mid-conversation to stare at Carlos. Carlos looked up from chopping peeled courgettes (Lando hated the skins).
“Lando?”
“You’re not wearing a suit,” Lando murmured. Carlos glanced down at himself. He was wearing a sweater and some jeans. Carlos shrugged.
“I am not wearing a suit.”
“You weren’t wearing a suit on Monday, either. Wh-when you were working, I mean.”
“I was not,” Carlos agreed.
Lando stared at him. Then he exclaimed, “Carlos!”
“Lando?”
“What the fuck! One day, okay, whatever. But two days?”
He walked up to Carlos, grabbed him by the shoulders (Carlos quickly dropped his knife to avoid stabbing his best friend), and shook him. “Who are you, and what have you done to Carlos Sainz?!”
“Vázquez de Castro.”
“What?”
“My full name is Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro. Uh. Hijo. Like, Carlos Sainz Jr.”
Lando stared at Carlos. Then he shook Carlos even more violently, and Carlos laughed and grabbed Lando’s face to stop him, and Lando stopped. “Why aren’t you wearing a suit?” he demanded.
Carlos smiled at Lando. “I told you forever ago, no? The suit helps with the distinction? Between cooking for pleasure and cooking for work?”
Lando’s eyes lit up with something beautiful, magical. He nodded. Carlos smiled and said, “I don’t think it matters anymore. The distinction isn’t there.”
Carlos watched Lando’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Then, his voice hoarse, Lando said, “I think I have a call coming in.”
But still, he lingered a little longer than he should have, and Carlos noticed. And Carlos knew, watching Lando walk away, that Lando was lying. So, he smiled and started sautéing the courgettes.
It was well and truly Christmas season. Carlos was going to go home to visit his family in Spain the week after, so he had been going to Lando’s apartment nearly every day to cook a truly absurd amount of food.
“My new year’s resolution is for you to not die,” Carlos had said to Lando, so Lando threw a plastic colander at him. Carlos had caught it and thrown it back. Lando hadn’t been quite as good at catching the kitchen implement, and Carlos had rushed over to make sure he hadn’t hurt Lando.
Carlos was already melancholy. He was anxious to see his family. But he was more anxious about leaving Lando. And he was especially melancholy that night, a Friday, the last time he would be seeing Lando that year. It was going to be a combination of purposes. Carlos would be finishing up some last minute labeling, yes, but also, Lando’s last cooking lesson: baking a cake. They would then eat the cake and, Lando had hinted, maybe pair the cake with some complementary edibles.
Carlos had laughed but agreed. It wasn’t a bad way to ring in the holidays.
Still, for how sad he was, walking in to Lando in a ridiculous Christmas sweater, holding a headband with antlers out to Carlos undid any residual melancholy in Carlos’ heart. He burst into hysterical laughter and squeezed the red, Rudolph nose that Lando was sporting. Lando squawked and jumped away.
“Carlos! That’s my Christmas spirit!”
“Sounds like a perfume,” Carlos said, and tried to go for Lando’s nose again. Lando yelped and dodged and threw the reindeer headband at Carlos. It bounced off of Carlos’ chest and fell to the ground. Carlos swept it up and shoved it onto his head and looked at Lando.
“Happy?”
“Only if you promise you’re going to stop trying to grab my nose,” Lando said, sniffing.
Carlos grinned, and pretended to lunge for Lando’s nose, but Lando shrieked and Carlos pulled him into a hug instead. “C’mere. Cabrón. I will miss you,” he murmured into Lando’s hair. Lando squirmed at first then, realizing Carlos wasn’t actually trying to steal his nose, sighed and relaxed against Carlos.
“Sap,” Lando muttered. Carlos smiled and gently plucked Lando’s nose from his, well, nose. Lando looked up at him with a grin, and Carlos thought about how easy it would be to kiss him.
“Vamos,” Carlos said, patting Lando’s back. “Let’s bake?”
