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sports-on-sundays · 2 months

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hold you while you sleep / CL16 / Part 3

Summary: dad!Charles x French!reader - Now it's time to see how much louder Charles's actions speak louder than his words.

Warnings: 'Y/s/n' means 'your son's name,' you are free to imagine the son as whatever age he acts because I leave that unspecified, crying, kissing, implied sexual actions (seriously it's like two extremely vague small paragraphs), nervousness, censored curse, random name chosen for sister

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: @milenag2008 asked me to tag them, so thank you, and I hope you especially enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Link to part 1 / Link to part 2

Even though you've been trying to go on dates with Charles now for over a month, every single time you sit across the table from him, both your hands folded on the table, you can't shake the thought of how much it looks like you're about to sit down and have a very serious business interview.

But Charles always gets too antsy, takes your hand, and starts rubbing it anxiously, until one of you starts talking.

And this time, it's you who decides to speak.

"I feel like we're two high school students dating, by the way we're carrying on like this," you say with a sigh.

His thumb gently kneads the back of your hand. "It just takes a few minutes for us to loosen up. It's okay."

"I feel like we went full circle."

He looks up, meeting your eyes. "Yeah?"

"We started out dating just like this. All nervous and awkward, until we both leaned into it and loosened up. And then... we got married, and it all happened."

"This time around, I'm going to do it right."

You nod, staring at your hands, eyes glazed over. "I think Y/s/n likes it."

"I know he likes it."

You nod again, gently entwining your fingers with his nervous ones. There's some silence, before you mutter, "You've been doing good, Charles."

He looks up. "I want to be perfect for you."

"Nobody is perfect, but you've been acting pretty damn close to it. But it's just the beginning."

He sighs, nodding. He doesn't like the negative connotation you seem to end every exchange like this with, and you both know it, but you don't intend to stop until he's really proven himself.

You don't know what that means, but...

Yeah.

You figure you'll know when you know.

"Want to come sit next to me?" Charles asks.

"That's awkward," you immediately say.

He frowns.

You stand up and walk around to sit next to him. His arm immediately pulls you into him, and he whispers, "Just want cuddles."

You smile a little as he strokes your hair.

He's so soft with you. He never pushes anything.

You sigh, and you don't know if it's a content one or not.

After another month, Charles has been hanging around a lot more at your house, and Y/s/n is loving it.

Today, as you sit at the table, playing Sorry! with Y/s/n as Charles straightens up a bit (only because he offered to, seeing how hard you were trying to balance giving your son attention and getting the cleaning done), Y/s/n suddenly says with a giggle as Charles dusts a shelf in that room, "I'm so happy Daddy is here, Mama."

You smile softly, ruffling his hair a bit. "Yeah. Daddy makes good company, huh?"

He grins, seeming to love those words coming from your lips. "Yeah! Come on, Daddy! Can Daddy play with us?"

Charles smiles and says, "I'm cleaning for your mama right now, buddy."

He frowns, pouting. "Daddy..."

He smiles and says gently, "I'll tell you a secret, Y/s/n."

You watch with an eyebrow cocked up as, of course, the young boy leans in closer to listen to his dad, who says softly, "Usually, Mama cleans, but sometimes, she gets tired. Sometimes, Mama needs to be taken care of, too."

You smile a little, perplexed, as Charles says this.

Your little son's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Charles smiles, standing up straighter again to gently set his hand on your shoulder. "Your mama loves you, and it's important for you two to play together. So that's why I'm cleaning up for her."

"Daddy?" Y/s/n begins. "Do you ever have to be taken care of?"

Charles blinks at this question, and begins, "Oh, well, I usually can just take care of mys-"

Suddenly you interrupt, though, "No, Y/s/n. I think Daddy's a little confused." You grab his arm and pull him down to your seated level, saying softer, more to Charles himself than actually to your son, "Because even Daddy needs to be taken care of, sometimes, too."

You look at your blushing partner with a little smile, and gently give him a kiss on the cheek.

Often, date nights are when you lock up, and memories that make you uncomfortable to do anything come flooding back. But just spending time, doing the most mundane things- that's when your affection just seeps out.

And Charles seems to love it.

Later that night, after you and Charles put Y/s/n to bed together, you softly singing and Charles reading a story, you sit on the couch together. You were originally about to watch a show together, but that idea was soon lost when tactile Charles pulled you into his arms, letting you lean your head in his lap, and began stroking your hair.

After a while, though, you murmur, "It's probably so late. You need to be getting back to your house."

You look up at him to see him frown. "Can't I just stay here?" he asks, pulling you closer, like a teddy bear.

"For the night?"

He nods.

You swallow. That would be a step.

But all of this has been going to fast. Both of you were trying to take it slow and easy, but perhaps since years ago, you had a relationship like this, it's easy to head through it fast.

For instance, right now, you nod. "Okay. You can stay for the night."

He nods, and you sit up a bit.

He just pulls you onto his lap, earning a little mindless giggle from yourself. "You've always been so clingy and snuggly."

"You don't mind that, do you?"

You shake your head. "Out of all the things you could mess up with, you holding me close is the least of my worries."

He sighs. There's your negativity again.

