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august-honey16 · 9 months ago

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deal - cl16 (39/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Addicted is the only word to describe Charles.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex, male masturbation, cunniligus, breeding kink and choking (if you squint)), angst and fluff

Word Count: 3.8k

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A/N: tbh, I'd be on my knees for this Charles in a heartbeat. feedback is appreciated!

Your fingertips on Charles' naked thigh make his brain short-circuit.

Your unexpected, gentle touch shoots like lightning through his skin like lightning and then through his veins until the heat spreads throughout his body and his muscles are on fire. His heart is beating so hard that he fears it will break his bones and jump out of his chest. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears, goosebumps are spreading across his skin – but when he looks at you, he can no longer think clearly.

He never would have expected you to be so close again. He could never have dreamt of it.

After the night before yesterday, he no longer believed that he would be able to feel your touch again.

The memory of you fleeing from the bed is as deeply ingrained in his thoughts as your touch and your expression when you came on his thigh.

He had to hold back the whole evening the day before. To be honest, he had struggled with himself and forced himself to behave normally, even though all he could think about was you sitting on his lap and him rubbing you over his bulge until his damn phone rang. And even though he jerked off in the shower after his workout, it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for you. His hand is not you – and by God, he's addicted to your touch.

When you touched his hand in the car on the way to dinner with his family and played with his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had taken him an incredible amount of strength and willpower to keep the car in the lane and not to pull over to the nearest lay-by or parking lot and rearrange your guts.

He is extremely embarrassed by how much like a horny teenager he acts as soon as you are around.

Since you first shared a bed and you unconsciously pressed against him in your sleep, he can no longer get the feeling of your body against his out of his head. The way you snuggled up against him, how your curves perfectly matched his. And you still had your pajamas on then.

He feels very ashamed of how good you felt when you lay in his arms and cried. How soft your skin was on his, how warm you were – how perfect. He would have liked to give himself a slap or two because your dilemma had been so profitable for him personally. That he could hold you and protect you. That he could feel you.

And your touch hasn't stopped since. Your fingertips on his bare shoulder, your palm on his stubbled cheek when he told you he was jealous of Lando and your friendship, even though that was never entirely true, of course. Your legs between his, your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck as you poured your hearts out at dawn and purple skies.

But even though he is addicted to your closeness and the feeling you evoke in him like a drug addict, it's not as if he actively or consciously sought your touch. Like two magnets, you hadn't been able to separate after the night, whether it was at breakfast or when you were in his embrace when he told you how good your touch felt and that you shouldn't stop.

And as if his prayers had been answered – you definitely hadn't stopped. You had intertwined your fingers, felt his heartbeat under your hand. And for a moment he had enjoyed it and let himself be carried away.

His hands on your hips, his palms on your cheeks and his nose on yours. None of his touches had been conscious, but the result of his desire, which he suppressed so as not to jeopardize your friendship. How can a simple touch make his cock so painfully hard that he has to arrange his erection in his pants so that it is not visible to everyone?

He can't even imagine what would have happened if Pierre and Kika hadn't entered your apartment without getting a raging boner.

It would definitely be smarter if he at least made a reasonable effort to stay away from you a little and not look for your touch every second. But even when you were sitting in the car with Kika and Pierre, he had longed for you. And it had taken about three turns in Pierre's SUV before he had reached out for you and wrapped his long fingers around a calf. Thank heavens you even held out your leg so that he could grab it better.

From that moment on, he became more shameless around you, even though he cringed inwardly every time. For example, when you were standing in front of the bed in the furniture store and he whispered to you that you should lie down on the bed so that he could see what you looked like in it before he bought it. And that he insists that you continue to share the bed. Of course, only under the pretext that you can sleep better if you fall asleep snuggled up together.

He didn't hesitate for a moment to lift you off the couch and onto Jori's terrace, only to lie down on it himself so that he could then pull you onto him with your full weight. He had seen the insecurity in your face, the way you shifted from one foot to the other, but he had also seen a sparkle in your eyes – desire perhaps? – and nothing in this world could have stopped him from feeling your weight on him.