Lando waggled his eyebrows, and Carlos shoved with a laugh. “We can get baked after, idiota.”
With a renewed eagerness, Lando grabbed Carlos by the wrist and dragged him to the kitchen. “C’mon, then,” Lando said, and Carlos couldn’t help how much love he felt for Lando in that moment. Lando looked back at Carlos and smiled.
“What?”
“Just- yeah. Just gonna miss you.”
Lando’s smile softened. “I put out all the ingredients already,” Lando said, and his voice was as soft as his smile. Carlos shivered.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah. Chocolate cake, yeah?”
“Very basic, yes. But I’ll also help you make a raspberry coulis with it.”
“What’s a coulis?”
“Like a thin jam.”
“Why don’t they just say jam, then?” Lando asked, wrapping his apron around himself. He was getting very good at that. Carlos smiled.
“Chefs like to be pretentious and specific,” Carlos explained, and Lando tossed him his apron. Carlos grabbed it and wrapped it around himself.
“Yeah, I couldn’t tell,” Lando muttered. Carlos laughed. Then he realized-
“Jazz?” Carlos asked Lando eagerly. He was so used to playing jazz himself that it took him a bit to notice it was already playing when he’d walked in. Lando grinned a little sheepishly.
“I hate the shit, but I’ve gotta admit, it works for the season, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Carlos said. Then, because he wasn’t okay, because he wasn’t right in the head, Carlos grabbed Lando’s hand and pulled him in. Lando gasped and looked up at Carlos, his eyes wide. Carlos smiled down at Lando and found he didn’t have a dissenting voice in his head. “Holiday. Jazz. Cake. Dance?”
Lando was blushing so hard. “Is that how it works?” Lando asked drily, but it wasn’t a very effective tone of voice.
“That can be how it works.”
“How what works?”
“You tell me,” Carlos murmured, and he started swaying, and Lando didn’t pull away, and Lando should have pulled away, but he didn’t pull away. He just looked at Carlos, his eyes still wide, and said, so quietly that Carlos almost didn’t hear it:
“What are you doing, Carlos?”
“How what works?” Carlos repeated, and he twirled Lando, and Lando let himself be twirled, let himself be caught back into Carlos’ arms.
“Baking. Cooking. Holidays. U-us?” Lando stammered, but he didn’t shift his gaze, and Carlos didn’t shift his gaze either.
“What about us?” Carlos said, and his heart was pounding, but it was a background sound, a background sensation. Lando’s chest was against Carlos’, his hand in Carlos’, the other on Carlos’ shoulder, Carlos’ arm around Lando’s waist, his waist that he loved.
“What-”
Then Carlos twirled Lando, and Lando laughed, and stumbled over Carlos’ foot, and went careening. Carlos yelped and grabbed Lando’s waist with both hands to steady him, but as Lando went to wrap his arms around Carlos’ neck for support, there was a sudden explosion of white dust and a clattering of plastic against the ground. When Carlos opened his eyes again, because he had closed his eyes for some reason in the chaos, Lando’s Christmas sweater was covered in flour and confectioner’s sugar.
They stared at each other. And then Carlos burst out laughing, was hysterical with it, and Lando tried to keep himself from laughing. He yelped, “Stop! Stop laughing! Stop laughing, Carlos!”
But Carlos was in tears. He just pressed his forehead to Lando’s, giggling desperately, and said, “I-I can’t. I can’t. Lando.”
And Lando made a frustrated noise, whispered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” and kissed Carlos.
Carlos stopped laughing. He stopped laughing and pushed his hands into Lando’s hair and kissed him back, and Lando moaned so loud, and Carlos gasped and pressed Lando closer to himself, and held him like he was afraid Lando would disappear, as though daring himself to wake up. But he didn’t wake up, and he was still kissing Lando, and Lando was still kissing him back, and making such gorgeous noises, and there was still jazz all around them, and then Lando’s hands were in Carlos’ hair, and Carlos wanted to sob, but he just drew a breath and kissed Lando again.