"What you said earlier- about taking care of me, too. I liked that," he says, changing the conversation topic.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, Daddy," you chuckle softly.

His nose scrunches up, but he blushes. "Don't say that..."

"Why do you blush, then?"

He groans, laughing a bit, leaning back his head.

And you're surprised to hear your lips utter, "You're good. You're a good Daddy."

"You think?" he says, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Well, you sure take care of Y/s/n well. You two are so sweet. He just adores you."

"Funny enough, I think the same thing about you and him when I watch you together."

You chuckle, "Do you?"

"Yeah," he grins. "And you know it's the best when it's all three of us."

You nod slowly, leaning your head into his chest. "Yeah. I think you're right about that."

You wake up to the shrill screaming of your son: "Mama! Daddy!" And suddenly, a little boy jumps on you.

"Huh-?" you blink groggily to see your son, sitting on your stomach, grinning.

He looks overjoyed.

"Hey- hey, love, what's up?"

He grins. "You and Daddy are cuddling! Does that mean Daddy doesn't miss you anymore?!"

"Hmmm...?" Charles puts in, his eyes fluttering open at the over-energetic boy's screaming in excitement.

But just those words from him seem to wrench your heart out, and in that moment, it hits you.

Charles can't mess this up, because it's not only about me, now. It would also break this little boy's heart.

You swallow. Sure enough, you fell asleep practically on top Charles, who has his arms wrapped around your body.

"Daddy? Are you happy now?"

He smiles sleepily, and you have to admit, it's adorable. "Yeah, I'm happy. You want to know why?"

"Why?" he asks, bouncing on your stomach a bit, which makes you go 'oof.'

"Hey, hey," Charles chuckles. "Don't hurt Mama!"

He stops, but asks again, "Why?"

"Because I've got your lovely mama sleeping here in my arms," he says softly near your ear, before kissing your cheek.

You constantly wonder if he's trying to charm you, or if he just is that charming.

"Yeah, Mama!" the energetic boy wholehearted agrees innocently. "You are lovely."

You chuckle a little, picking up the little boy and slipping out of Charles's lap, "Thank you. You're very handsome. Now, let's go get you dressed and ready for school."

Charles, whenever he's not racing, seems to make it to your house.

He's gone for a while, though, and after it being about four months, since you accepted to date him again, your head is spinning.

So after Y/s/n is in bed, and he reaches you from behind and wraps his arms around your waist, instead of leaning into it, you murmur, "Can you... not, right now?"

He immediately takes his hands away. "What's wrong?"

You shrug, going to plop down on the couch. "I'm just kind of... nervous."

His eyebrows crease together. "Why?"

You swallow. "Just thinking about us."

He frowns at this. "What about us?"

"Sometimes, I just get nervous. Uncomfortable with being held... Memories flood back... and I just don't feel very good."

He looks nervous himself now. "Baby," he says softly. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"It's... okay. I honestly think I do believe you're better now."

This seems to reassure him a bit, but he murmurs, "I wish you never had to hurt again."

You sigh. "Everyone wishes that, Charles. No point spending time on something that is impossible."

He nods slowly. "But I just want us to be as comfortable as possible, together. As a family."

"I know," you sigh.

Suddenly you sigh, and flop your head into his lap. "I just want to feel safe! Secure! I want to trust... I don't want to remember what you did..."

He nods slowly, whispering, "I wish I could erase all of that."

"Me, too," you sniff a bit.

"Lovely, don't cry," he breathes, automatically wiping at your cheek as a tear falls down it.

You swallow, but tears keep coming. You're not even sure why.

Maybe there's just a lot left to work though.

Strangely enough, you and your son go to your first race together.

Years ago, you used to go to Charles's races, and you know Charles has set up to bring Y/s/n a few times, having other people take care of him.

But you two go together, to watch Charles.

It doesn't seem like it would be, but because it's such a huge part of his life, it's important to Charles. Really important. And important to your relationship, too.

Well, at five months of dating, you finally take it to the next level of intimacy with him. Let yourself trust him enough. And once his tongue is intertwined with yours, it's hard not to melt into him and let him have control- let him go as far as he wants.

And God, you forgot how good that feels.

Of course, he doesn't do anything, or take any step, without making sure it's okay with you first.

Charles, as you realize after, as he tenderly holds you and lavishes you with affection, can have his way with you, if he so desires.

You're not sure if this fact makes you excited or terrified.

Perhaps both.

And at six months of this, you have your first argument, merely days after Charles presented you with a lovely dinner at an expensive restaurant for your half-year anniversary.

You didn't even know that was a thing, let alone that Charles was going to celebrate it.

But he seems to celebrate just by the fact that all of this is actually happening.

Your head spins with you think about all this actually happening.

The argument starts when Charles flat out comes out saying, as you drive to one of Y/s/n school events, "On Saturday, we're going out on the boat."

"Who?" you ask, looking up at him.

"You, me, Arthur, Lorenzo, Y/s/n."

"No, we're not," you say, your eyebrows knitting together.

He frowns. "Why not?"

"You can go do that, but you can't just make plans so suddenly like that and expect I'll be available."

"What have you got going on, then?" he frowns deeper.

