Chapter Text
Stupid Carlos. Stupid Carlos and his stupid puppy dog eyes. Stupid Oscar and his susceptibility to said eyes.
"Princesa," Carlos drawls, peeking his head into the bathroom. Oscar's lips close around his toothbrush. He squints as Carlos snaps the clip open and closed a few times. It's lime green. "I found it."
"I see that." But with his toothbrush still in his mouth, and foam gathering at the corners of his lips, it sounds more like 'ah shee thah.'
"C'mere." Carlos makes grabby hands. Oscar gestures to the toothbrush, but Carlos ignores him, closing the distance and gripping Oscar's jaw. He smooths Oscar's hair, sculpting it to his liking, and then he secures the clip. He takes a step back, grinning. "Perfect."
Oscar raises his eyebrows.
"Stand still for one second."
Oscar tries not to swallow his toothpaste.
Carlos looks him up and down, and his grin widens. "Perfect." In fighting a laugh, the toothpaste sneaks toward Oscar's throat. Carlos steps closer, wrapping his hands around Oscar's hips, swaying back and forth. He gives him a squeeze.
"Carlos," but it sounds more like 'car-oh-sh.' "Brushing my teeth."
"Okay, okay." Carlos squishes his ass, and Oscar yelps, giggling. He turns to leave the bathroom, wrapping his fingers around the doorway. "I'm fucking you tonight though."
"Again?"
Carlos licks his lips. "You've converted me."
"I have?"
Carlos hums.
Oscar rolls his eyes a bit, turning back to the sink to finish brushing his teeth. He spits and cups his hand to bring some water to his mouth. After swishing it around and spitting again, he looks up into the mirror to find Carlos behind him once more. Carlos crowds him up against the sink, hips to his ass.
"You're a perv," Oscar grits out, as Carlos grinds against him.
"Can you blame me?"
"I've turned you into a perv," Oscar says it more like it's a weak self-reflection.
"You look so pretty like this, princesa." Oscar catches Carlos's frown in the mirror. "Prettier than me. Maybe I should start shaving," he pouts. Oscar always shaves himself bare because he hates the way it feels when his body hair rubs against his fireproofs.
"Nope, no way," Oscar says, nearly immediately. "You're not allowed." Carlos doesn't have the same issue, so he hardly ever shaves. Oscar is always torn between a little obsessed with it, and a little jealous because Carlos's body hair is a formidable force that Oscar cannot rival even after months without shaving. Screw him.
"But you look so good. Like a supermodel, Osc." Carlos feels along his stomach, palm warm. His nose is buried in the hair at the nape of Oscar's neck. "Your tits are bigger than mine," he whines. His free hand palms at Oscar's pec, giving it a light squish. "Look so much more like a girl than I ever do."
Oscar scrunches his nose, and the creases at the corners of his eyes peek out.
He's wearing a two-piece set that Carlos bought for him. At first, Oscar had said, 'hell no', and then Carlos had batted his eyelashes and said they would be matching, and now he's got on a frilly pink cropped camisole and matching shorts. It's got a bow in the center of both pieces, and on the shorts, it's a little larger. It's cute, Oscar can agree as much, but it's definitely something he prefers to see Carlos wearing as opposed to wearing it himself.
Carlos is stupid because he always thinks Oscar likes it when Carlos wears stuff like this because it makes him look like a woman. For someone so conventionally attractive, Carlos can have these moments where he gets remarkably self-conscious. Especially when he starts comparing himself to women.
But Oscar likes it when Carlos wears this sort of stuff, not because he looks like a woman, but because he looks like Carlos. There's nothing hotter than Carlos covered in lace or pretty bows, a clip or two in his hair, with his happy trail and ever perfect five o'clock shadow and hairy arms, scrunching up the fabric as Oscar fucks into him, watching him whine all pathetic and fucked out, knowing that he wants to be pretty for Oscar, knowing that he wants desperately to be Oscar's princess—and he is.
It's sort of impossible to think about women in that situation; the only thing Oscar can think about is Carlos. So fuck, maybe he shouldn't have told Carlos he was bi, and instead that he's Carlos-sexual, because ever since he got on the grid, it's been Carlos, Carlos, Carlos, and absolutely no one else.
He shimmies a little, and Carlos's breath catches, and it's enough of a distraction for Oscar to slip out and swap them around, pinning Carlos's back against the sink with a hand on either side of it. He runs his hand over one of Carlos's arms, eager to feel the hair there.
"Surely you don't think you can get away with any of that," he mutters. Carlos bites his plush bottom lip, leaning forward to glance between them. "You look way prettier than me, because you're my princess. Don't think I didn't notice you trying to steal that."