Lando pushed Carlos against the countertop, but then Carlos turned them around so that Lando was against the countertop, and Lando laughed into the kiss and Carlos realized his face was wet, and so was Lando’s, and he didn’t know which one of them was crying.
He needed to check. Lando made such a sad noise when Carlos broke the kiss, but he needed to make sure Lando wasn’t crying. “Lando,” Carlos whispered, and ran his thumb over Lando’s cheek.
“You’re crying,” Lando whispered, his voice shaking. “Why are you crying?”
Carlos sobbed softly, because he was crying, and he kissed Lando’s nose, his chin, his forehead, and said, “Because I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Lando’s face melted. He kissed Carlos again, over and over, rapid little pecks between which he whispered, “Carlos, Carlos, Carlos,” and Carlos met each kiss with one of his own. He let Lando guide him, as useless as Carlos was, to his bedroom. He let Lando get rid of their aprons, push Carlos’ jacket off, pull his t-shirt off, run his hands over Carlos’ chest like it was something holy, and Carlos held Lando’s waist and whispered, “I love you,” and Lando sobbed and kissed Carlos.
They fell into Lando’s bed. Carlos pulled Lando’s sweater off, heedless of the puff of sugary flour that created, and he kissed Lando’s clavicle, his nipples, kissed down his stomach to his sweatpants, and looked up at Lando for permission. Lando just moaned, “Please, please, don’t stop, don’t go-”
And Carlos wouldn’t stop. And Carlos wouldn’t go. He just laughed disbelievingly and pulled Lando’s sweatpants and underwear off and kissed his cock, the insides of his thighs, and Lando cried out, “Kiss me, kiss me,” so Carlos did and Lando opened his mouth. Carlos ran his tongue against Lando’s, and they both moaned in tandem. Lando pushed his hips up against Carlos’, and Carlos whispered:
“Dios, I have wanted this kiss the right way so badly-”
“The right way?” Lando whispered, even as he gave Carlos his neck to mouth at and bite, which Carlos did, feeling drunk and crazed.
Carlos laughed at what he was about to say, and then said, “You kissed me on your birthday, mi amor,” and Lando groaned in frustration.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said, and Carlos laughed and kissed his lips to make him feel better.
“You wanted me to stay over-”
“And you fucking didn’t?”
Carlos burst into laughter. He held Lando close as he turned over onto his back, and Lando straddled him, and it was perfect. Lando looked so right on top of Carlos like this, looking like he belonged there, and he did, he fucking did.
“That is your concern?” Carlos said, and Lando looked down at him imperiously, but then Carlos’ thoughts evaporated in favor of the fact that Lando was unbuttoning his jeans. Carlos lifted his hips; Lando pulled his jeans down and gasped.
“I’m going to suck your dick,” Lando whispered. Carlos wondered if he was dead. He hoped not.
“Dios, fuck, Lando-”
The first touch of Lando’s lips to the tip of Carlos’ cock made Carlos clench his fists in the sheets and cry out. The second touch included Lando’s tongue, swiping hungry and hard around the head, and Carlos hissed, “Lando, I love you, I love you-”
“Carlos-”
Then Lando took Carlos into his mouth in earnest, and Carlos moaned loud and shameless, running his fingers through Lando’s hair. He looked so fucking gorgeous with Carlos’ cock in his mouth, looking up at him, eyes so wide. He sucked, and Carlos’ eyes nearly rolled back into his skull. He would come like this. He couldn’t come like this. He cupped Lando’s face and said, “Mi vida, stop.”
Lando did, the thinnest little strand of saliva connecting his lips to Carlos’ cock, and Carlos shivered and felt so pathetic and powerful at the same time and whispered:
“I love you so much, Lando.”