"I promised one of Y/s/n's friends' moms that I would watch her kid," you grumble.

Charles makes an annoyed little sound, saying, "Why can't you take him out on the boat?"

"Don't be ridiculous! There's no way I'm taking someone else's kid to Monaco to go on a boat ride with my boyfriend and his brothers!"

"Couldn't you ask?"

"No!" you glare. "That's so impolite! There's no way I'm asking that."

"Please?" he groans. "Can you just say something came up?"

"Charles, it's your fault for scheduling something so suddenly. I'm sorry; I can't go. Maybe you can just take Y/s/n."

"But I told them you would be there!"

"Told who?"

"My brothers! They haven't seen you in so long- they're so glad to hear we're back together. Come onnn."

Your jaw clenches in annoyance as Charles pulls into the parking lot. "Why would you say I'm going to be there before you've even told me about it?"

"I don't know!" he groans. "I wasn't thinking!"

"Clearly," you snort ruefully as he parks. "You know, I think it's obnoxious of you. You can't think you can just make plans for our whole family whenever you want. That's just not fair. You're not in charge here; you need to check with me, first."

"Sorry! I didn't know!" he complains.

You scoff a little, unbuckling your seat belt, "You sound like Y/s/n when he's in trouble. Grow up a little. You should know."

It makes it easier, still having everything in your mind of what this same man did to you years ago, to get mad at him, for little things.

And in that sixth month, things like this start happening more and more.

You lay in bed, alone, since Charles wasn't able to come over, staring up at the ceiling.

You're nervous. What if this wasn't the right thing, after all? What if you're just going to break up again in the end, and this whole thing will be a waste that just leaves things even more in shambles than they already were to begin with?

Your head pounds, and you start to sweat a bit as you think about this, running your hand through your hair as your breathing quickens.

So when you hear a knock on the door, already in your slightly panicked state, it feels terrifying to get out of bed and pad towards the door, trying to be silent, as to not wake your son up. You stand up on your tip toes to peek through the peephole, and sigh in relief when you see it's just Charles.

You grab the doorknob with your clammy hand and twist it open, whispering, "Charles, why are you here?"

His hands gently meet your waist as he walks in and shuts the door behind himself. "I missed you. I knew I wouldn't get here until late, but I wanted to see you."

You nod slowly, taking this in, "Oh- Okay."

He looks concerned, though. "I thought you would still be awake. I'm sorry. It looks like I woke you up."

But you shake your head 'no.' "I was just laying awake in bed."

"Mind if I lay with you?"

You shake your head again, and you head to the bedroom. Once you're both safe under the covers, laying side by side, Charles says, "You seem troubled. Is something wrong?"

You sigh, thinking for a few seconds, before saying, "Just thinking about us."

He looks slightly nervous, but nods. "I have been, too."

Your eyes meet, both of your heads turned to face each other. "Oh, yeah?"

He nods. "We've been arguing more. About silly things, but I've seen a common theme in all our arguments."

You swallow. "What's that?"

He finds your hand under the blankets. "It usually all starts with me, not being thoughtful enough. I'm sorry. And ever since I've realized this, I've been trying to think of your good and Y/s/n's good more often, instead of mine, and what I want to do. It's all a process, but I just wanted to let you know where I'm at... because I think we've both learned from experience that communication is key. And I know the right thing isn't to let this end. Okay?"

You nod, squeezing his hand, a certain relief filling your whole being. "Yeah. That sounds good. I'll try to give you the benefit of the doubt more often, and remember you're trying your best, and nobody is perfect. Even," you give him a tired but playful little smirk, "if sometimes, you sure do seem f*cking perfect."

He chuckles and comments, "Coming from the most drop dead gorgeous woman I've ever laid my eyes upon."

You giggle a little, cuddling closer to him. He wraps his arms around you, and you murmur, "Will you just stay awake for a bit? Just talk to me. I want to hear your voice."

He smiles softly, plants a kiss on your forehead and begins whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

The last thing you remember him murmuring before you drift off is: "I'm so glad we can be here, right now. Together. You feel like my dream, coming true. But you've had a long day, and you've worked hard. So you can go to sleep now, baby, and let me hold you while you sleep."

And you do just that.

You lean back, lounging next to Charles, looking up at the beautifully painted sky. As the sun sinks, it looks like the horizon has been painted with all different bright strokes of a brush. It casts a golden light on everything, and reflects on the bright blue expanse of water, lighting up your world.

Charles has been talking of you moving to Monte Carlo with him. Moving back to Monaco.

And this day sure makes the idea tempting. Driving around with Charles in his luxury car, with the wind in your hair, to meet Y/s/n, Pascale, Lorenzo, Arthur, and your older sister, Rebecca, at the boat. Then swimming a bit in the water when the sun was still high. And once it started sinking lower, to sit out on the water, back in the boat eating your dinner with your loved ones surrounding you.

You had started with simply, raising your glass to the sky, "Cheers to the beautiful evening!"

Pascale had put in, "Cheers to our lovely family!"

"Cheers to to the yummy food!" Y/s/n had squealed, stumbling over his words a bit as he copied you two and stuck up his cup of apple juice.