You felt perfect on top of him when he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him so hard that there was a chance you might leave an imprint of your head on his chest if you ever got up again. His lips found their place on the crown of your head and his hand found your bare skin under your shirt as you snuggled up to him and giggled that he was very comfortable despite his muscles.

What went through his mind when he offered you that he could lie on top of you, he doesn't know himself. But something about being able to burn all the things that have caused him so much pain in the last few weeks had made him brave and maybe a little crazy. His hand in your hair, the other under your sweater on your spine. His lips on your nose and forehead.

Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me.

Charles fears he is losing his mind.

He lost his mind when he asked you if you would snuggle with him and his heart skipped a beat when you assured him that friends can snuggle too. When he put your leg over his hip. When you pressed your face against his neck and inhaled his scent. He had to move your leg down onto his legs, otherwise you would have felt his hard-on. And all because you touched his neck.

He didn't even know how sensitive his muscular neck was until you brushed your lips over the soft skin there. And as if there was a switch in his body, blood shoots to his cock every time you come anywhere near his neck. As if his body were programmed to react to your gentle touch. Just as his heart reacts to your closeness.

He couldn't wait to introduce you to his family. The fact that his maman had already taken you into her heart had only encouraged him more to keep you close to him – in whatever way. Be it as a friend, as it was unspokenly agreed, or as more – as his family now saw you.

Another crucial point that made him more bold. Because if you didn't want to address the matter and clarify it, then surely you have no problem with him leaning far out of the window and demanding your closeness?

Are you a good girl, mon amour?

He is so happy that you get along so well with his family and that they have apparently adopted you outright. The way they have taken you into their midst – even if it meant that he had to sit on that damn stool all evening. But every time he looked at your beaming face, it was worth the back pain.

He would do anything to see you happy. And he definitely wasn't lying when he told his mom that you're “the absolute best thing that could have happened to him.”

He has never felt so good or so loved by anyone else, even if you only consider him your best friend. This is a fact that he tries to ignore, but it is repeatedly brought to his attention whether he likes it or not.

Every time he looks at you, he hears Joris voice in his head, whispering best friend to him, along with the question of whether he loves you, which he has left unanswered. He can't answer the question, he doesn't want to answer the question, because if he were to answer it in the affirmative, then – then –

Your hands on his naked back, your ass on the back of his thighs, your palms on his chest.

If you only see him as your best friend, how come you looked so indescribably divine when you came on his leg? Why do you assure him that nothing changes when he touches you intimately, when his whole world is shaken by the way you cling to him and moan when he runs his tongue along your neck?

He would have liked to throw you on your back and rip your shirt open to get to your naked skin faster. He would have sucked, licked, bitten, if you had let him. He would have pushed his face between your thighs and tasted you on his tongue until you came for him several times, burying your hands in his dark hair and moaning his name.

But you weren't ready yet. And he definitely wasn't going to risk everything.

Look at me, mon amour. Look at me when you come for me.

Even if he suffered a severe concussion in the next race, he would never be able to forget the look on your face. What his hand looked like on your throat. How your ass felt in his hand.

How you left the bed because you felt uncomfortable because of him.

He doesn't know where it all went wrong. One moment you were moaning his name, his fingertips had felt the curve of your boobs and you had snuggled up to him – and then you were gone, unreachable and distant. He didn't buy the excuse that you weren't tired for a second. But why would you leave him?

Had he crossed a line? Did you feel pushed when he rocked you back and forth on his thigh to make you feel pleasure? What happened in the few minutes you were lying in bed cuddling that you found his closeness so unbearable that you had to flee the bed?

Was he too forward? Too – too non-platonic, that he frightened you with his behavior? Did you feel so uncomfortable about his touch, his comments, that you saw no other way out than to create an insurmountable physical distance that unconsciously shattered his heart?