And Lando whimpered, his eyes full of tears, and whispered, “I love you, Carlos.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Carlos sat up and pushed Lando down onto the pillows, kissing him over and over, his neck, running a hand over his beautiful body, his side, his waist, his hips, cupping his ass. “I need to be in you,” Carlos whispered, and he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t not grind down against Lando. Lando cried out and nodded desperately.
“Please, please, in me-”
He was gesturing at the side table. Carlos pulled out a condom and a barely used bottle of lube. He pushed the condom onto himself (Jesus, he was so hard it hurt), poured some of the lube over his fingers, and when he looked back, Lando had already spread his legs. Carlos laughed because he didn’t know what else to do at the sight of Lando like this, so fucking stunning.
He kissed Lando’s asshole - Lando made a high, lovely noise that Carlos stored in his brain like a bookmark; he would have to remember to eat Lando out at some point, if Lando would let him - then pressed his finger to Lando’s entrance.
“Yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes-”
Lando keened, his body arching as Carlos pushed the tip of his ring finger into Lando. “Yes, yes, yes,” Lando continued saying, helpless, and Carlos was enamored. He would never forget this sight. He kept his eyes on Lando as he pushed his finger all the way in, hooking and thrusting. Lando reached down to cling to Carlos’ wrist. He whimpered.
“More, baby?” Carlos whispered, and Lando laughed.
“Baby.”
“Baby,” Carlos whispered again, more emphatically, and Lando sighed and nodded so Carlos pushed another finger into him. Lando cried out.
Carlos whispered, “Baby, you’re doing so well, mi vida, mi Landito.”
“God, god, I’m ready, Carlos, please-”
“One more, just one more, come on, let me make you feel good, Lando-”
He coaxed another finger into Lando, and Lando sobbed again, one hand clinging to Carlos’ wrist, the other in Carlos’ hair, and Carlos was so fucking in love, Carlos would die for Lando.
“In me, in me, in me, in me-”
“Lando-”
“Need you, Carlos, need you so bad, need you fucking in me-”
“Like this?” Carlos whispered, taking his place over Lando, and Lando wrapped his arms around Carlos’ neck and kissed him so pure and perfect, moaning assent so loud. Carlos withdrew his fingers, lined himself up against Lando, and-
Lando cried out, and Carlos swallowed the sound with his kisses, the humming and moaning encouraging him to push in deeper, deeper, until-
“Lando, Lando, Lando,” Carlos whispered, dizzy with the knowledge that he was inside Lando Norris, his best friend, his love. Lando just gazed up at him through heavy eyelids, his perfect lips open in a perfect O, and Carlos laughed and tried not to cry.
“I have wanted this for so long,” Carlos whispered as he began rocking, and Lando craned his head, his neck - long and slender - available to Carlos’ lips. “My love. My Lando.”
“Yours,” Lando murmured, then, “Fuck, more, Carlos, give me everything-”
Carlos began thrusting the second Lando asked, because he knew, already, that he would do whatever Lando asked him. And Lando cried out with each thrust, his nails digging into Carlos’ shoulders, and Carlos couldn’t help but smile as he fucked Lando so sweet, so right. He fucked against his prostate, and Lando held onto him and cried out and said, “Fuck, fuck- gonna-”
“Yes, baby, yes,” Carlos whispered into Lando’s ear, then kissed the shell of it, beneath it, his cheek, Lando feeling so fucking tight and good around his cock, so perfect, like home. “Come for me, come for me Lando, let me make you come-”
“Carlos!”
“I love you so much-”
“Carlos-”
Carlos felt the heat against his stomach and grinned helplessly. Lando shivered in his arms, his cheeks so red and skin bright with sweat. “Beautiful,” Carlos whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
Lando smiled at him slowly, and Carlos groaned and thrust harder into Lando, close to falling apart himself. “You feel so good inside me,” Lando whispered, and Carlos felt wild with the sensation of Lando. Then Lando whispered, “I love you,” like it was a secret, and Carlos came, kissing Lando with abandon.