"Cheers to Y/s/n being my favorite nephew!" Arthur had laughed playfully, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Your only nephew," you had teased with a grin.

"Cheers to the young at heart!" your sister, Rebecca, put in with a grin, looking out at the lovely sea.

"And cheers to a good life, hm?" Lorenzo had added with a glimmer in his eyes.

Just as everyone was about to clink glasses and drink to it, Charles put in, looking at you straight in your eyes and wrapping his arm around you, "And cheers to forever."

Cheers to the young at heart, a good life,

And forever.

No one sees it, but for some reason, with all the loving people around you, all the laughter and joking and joy, that brings a tear to your eye.

Because this is what I want. This is want I want.

Forever.

So now you shut your eyes against Charles, feeling the warm sun on your body. You listen to Charles's heartbeat. You listen to Arthur playing with and chasing around Y/s/n. You listen to Pascale in the kitchen, humming as she gets the sweet desert ready. You listen to your sister and Lorenzo, standing at the railing, talking softly as they look out at this beautiful world.

And it is a beautiful world, isn't it?

Your eyes flutter as your heart feels whole.

Isn't that just part of this romance?

Nine months of this, now, and you don't want it to ever stop. You don't want to ever let go of it.

And you feel Charles's warm breath on your ear as he gently whispers, "Forever, Y/n, right?"

You grin, nuzzling into him, wrapping your arms around him. "Right. Forever."

Author's Note: I was thinking of writing an epilogue to this originally, but after how this ended, I don't know, because I might want to just leave it hanging like that. But what do you think? Because if you guys want an epilogue, I'll write one.

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fernandopiastri28 · 20 days

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first serve 🎾 ~ oscar piastri x logan sargeant

-> part 2 <-

Oscar looks up at his face, noticing that he’s been ogling at the patch of exposed skin on the boy for a few moments too long. He still has that hat over his head, but now it's turned backwards, a few stray hairs escaping just over the backstrap. “Oscar,” He extends his arm again, just like he had with Alex, and this time it’s not rejected. “Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

wc: 5,112 || no warnings

“Do you reckon we have to go?” Oscar leans back in his seat, his position giving him a picturesque view of the outstretching tennis court- the bright blue ground decorated with neon green tennis balls and white sneakers.

Lando, in the seat next to him, snorts, “Of course we do, Oscar,” Osc-uh. Drives him mad how he pronounces his name like that- he puts more emphasis on it when he is in a mood like now. “We've paid- we rented rackets and paid a whole lot to even get into this club,” He takes a long drink of his glass of milk he’d managed to convince the waiter to bring over despite it not being on the menu. Oscar visibly cringes at the sight.

“We didn’t pay a cent mate- perks of working here,” Oscar scoffs, grabbing his white cap off the glass table and squashing it over his head, blocking the piercing sunlight from hitting straight into his eyes.

“Yeah well, what’s the point of working at a country club where you’re pretty much allowed to play tennis whenever you want to if you’re never gonna take the opportunity by its balls?” Lando wipes a line of milk that’s gathered on his top lip, squinting at his friend and watching as his face turns into an even more hardened scowl under the brim of his cap.

“I don’t know, money?” He shrugs, tilting his head to crack his neck, the muscles flexing at the action. “Because, I don’t know if you know this, but not everyone can be crazy rich like the Norris’ and only be working because their parents are convinced they’re gonna blow all your money the second they move out if they never have to work for it?” Oscar cocks an eyebrow, shifting his attention to look at his colleague who had an offended glare painted across his face.

“No need to bring my spending habits into our civil conversation,” He huffs, grinding his teeth. For being a whole year above Oscar at school and almost 18 months older- Lando is surprisingly immature. “But I actually do know that. Obviously, I know you,” He smirks, turning it back onto the younger man.

“Nice one,” The Aussie clicks his tongue, checking the time on his watch, having to hit the plastic screen to get it working- the downside of still using the watch he got 7 years ago for his 10th birthday. “When are we heading on to play?” Through where the sun hits into the cracks of the cover and reflects back into his eyes- he can just barely see the watch hands hovering over the time 1.43.

“Three?” Lando kicks his legs up onto a chair he’s dragged in front of him, slumping back down and tucking his arms behind his relax. A long sigh escapes his mouth, acting as if he’s had a massive day- when in reality he froths up milk and pours it into ginormous cups to be served around to guests by Oscar, and if the younger boy isn’t busy serving customers- he's in the back cleaning.

“About the ‘crazy rich boy’ thing, you know who’s an even better example of that than me?” Lando drops his head back against the head of his metal chair. Oscar blows bubbles down his straw into his coke, nodding along as his eyes meet Lando’s in a sun-avoiding squint. “The fucking Sargeant family,” He barks out a laugh.

Oscar drains the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the table again before humming in response. “Yeah, they are pretty well off,” In reality, Oscar hardly knows the guy. He’s heard of the Sargeants- his mate back in Australia, Caio, somehow knows the older Sargeant brother, Dalton. Apparently he’s pretty nice and certainly very wealthy.

