#some of us are silly and like to fantasize about piarles shenanigans in milan instead of focusing on the things we're supposed to be writing

[hourcat]

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Charles mumbles as Pierre saunters into the room, grin curled on his face. “I do text you I miss you a lot.”

Pierre shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood,” he hums, waiting patiently for Charles to close the door before closing the distance between them, backing him into the wall. He hasn’t even taken the new Ferrari t-shirt off yet, garishly yellow and contrasting horribly with the white-beige wallpaper. “Besides, I saw you across Milan in this outfit of yours, so I had to come see.” He tugs at the fabric teasingly. Charles huffs a laugh in response.

“I thought you liked highlighter yellow,” he offers, a little pout settled pretty on his mouth. Then, with another laugh: “Don’t be mean, Pierrot, I am not complaining.” He grabs loosely at the hem of Pierre’s shirt. “I like the idea that you’re at my beck-and-call.”

“Mmm, am I?” Pierre sways forward, still grinning. Their noses brush. “Maybe I just wanted to come and laugh at you, cheri.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I think you are just whipped.” Then, with a hum: “Am I allowed to say that if it is me who has you that way? I do not know.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just catches Pierre’s still-grinning mouth in a half-kiss. There’s no heat to it, no underlying hunger or need or desperation—just comfort, ease. Pierre can feel the soft rumbling of the noises Charles keeps making: like the engine of a car, he thinks amusedly. He’s warm from the Italian sun, and pliant, too, although Pierre figures part of that is the company, considering his best friend’s patience for Ferrari events these days.

“Pierre,” Charles murmurs between kisses. “You really came because I said I missed you?” He shrugs. “You said you were doing—Red Bull stuff.” He wrinkles his nose at the sentiment. Pierre chuckles.

“I had a change of heart,” he answers, punctuating the response with a kiss. Charles takes it easily, makes another soft hum noise that travels right through Pierre like a radio wave. It’s the truth, anyway—contract negotiations are keeping him from doing anything for his current team, anyway, and as nice as it might’ve been to hang out with Yuki, the knowledge that Charles was here in Milan, too, felt like the better choice to make today.

“So you’re choosing me over your career, Pierrot?” Charles’ mouth has split into a grin, eyes sparkling in the light of the apartment. Pierre snorts in response. “You are here instead of there, mon petit, you can’t argue with me.”

“Ugh.” He ducks forward, planting his face in the crook of Charles’ neck. “Don’t let it get to your head, Charles.” Pierre can feel the laughter in response vibrating through him. He’s not going to dignify him with a look.

And then Charles makes a soft whip-crack noise in his ear, followed by another low giggle, and Pierre knows it’s too late.

“Next time, I’m doing press with Yuki.”