"It's different," Carlos mumbles.
"Yeah? It's different?" Oscar's head tilts. "Why, because you said it in Spanish? I can do that too, princesa."
Carlos giggles.
"You laughing at me?"
"No," Carlos drags it out.
"Hmph." He toys with the lacy hem of Carlos's shorts, identical to the ones Carlos has asked him to wear. "I don't think you deserve to fuck me tonight." Carlos gasps.
"But I've been so good."
"No, you haven't." Carlos pouts again, so one of Oscar's hands comes up to put a few fingers over his lips. His thumb settles on the bottom one, slowly pulling it down. "Said I was prettier than you, that my tits are bigger, called me a girl? But I don't fuck you like a girl, do I? Hm, can't get a girl to fill you up like I do, make you ramble like an idiot, fuck my cum into you. Would you rather I be a girl, Carlos? Is that it?"
"No," Carlos mumbles. Shyly, he crosses one foot behind the other. "Would you rather I be a girl?"
Oscar laughs. "And you think you've been good?" He shakes his head slightly. "I want you, darl. Whatever you want to be, I want you."
Carlos's shoulders sag a bit in relaxation.
"Is that what you want? Do you want to be a woman?"
"No."
"Mmkay, you know you can tell me if you do, none of that could change how I feel about you."
"I don't want to be a woman," Carlos affirms.
"But you do want to be my princess."
Carlos heaves a breath, leaning forward to push his forehead into Oscar's shoulder. Oscar can't help but grin and huff a laugh.
"Yeah, you like to be my princess." His hands run down Carlos's body. "You like to dress all pretty for me." He plays with one of the straps to Carlos's top. "There's nobody like you, princess, no woman, no man, no person, just you."
They are silent for a moment, wrapped up in a hug, Carlos's breath hot against his exposed shoulder.
"You look so fuckable like this, Osc."
"Now you know how I feel all the time." He can feel Carlos's smile. "You still don't get to fuck me, though."
"'s okay. You fucking me in this is going to be so hot."
"I can't believe I turned you into a switch."
"Like you said, any which way is fine as long as it's you."
Oscar pulls back enough to press a kiss to Carlos's lips.
"Can we keep the tops on?"
Oscar giggles. "You're dirty."
Carlos scrunches his nose, whining.
"We can keep the tops on."
"You'll let me dress you up more often?"
Stupid puppy dog eyes.
"I don't know…" Oscar drags it out, and Carlos faux-frowns.
"I like it when we're matching," he says, sticking out his bottom lip. "And you are so unfashionable, Oscar. If not like this, then at least let me dress you for events sometimes."
"Maybe once or twice."
Carlos considers this, and his frown deepens. He glances at the bow in the center of Oscar's chest, and then back up at his eyes. Oscar twitches.
"Fine."
"And some cutesy stuff?"
"Fine." Anything for Oscar's princess. Carlos's face snaps into a smile. Then he reaches out, grabbing at Oscar's chest again.
"I wasn't lying about your tits."
"Fuck you," Oscar drags it out as he flushes.
Carlos raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there." Oscar's hands trail down, settling over the backs of his thighs. "So impatient, princess." He hesitates a moment. "Princesa."
Carlos tries very hard to hold back a laugh.
"Shush."
"We will work on your pronunciation."
Oscar takes his turn to pout back.
"Aw, I want to take a picture of you like this. Put it as my lock screen."
"Can you picture George's face in a GPDA meeting when you get a notification, and he sees that as your lock screen?"
Carlos shrugs. "Honestly, I'd rather not be picturing George's face at all right now."
Oscar laughs and then kisses him again. He squeezes Carlos's thighs. "Up."
"You sure you can carry me?" Carlos gives him a teasing look of skepticism.
"Oh, it's one of those nights, is it?" Oscar smirks. "Up, now." Finally, Carlos rolls up onto his toes, and Oscar picks him up. He wraps his legs around Oscar's torso, clutching his hands around his neck. "You've been very bad tonight, bit of a brat, I think."
"Me? Never."
"You're just asking for it now, darl." He adjusts his grip a bit, walking to the door of the bathroom, back toward their bedroom. "And for the record, your tits are the best, because they're so damn sensitive."
Carlos flushes deep and presses their noses together, so Oscar has to stop moving because he doesn't want to trip and kill both of them. "They're not sensitive," Carlos mumbles.
"Yeah? You want to put money on that?"
Carlos grumbles a bit, but nothing intelligible.
"I'm going to prove you so wrong, princess." They both let out strings of hushed laughs, just for them, as Oscar carries Carlos to the bedroom.