There’s another son, who he knows is his age, a few months older but also a junior- just at some way richer school, likely the same as Lando. He doesn’t know what his name is though- something like Liam. Given his lack of knowledge about the family, Oscar doesn’t see himself as the kind of person to make a judgement on someone’s financial situation- unless that someone is the spoiled brat of Lando Norris.

Not only does Oscar just not have a particularly extroverted personality, which doesn;t help with getting to know people, he also only moved to the UK a year before to start year 10. And now halfway through year 11- he’s still struggling with people at school’s names- let alone people outside of it. He knows of a few of Lando’s friends, but that’s the extent of his reach out of a friend group. He knows George who’s very polished and almost aggressively British, Alex is very tall and smiley, Max is sarcastic and almost Lando’s carbon copy- just a bit more serious at times, and finally, Carlos who speaks with a thick spanish accent and Lando seemingly has a bit of a crush on.

Oscar would say he and Lando are ‘friends’ to an extent, but he doesn’t think they’re quite at the point that they’d discuss their dating lives yet. So beyond how Lando will take any opportunity to bring up the dark haired Spaniard, Oscar has no further reason to believe the curly haired man isn’t straight.

He doesn’t even know Lando’s views on that, it’s not something that’s come up in conversation yet. Oscar knows he isn’t fully straight himself, but it’s not something he goes around telling absolutely everyone. It’s not a shame thing, more so protecting himself from a potential bad reaction. So when there’s the occasional time where Lando points out a girl and asks if she’s pretty to Oscar, he hums out a noncommittal yes and leaves it at that.

“Lando!,” A familiar voice shouts out from directly below the ledge where their table is situated. “Is your ass ready for tennis yet?” Both boys crane their necks, looking down at the person who’s yelling at them. Standing below with a tennis racket in one hand and adorned in a grey sports shirt, his tan skin and recovering bleached hair is Alex Albon. “Hey guys!” He perks up seeing Oscar, waving his arm dramatically at the younger boy. Oscar waves back politely, greeting him in response.

“Alex is here?” Oscar looks at Lando in slight surprise as they make their way over to the stairs that lead down to the court. The brit nods, combing his fingers through a clump of tangled curls. There’s another figure next to Alex, a boy who’s not as tall but certainly broader. His head is facing the floor, a fitted black hat over his head, only revealing locks of naturally blond hair on the back of his neck.

“I think he brought a friend too, we can do doubles now,” He pats Oscar on the back, insinuating for him to walk faster. He picks up his pace, tugging down on his shirt as it rides up slightly. They reach Alex who is now alone, the other guy seemingly gone to do something. “Albonoooo,” Lando embraces his friend, wrapping his arms around him. “You remember Piastri, yeah?”

Oscar cringes at the use of his last name rather than his first. It’s very typical private school-rich kid stuff, which is right up Lando’s alley. In terms of wealth, the Norris’ are known for being rich, the Russells too. The Albon’s are well off too, the Sainz’s have a lot of money in investing and all that shit. Where the Sargeant’s money comes from, Oscar hasn’t had the chance to ask yet- or more so, Lando hasn’t randomly just dumped that information on him yet.

The Piastris aren’t a household name in terms of their affluence, nor would they be regardless. Oscar has three younger sisters which means his parent’s salaries go towards splitting evenly for a family of six unlike most around the area for three or four. It also doesn’t help that they only moved just under two years ago- so they haven’t had a major chance to build up their net worth, disparate to the families who have been in the area for decades and are living off of the prior generation’s profit.

Oscar extends a hand to Alex to shake, which is ignored in lieu of, “Of course I remember my favourite Australian,” a tight embrace, the strong sandalwood smell of his cologne slamming his senses. He hugs him back tentatively, giving him a few awkward pats on the back before he’s finally released.

“Ha, do you even know another one?” He grins, wiping off a line of sweat that’s already appeared just where his cap hits his hairline. Alex shrugs, murmuring out a ‘fair point’ with a wide grin still plastered across his face as his chest continues to rise and fall from enervation of clearly a few games done already.

“Shit,” Lando clasps a hand over the vibrating phone in his pocket, digging it out and checking caller ID. “Carlos is calling, I’ll be right back,” He hurries off, leaving the two boys who hardly know each other to interact. Just in Oscar’s luck, the boy who was with Alex before returns. He has his shirt hitched up, wiping sweat off his face. When he pulls it back down, it doesn’t cover his stomach fully- instead snagging up on his abdomen, showing off some of his defined torso.

“Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

“So!” A loud clap sounds next to them, Alex stands with his hands clasped together and the handle of his racket leaning against his shin. “You guys will be partners?” He raises his eyebrows at Logan, and then at Oscar. They look at each other, the question showing up in both of their expressions. They both nod and head off to an empty court while they leave the brit to wait for Lando.

Logan extracts a ball from his pocket as Oscar goes and grabs a racket, feeling around with it to make sure it feels comfortable enough. He’s not really a tennis guy- more into cricket growing up in Australia, but it’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with hitting a ball. “So,” He sighs, walking towards the net where Logan is standing with his hip brushing against. “How long have you been playing tennis for?” He regrets the question almost immediately, realising it would’ve been a safer question to ask if he even played it in the first place.