He had sworn to himself that he would do everything to maintain this friendship. And if that meant giving you this space, not touching you anymore, not calling you mon amour, then he would do so without hesitation, even if it hurt him more than he would ever admit.

Calling you mon ami felt strange and forced. Your cheek burned on his palm as he touched you one last time. A selfish move he couldn't suppress, that he had to claim for himself before moving away from you so that you wouldn't give up on this friendship.

The night on the couch had been hell – and not just because the cushion was uncomfortable. Charles had barely been able to get any sleep because his thoughts revolved only around you, the look in your eyes and the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

He would keep his distance, as little as possible and as much as necessary, so that you would continue to tolerate him around you. He would do anything to save this friendship, even if it meant swallowing his feelings.

He didn't know what was happening to him when you brought him breakfast the next morning. Apparently, the night on the couch had been the right direction, the first right step to keep you around, which is why he invited you to his boat as a makeshift solution – under the pretext of having to take photos for his Instagram profile – but had forwarded the tickets he had booked for the two of you to Pierre so that they would at least not expire.

There would be time to visit Paris during Christmas. Hopefully.

The day on the boat went much better than he had imagined. Although he held back and didn't touch you under any circumstances, you had been as close emotionally as friends could be, which was certainly due in part to the alcohol. Or maybe it was his honesty when he called to you over the roar of the ocean that he was afraid that things between you would never be the same again. That he would lose you.

And you looked so beautiful lying next to him on the sun bed. So carefree, as if nothing had ever happened between you. As if you had never been anything but friends. And when you assured him that you would like to work with him, he would have liked to kiss you until there was no air left in his lungs.

You would work with him. Spend time with him – voluntarily. You would travel the world with him, see the most beautiful places and get to know different cultures – with him. And maybe, just maybe, you would fall in love with him at some point during your journey together, give yourself to him, just like you did once before.

An imagination he clung to as he touched himself in the shower a short time later. How your lips would feel on his. Your mouth on his cock, your tongue on the soft underside of his dick.

He imagined you lying on the bed in front of him – his new bed – face down, ass up, while he slowly and deeply pushed into you, knocking you over the edge. How your skin would feel, naked and warm as he filled you up with his load, how it would run sticky and hot down your thighs, only for him to catch it with the tip of his tongue and lap it up and stuff it back inside you until you were crying with pleasure and overstimulation.

He sincerely hopes that the walls of the boat were thick enough.

What he had hoped for, but couldn't have imagined, was the moment when you smiled at him the next morning. After he had confessed to you, without thinking about what boundaries he would cross or what ocean he would cross, that he couldn't be without you anymore – and you had replied that you couldn't live without him either.

Another step in the right direction.

Another step when his mother told you that she had prepared your bed – singular – for you – and you didn't instinctively refuse to share the room with him. You could have gone home, you could have asked Charles to sleep on the couch or to get another room.

But even when he looked at you and promised you that he would do everything in his power to fix this friendship and to keep you from turning away from him completely, you didn't push him away. He had laid his heart open to you as much as he could without having to answer in the affirmative to that lingering question.

You are the first thing he thinks about in the morning. You are the person he looks forward to seeing most when he comes home.

And even when he revealed to you that he couldn't stop thinking about how you feel, you didn't back down. When he confessed to you that you may be his best friend, but you're also so much more and that he craves you.

You didn't leave.

Quite the opposite.

The thought that he carried around with him for a whole day, that you feel uncomfortable around him, that the distance between you is the right thing, is swept away with just one touch. Erased. Non-existent.

He wants to kiss you, feel your skin against his, claim you for himself. But all he can do is stare at your hand lying on his. He doesn't even feel the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. All he feels is your hand on his.

He can't answer the question Joris asked him with words, without risking losing his heart to you forever, but the Monegasque can squeeze your hand. Twice.

Your fingertips on Charles' thigh make his brain short-circuit, as your hand squeezes his.

Twice.

#you guys don't understand #i love this #favorite series to date #perfection

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