Carlos gathered Lando into his arms and held him as he panted, and Lando nuzzled his neck. Carlos could feel his smile against his skin. He smiled too and whispered, “Por fin.”
Lando’s smile turned into a grin. Carlos felt Lando’s teeth as he said, too, “Por fin.”
It was all they could do to toss the condom away and grab a towel for clean-up, after which Lando groaned and lazily turned off the speaker system and Carlos pulled him in and kissed him until they fell asleep. It was only the morning after that Carlos was struck with the enormity of what had happened. And he felt sick.
Lando was sleeping peacefully in his arms. He looked so calm. Carlos tried desperately not to shake. He didn’t want to wake Lando up.
But shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he try to leave?
Por Dios, what have I done? Carlos thought, and wanted to cry. He must have started shaking, because the next thing he knew was that Lando had opened his eyes, then turned around rapidly in his arms, and cupped his face.
“Carlos? Carlos. Carlos, are you okay?”
“I need to-”
“Carlos. Hey. Carlos-” and Lando gently traced Carlos’ jaw, and that simple motion made Carlos stop shaking. But he felt miserable. He felt horrible.
“I’m so sorry,” Carlos whispered. Lando’s eyes widened.
“What for?”
“We should talk.”
Lando nodded his head slowly. “Okay. That’s a good idea. What are we talking about?”
Carlos wanted to kiss him. Carlos wanted to run away. Carlos wanted to kiss him.
“I- overstepped,” Carlos said, and it felt so inadequate. But Lando nodded.
“Yeah. I mean. Same.”
Carlos stared at Lando. Then he said, “Lando, I shouldn’t have done this. I don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Do this. With clients. I swear. I’m sorry.”
What he hadn’t expected was for Lando’s face to fall. Or for Carlos’ heart to twist so unbearably painfully in his ribcage at the look on Lando’s face. With more devastation than anger, Lando whispered, hoarse, “Is that what this was? Sleeping with a client?”
No. No. No. Jesus. No. Not like this after so long.
“I’m an idiot,” Carlos said, and his voice was shaking, but his hands were still. Lando just watched him, and he looked so fucking fragile. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Carlos?”
“This isn’t sleeping with a client,” Carlos said, and his voice cracked.
“Then what is it?” Lando begged. “Because we agreed I stopped being your client a long fucking time ago. And I don’t want to be your goddamn client again. And if I’m wrong, just tell me, and we’ll stop.”
His skin was so soft. His eyes were so soft. Carlos cupped Lando’s face and said, “You’re not wrong, mi vida. You’re not wrong.”
And Lando, now crying, covered Carlos’ hands with his own and begged, “Then don’t leave. Then please don’t leave.”
Carlos’ breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to say - even though he didn’t want to say it - “If I don’t leave now, I’m never going to leave.”
And Lando, Lando Norris, Carlos’ Lando, said, with his own lips, his own voice, “Then don’t fucking leave.”
Carlos was crying too. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
And Carlos kissed Lando and Lando kissed Carlos and somehow Carlos was inside Lando, and it was real and right and everything was how it should have been this whole last fucking year. Lando gently moved his hips up and down on Carlos, and Carlos gasped softly and said, “I need to find a new job.”
And Lando giggled, his cheeks flushed, and said, “Only if you don’t sleep with whoever you end up cooking for.”
Carlos laughed and tweaked Lando’s nose, and Lando responded by moving his hips faster. Carlos groaned.
“Dios. Do you know- do you know I have always wanted to be a writer?”
Lando stopped moving and looked at him. “What?”
“My degree. It was in literature. I only went to culinary school afterwards. To pay the bills.”
Lando stared at him. Then he grinned so broad and sincerely and he touched Carlos’ cheek and said, “Then stay with me and write.”
Carlos laughed and pulled Lando close and whispered, “Do you want to go to Spain with me?”
Lando giggled and nodded, so Carlos rolled Lando over onto his back and kissed him, knowing they would never stop needing each other.