Luckily, his worry about how dumb he sounds dissolves as Logan replies, “Ah,” He scratches at a patch of almost invisible stubble on his chin. “So long,” He laughs, “I’d say since I was about… five?” He bounces a ball against the ground, repeating the motion a few more times before taking a few steps back. “You?”

Oscar only notices when he speaks then the American accent that lays heavy over his words. It’s pretty uncommon in the UK- a lot of proper British accents with the occasional Australian one like his own- but not many like Logan’s. Logan serves the ball, sending it flying over the net with a thwack. Oscar makes a desperate attempt to hit it back but ends with just hitting himself in the chest.

A winded laugh escapes Oscar’s mouth, “Nah, never played.” Logan raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes widening in effect. “Could you tell?” He grins. The other boy has a sympathetic look on his face paired with a slight grimace. Ah, He’s already disappointed.

“All good,” He shakes his head, “Wanna try it again?” Oscar nods awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth from the balls of his feet to the heels. This time when the blond serves, Oscar tries to whack it as hard as possible, sending it soaring a mere few inches over the other boy's head, who ducks instinctively.

The younger of the two goes dark red as the other remains crouching on the floor for a few moments after, his blue eyes huge and almost scared. They look at each other in silence for a few moments, fear on both of their faces. That is until the American bursts out laughing, a strange comfort to the other. He stands up, quickly stretching his legs out before walking towards the net separating them.

“I can teach you how to hit?” Logan drops his racquet, the plastic head hitting the ground with a dull thud. The Australian nods, watching as he jumps the net, slipping into place behind Oscar. “Okay, you hold your racquet like-” Two sturdy hands rest on the backs of Oscar’s, guiding his fingers on how to hold the handle properly. “this,” His breath is hot against the other’s boy's neck, almost unnoticed given how warm the rest of his body feels.

“This is forehand,” He positions Oscar’s arms to be out by his side, letting one drop down to the side so it’s only his right hand to be around the racquet, “And this is backhand,” He does the same, but his right arm is now crossed over his side, “Which is considerably easier,” He smiles when he sees the brunet relaxing with the position.

“Alright,” Oscar nods, going through the notion of swinging it infront of him, hitting an imaginary ball. “Good?” He looks over his shoulder where Logan has taken a step back, watching the other boy in a look of almost awe.

“Fantastic- you’re a natural,” He grins, a pat to the back of the Aussie’s back- a well done, definitely not just another reason to touch him. “You wanna try forehand?” Oscar shugs, going back into his initial position and swinging, noticeably not with as much ease- but good enough. “I think you’re ready to rally,”

Oscar cocks his head, an eyebrow raising in unison. “Isn’t rallying like driving cars?” It’s the American’s turn then to look confused, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Like, driving a really fast car on dirt roads?” He scratches the hair that peeks out from under his hat.

“Uh, no.” Logan purses his lips. “Well, yeah, I mean I guess it’s also that,” He breaks back into a smile, comforting Oscar’s worries about sounding like an idiot again. “I don’t really know racing or anything, but rallying is essentially just a series of successful hits made by players,”

“Ahhh,” Oscar leans back a bit, flexing the hand that was previously gripping around the taped handle. Logan walks back around to the other side of the net and picks his discarded racquet back up. “Gotcha,” He kicks a tennis ball to the side, watching it roll over to where Alex is still standing waiting for Lando to return from his surprisingly long phone call with Carlos.

Alex has a wide grin on his face, one hand firmly planted onto the net pole closest to the pair, his other hand on his hip as he leans awkwardly. “You guys are getting on well,” he teases. Oscar rolls his eyes, looking to where Logan is unphased and almost looking a bit out of it as he waits for the other boy to speak.

“Right,” The brunet tries to wipe what feels like a hot flush off his face with his palm, hoping if he is red, it just looks like a sunburn. “You serve?” He itches his neck, his nails digging into his skin as an attempt to focus on the forming stinging pain rather than how Logan looks from his spot across from him where the sun is hitting perfectly against him.

“I can,” Logan grins, extracting a ball from his pocket and bouncing it against the ground a few times. Oscar makes note of it, remembers that he needs to do that when it comes his time to serve so he can impress Logan. He remains light on his feet, able to move around to hit the ball so he doesn’t make a mess of himself again. “Please don’t try to take my head off with this one,” He teases.

“I can’t make any promises but I can try,” he rolls his eyes, waiting patiently for the ball to cross into his side of the court. When it does, he drags his racquet back just slightly, lining up to the ball so it taps right into the centre of the gridded wires. It bounces back off it, hitting into the floor over the other side. He doesn’t let himself celebrate, too busy focusing as the ball comes straight back towards him.

He uses a bit more force this time, hopeful to send it past Logan and get a point, being somewhat impressive while still not hitting him again. It doesn’t hit him, that's for sure, but instead Logan controls the ball perfectly in retaliation, sending it straight back across in a line that slips straight past Oscar. “One-love,” The American uses his foot to nudge a ball closer to himself as the other boy’s already big brown eyes grow wider.

“Huh?” His top lip twists upward, a confused guise painting across his pale skin. He swings his racquet in practice, his eyebrows tensing in question of what that means. Logan doesn’t notice the confusion on his face, dipping down to pick up the ball under his shoe.

