When the fingers of a stranger from behind drifts their fingers through the back of his hair, Carlos’ first reaction is to jump from shock.
“Que…”, he manages only to cut himself off when a palm cups at his hip.
“Careful,” a low voice humbles, “You might fall over, princess.”
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Carlos turns to face them. Nico wear an impressed smirk (with who? this is unknown but to the man himself). He crosses his arms before his chest, “Why are you grabbing my hair?”
“Grabbing!”, Nico appears vaguely offended, “I was only admiring.”
“Oh really?”, Carlos grins mischievously. He shakes out is hair and the soft, dark tufts settle over his forehead and ears gently.
“Please!”, Nico clutches a hand to his heart with a plea, “Mercy!”
“You love my hair, don’t you?”, he winks, a step closer and his fingers and praying at the edge of Nico’s jeans. The mechanics are busying themselves in the front of the garage. The air has the scent of soil and the specific fragrance that arrives with rain. Nico averts his eyes, “You do! Of course you do.”
“Hm,” he hums with a frown creasing the centerfold of his forehead.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Carlos teases lightly, pocking at his abdomen with a digit. “Tell me–”, his words disappear when in a swift movement, Nico snags him by the rip of his uniform and tugs him closer. Perhaps it was accidentally or intentional, but Carlos shudders when Nico’s thigh juts between his legs. It takes him by surprise, at first, when the outline of his lips sears every inch of his mouth. It was being burnt of touch in a glorious pain.
“You’re not lying,” Nico pants, his chin resting comfortably on his shoulder blade to breathe in carefully at his ashes.
“Shut up and do that again.”