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golden-cherry · 26 days

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deal - cl16 (29/?)

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: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

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A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow.

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his.

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms.

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you.

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke.

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself.

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment.

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway.

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that.

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again.

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy.

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality.

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all.

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before.

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that.

"Yes," he breathes without sound.

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point.

But that spark had gone out.

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?"

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid.

He didn't look at Joris.

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything.

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm.

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed.

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about.

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend.

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him.

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him.

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running.

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head.

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours.

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock.

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice.

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his.

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction.

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers.

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

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