“Love- means zero basically,” Alex calls out from next to them, that same cheeky grin still spread across his mouth. “It means you’re losing mate,” He jeers lightheartedly. Oscar scoffs, ignoring him as he gets ready for another ‘rally’. This time, Oscar manages to hit it just past Logan, securing himself a point.

As time stretches on and Lando remains elsewhere, the three boys get further into chatting- discussing school, where Oscar learns that Alex and Logan are in the same school year, along with Lando at some posh private school the Australian can’t quite pronounce. Alex has a girlfriend who’s actually in the year above Oscar and at the same school, a girl called Lily who plays golf for their school’s representative team.

After a while, they get back onto the topic of tennis, which Oscar is slightly distracted from given how Logan’s hat has been tossed to the floor, allowing his messy and tangled blond hair to shine bright in the sun, a few strands reaching downwards towards his bright blue eyes. He wants to ask if Logan also has a girlfriend like Alex does, but since they’re off that topic- it feels weird to bring it back up.

Instead, he decides to reinvolve himself in the topic at hand. “Why did you start playing tennis anyways?” His question is directed at the American, unknowingly cutting off the conversation the other pair were having. Alex and him look at each other knowingly, a quiet laugh escaping the dark haired thai. He nudges the blond, his mouth moving to say ‘he doesn’t know?’

Oscar furrows his eyebrows again, looking in between them to try and figure out firstly, what’s so funny, and secondly, what is it that he doesn't know. “I’m, ah, how do I say this casually,” Logan grits his teeth, a pause. “I’m Logan Sargeant,”

Oscar somehow feels even more confused by this. Alright, yeah, it’s an aggressively American name, sure, but does it mean anything to Oscar? Not at all. Why him reintroducing himself has anything to do with tennis is incomprehensible to the Australian. The last name is slightly familiar if anything, but not enough to spark any recognition. “Okay,” He nods his head once, looking to Alex for more context that he doesn;t think he’ll find in his tennis partner.

“Logan Sargeant, son of Daniel Sargeant-” He continues. Oscar wants to interrupt and let him know that he’s not good with names, so that really doesn’t mean anything to him- but he doesn’t have to, because someone else does it for him.

“The Daniel Sargeant who owns this country club.” Oh shit. Super rich Logan Sargeant, the wealthy family Lando had been talking about less than an hour ago. The voice who interrupts is the previously missing member of their group, his jaw tight and his phone shoved haphazardly into his pocket in a way where most of it still hangs out.

“Logan Sargeant, the Sargeant’s who own Bayside Hills Country Club?,” Oscar’s voice is a mix of surprise and taken aback. Alex laughs awkwardly, seemingly his response to everything. The American nods, looking shameful that he didn’t have the opportunity to even tell his new mate before Lando jumped the gun.

“Fuck,” He clicks his tongue, his eyes still wide as he looks down at his shoes. In comparison to Logan, his outfit is scruffy and inexpensive. His shoes are beaten up and muddy, while the other boys are pristine white- clearly new. His shirt is baggy in all the wrong places, stretched from too many wears, while Logan’s clings to his body like it was made for him. “You’re like… rich,” He cringes as he says it, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be making a comment on someone else’s financial situation.

“Why are you here?” Lando is straight to the point interrogating the unexpected member of their tennis group, raking his hand through his curls, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently as if he wasn’t the one who left the other’s to go answer a call. “You know Piastri?”

He shakes his head, “Alex- only just met Oscar,” He corrects, looking at brunet rather fondly. “Where’d you go off to?” Logan queries, checking his watch, which Oscar notices how nice it is- a clear representation of his status that he’d managed to not notice until now. “It’s been over an hour

Lando’s lip straighten into a tight line, almost embarrassed, “Sainz needed to talk,” He murmurs, dragging the back of his shoe up to gather some of the peeling ground up off the floor. The way his cheeks turn rosy is enough of an indication that Oscar’s theory about him and Carlos were right. “Now, are we gonna play or what?” He looks expectant, confused as to why they’re still standing around and talking.

Logan looks at the Australian, his lips curling into a look of disinterest. “You wanna?” He mouths, his eyes roaming over the sweat coating the brunet's face and his clear expression of exhaustion. He receives a mouthed ‘not at all’ in reply. “Nah, you guys can though,” Logan gestures between the two other boys as Logan and Oscar pick up their racquets and walk off.

Lando hurls a few exasperated half-arsed insults at the pair, before eventually giving up and settling for playing with Alex. Oscar removes his hat, shaking his sweaty hair out before raking his finger through it- not caring too much about how it looks. That is until he sees in his peripheral, Logan staring deep into his soul. “You have nice hair,” His accent is thick and low, his mouth barely opening as he says it.

Oscar tilts his head, his eyes looking up to the mop of somehow perfectly done golden hair belonging to the American. “You too,” He grins, looking back ahead at the stairs they’re beginning to go back up.

“I have like uh, a room here,” Logan blurts out, catching the eyes of Oscar who has far too many thoughts spinning through his head at that sentence. “I was thinking we could hang out there? I have a tv and couch- we could play fifa or… mario carts- if that’s your thing?” He exhales nervously. The aussie accepts graciously, a tinge of red appearing under his eyes.

