#snippet.tag

[talictries]

Oscar doesn’t clip his nails often.

Carlos knows this because when he woke up this morning, still slightly-intoxicated and feeling the beginnings of a gruelling hangover, in the mirror he saw the red, angry lines carved freshly into his back. 

He’d poked and prodded at them - the heat of them under his own perfectly-trimmed fingertips, how the lines are raised and bumpy - like a million speedbumps on an otherwise flat street.

Now they lie under his fireproofs - itchy as the sun blasts down on him, ready for FP3.

Carlos also knows Oscar’s night continued after what happened between them.

He knows this because there are purple blemishes crawling up his collarbone - marring his thick neck and the column of his throat. Lovebites so damning, so possessive, so - so obvious that the purple atop his collar sticks out like a single rose in a garden of green. Carlos knows this because the hickey’s there, that Oscar flashes around uncaring, unflinching, unabashed - weren’t left by him.

[talictries]

II : Home

“Get ofth’” he shoves, but can’t hold back a laugh as Max slobbers another kiss to his rose-blushed cheek. 

After something that could barely be called a struggle, Oscar watches the World Champ  slump onto the bed - the force shaking the mattress - with a faux defeated huff of relaxation.

“You’re a winner, baby,” Max is not usually one for pet names - especially the cringey sounding ones, but, similar to Oscar himself,  liquid courage gives him loose lips.

“Not for the first time,” he wipes a tissue over his stomach in response, cleaning up the very mess they’ve made in his own childhood bedroom. If he focuses enough upwards he can see the faded glow-in-the-dark stars - something he used to look up and wish on.

“Well,” there’s a grab to his hand and a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Max’s eyes shine blue in the moonlight.

“-So far you’re the only one who’s rivalling me.”

Oscar scoffs, thinking back to last year regarding all the bullshit in the press about the title fight- how much they hated each other when the carefully curated media narrative couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

He pulls his hand away with a swallow. “Yeah.”

There’s quiet. Unlike normal, it’s uncomfortable. And Max - well - Verstappen’s never been a quitter, never leaves things unsaid and it’s something Oscar genuinely loves about him, but right now…

“Yeah?” the Dutchman mocks softly, but Oscar can hear the offense at such a short, blunt answer crawl into the lilt of his accented tone. “Just ‘yeah?’”

He wants to leave this conversation til morning. Not on the night after a top-step podium of his home race, but his fiance is persistent as ever, as always.

out of context fic snippet - another mozcar and yet another future fic <3333 sorry I've been away - happy holidays and new year my loves.