They wander around just talking and laughing for the next hours, discussing the club, their respective schools, sports, friends, families, everything. Oscar learns that Logan’s been learning to play tennis since he was so young because even back in the states (where he lived up until 5 years ago) and tennis was the main appeal and aspect of the club. He in fact has a brother called Dalton who moved to Australia for university the year prior and they learn that he and Oscar’s mate Caio are roommates.

Despite his family’s wealth, he has a job at the club doing tennis coaching- which always happens early morning during the holidays, which is why they’ve never ran into each other as Oscar works late afternoons. Lando is in his year at school and dislikes him as he believes he’s a pretentious asshole- despite never bothering to get to know him. Confirming Oscar’s previous unasked question- he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Oscar tries not to smile too hard at that.

They sit down at one of the club’s restaurants as it nears toward 6pm, the prior hours they’ve been talking for seeming far shorter then its actually been. They share a pizza and far too many fries, drinking milkshakes until they feel completely ill. By the end, they decide to finally go back to Logan’s ‘place’ at the club to take up the suggestion of playing games.

As they walk over, they remain pretty silent, both clearly feeling the same way about each other but equally as oblivious that it’s requited in any way. They arrive at a thin brown door down the hall of the management office where Oscar often has to retreat to when someone asks for his manager when being difficult. There’s a small gold plating drilled into just above the door handle, ‘Logan’ it reads, branding his ‘room’. Logan presses a keycard to a sensor on the right of himself, pushing down on the handle as it clicks open. “My place,” He gestures inside, stepping aside to let the other boy in.

It opens up into the living room, surprisingly big in comparison to management next door. It has floor to ceiling windows, looking out of the golf field that opposes the tennis courts, separated by a fifty metre pool. “Shit,” Oscar looks out at the view, an impressed painted on him. “This is nice,” He murmurs, turning to look back at his friend.

“Thirsty?” He somehow has two bottles of water in his hands, extending one hand out to Oscar as he pressed the spout of the other one to his own lips. Oscar accepts graciously, guzzling it down greedily from dehydration from the previous hour. When Logan finishes drinking, Oscar can’t help but stare at how the water has left his lips with a wet and glossy sheen over them. Think Oscar, he repeats to himself mentally, say something.

“Mario,” His voice cracks, ignoring it from exhaustion and gratefulness that he even managed to speak at all. They adjourn to the couch, slumping down into the plush and squishy cushions. “Who do you play as?” Strained, his throat aching with forcing words out.

“Bowser,” He tosses a controller into the brunet's chest, turning the tv on and selecting Mario Karts, multiplayer and then looking at Oscar expectantly.

“Not ideal how heavy he is, weighs down the car. Any extra weight makes you slower” God, how dorky, snapping back into talking about karting once again. Logan smiles regardless, moving ever so slightly closer that it's almost unnoticeable.

“That’s okay, I’m strong,” The corner of his mouth twists upward, eyeing Oscar rather intensely. “Who do you play as?” He rests his free, non-remote wielding arm on the back of the couch, his hand just behind the other boy’s head.

“Yoshi,” He selects him, trying to keep his burning gaze off of the american. The back of his neck is scalding hot now, desperate with the wanting to be touched. Logan’s eyebrows flicker upward, almost inquisitive. “I think he’s cute,” He explains, a stupid tight smile on his face.

“Ahh, fitting for you Piastri,” Weirdly, him using last name to address, Oscar doesn’t mind it too much. On the other hand, he’s hardly focused on that because he’s thinking about what he meant by that, was he calling him cute?

“Why’s that?” He challenges, his body heating up even harder as he feels two fingertips toying with the hair on the back of his neck, goosebumps forming all over his skin. Eyes are rolled at the question, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ Logan wants to ask.

“You’re cute,” He murmurs, his eyes focusing down at Oscar’s pale pink lips. Following suit, he admires Logan’s thinner and darker pink, almost red, ones- still wet and glossy. “Very fucking cute,” His hand settles on the back of Oscar’s neck fully at this point, his body shifting to readjust so he’s face and body onto him.

Blue eyes meet brown, pink grazes red, blonde brushes against brunet. Logan takes initiative, his bottom lip slotting in between Oscar’s pale ones. They both close their eyes, their breathing getting heavier and louder as they lose themselves in the moment. Oscar’s kissed a girl before, a few at that. Kissing a boy is different though. Slightly harsher, more chapped, a thousand times more nerve wracking. His hand releases the controller and presses down on one of the other’s thighs.

“More,” Logan grants his wish, licking into his mouth rather tentatively, taking his time to not pressure him or make him uncomfy. Taking his time also allows him to enjoy the sheer moment of pure bliss. It’s all he’s wanted for hours now, the second he saw Oscar, heard his voice- he just wanted to feel his arms around him and his lips on him.

He just had to make the first move, first serve.

#tennis fic #logan x oscar #oscar piastri #logan sargeant #f1 2024 #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren f1 #williams racing #lando norris #alex albon #carlos sainz #country club #rich boy activities

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