Chapter Text
Max remembers the first time Charles kissed him. He remembers the taste of cigarettes on his tongue, the way Charles’ stubble rubbed against his chin, how Max’s skin felt like it was on fire everywhere Charles touched. When they had started, whatever this was , he knew then that he was absolutely screwed.
Because Charles has a girlfriend, Charles is never going to choose Max. At first, Max had been okay with that. Well, he hadn’t exactly been okay with it. He always had that rotten feeling in his stomach whenever he actually took the time to think about it. But Max was desperate for any piece of Charles that Charles would allow him, even if he couldn’t admit that to himself. Charles might belong to his girlfriend during the week, but every race weekend, Charles belonged to Max.
The night of Max’s second championship win was when it had all started. Max had been on top of the world. His only objective in Formula 1 was to win. And he’d done it. Again. He remembers the chaos in the cooldown room, wondering whether or not he’d actually done it officially. He’d caught Charles’ eye as he was nudged into the room reserved for the World Champion, and he had looked happy for him. Charles, who Max knew hungered for winning as much as he did, was happy for him. He had looked almost proud of Max. That had meant more to Max than any other congratulations had.
Max tried not to think too much about why Charles’ opinion meant so much to him. Max didn’t care what other people thought of him, but Charles wasn’t just ‘other people’. Max shakes any thoughts of Charles from his head as he downs another shot. He’s at the Red Bull celebration at some club in Japan, Max had of course extended an invite to the other drivers. He’d seen Lando and Daniel around here earlier, but he’d lost track of them a good thirty minutes ago.
The alcohol had definitely started to get to Max. He wasn’t wasted by any means, just on the heavier side of being buzzed. He could feel the flush on his face due to the alcohol, a light sheen of sweat all over his body. But Max was happy, practically euphoric as members of his team grabbed him as they passed, giving him side hugs or rubbing the top of his head affectionately. Max had a family in Red Bull. He felt cherished by this group of individuals.
Max can’t help the smile that crosses his face as he thinks about his found family. He knows a lot of drivers don’t have the job security that Max does, and Max is grateful that he does. But Max fucking earned that security. He gave his blood, sweat, and tears to get to where he is. He wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him.
Suddenly, one of Max’s mechanics is stumbling in front of him, shouting some incoherent nonsense at him, when he sees a certain Monegasque driver over his shoulder, heading towards the exit. All of a sudden Max’s feet are carrying past his wasted mechanic, chasing that mop of brown hair out into the alleyway outside of the club.
Max’s breath catches in his throat when he sees Charles. The Monegasque is leaning against the brick wall, one leg planted on the ground and the other resting against said wall. What takes Max’s breath away is the cigarette between his lips. Now, Max doesn’t condone smoking, but the way Charles looked illuminated by moonlight, cigarette held delicately between his fingertips when it wasn’t being held by his perfectly pink lips, he thinks if he took a photo right now and posted it, cigarette cartons would fly off of the shelves.
“You smoke?” Max forces out, clearing his throat to alert Charles of his presence. He feels uncomfortable staring for so long. He doesn’t know why he’s staring.
Charles flinches at the disturbance, a wry smile crossing his face as he takes another drag from the cigarette as he approaches Max.
“Only on the off season,” he says, stopping in front of Max, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the building, Max leans against it with him.
Max cocks his head in amusement, eyes flicking from the cigarette back up to Charles’ emerald green eyes.
“I don’t know if you have noticed, but we still have four more races,” Max teases, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans.
“Yes, but my season is over now,” Charles chuckles bitterly, looking down at the ground.
And that is not like Charles. Charles does not give up. Charles drives to win, he doesn’t stop trying to win even after the checkered flag. It is why Charles pushed Max into that puddle all those years ago, it’s why there is no one Max enjoys battling more on the track than Charles. He knows Charles’ team let him down. He knows that Charles is so much more than Ferrari. In fact, Max wants to find Mattia Binotto this very second and push him onto the track after all the lights go out, for making Charles think he’s anything other than a champion. A worthy rival of Max.
“You know you are so much better than that team Charles,” Max finds himself whispering, gaze unwavering even as Charles cuts his eyes at Max.
“That team is my family, Max.”
This shuts Max up. Of course it does. Loyalty is important to Max, without loyalty how can you have trust? And Charles’ loyalty to Ferrari is one of Charles’ most admirable qualities. No matter how many times Ferrari screws up Charles’ strategy, Charles is more than willing to take the heat for the team. He is the first one to shoulder all of that responsibility that his team principal should be taking accountability for. Charles has more integrity in his pinky finger than Mattia Binotto has in his entire body.
“Come back inside with me,” Max says finally as Charles discards his cigarette onto the ground, crushing the butt with his shoe.
Charles just looks at him, and Max feels ripped open bare by his gaze. He has felt less vulnerable changing into his race gear in a room full of Red Bull employees.
“It… it’s not a celebration if you are not there,” he tries again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Max doesn’t know why he says that. Why Charles’ presence at his party is so important to him. His stomach flips as he sees an unfamiliar glint in Charles’ unwavering gaze.
Max is getting ready to tell Charles just to forget it when suddenly Charles is grabbing Max by the back of his neck, slamming their lips together and- oh.
It’s less than a kiss and more of a clashing of teeth that makes Max wince, he wasn’t ready for it. He tilts his head, capturing Charles’ lips properly. Charles’ lips are even softer than they look, like two plush pink pillows. Max ignores the bitter taste of cigarettes on Charles’ tongue as their kiss becomes open mouthed, it’s messy as Charles is pressing Max back against the brick wall, a gasp escaping Max’s lips at the show of dominance from Charles.
Max loses himself in Charles, allowing him to trace the roof of his mouth with his tongue, ignoring how the tickle of stimulation to the sensitive palette shoots through his body, arousal pooling in his stomach. Max doesn’t think he’s gotten this worked up from a kiss since he was a teenager.
Kissing men isn’t entirely unfamiliar to Max. Max has known he was attracted to men as well as women for as long as he could remember. He remembers the awkward boners he got in his teens watching F1 drivers douse each other in champagne on the podium, some of their actions homoerotic in nature. How else is he supposed to react when Sebastian Vettel is spraying Jenson Button directly in the mouth with champagne? His first kiss was with another boy during his karting days. Between being a hormonal adolescent and the tension between all of them wanting to win so badly, it was inevitable when Max grabbed one of his karting friends by the arms and kissing him awkwardly. He’d had no idea what he was doing, it was clumsy and there was way too much tongue, but thankfully Max’s friend had agreed not to tell anyone.
Not that Max was ashamed of his sexuality, his bisexuality was an open secret throughout the paddock. If someone were to ask Max straight up he’d say yes, and he really kind of had in interviews. The signs were there. He’d told an interviewer he had Grinder but he’d deleted it because no one believed it was him. Which was true! He’d been humiliated at the amount of people he’d sent a picture of his cock to who refused to believe he was Max Verstappen. He supposes it was a blessing in disguise– this was besides the point.
The point was, boys? Max was used to kissing. Drivers? Sort of familiar. Max had been so embarrassed in 2018 when his infatuated, twenty year old self planted one right on Daniel Ricciardo after his win in Monaco. He remembers how Daniel gave Max a sad smile, gently letting him down and telling him that he was as straight as they come, which Max of course knew, but he’d had a crush on Daniel since he joined Red Bull. Thankfully, Max had been able to bury that crush with the feelings of anger and betrayal of Daniel leaving him.
However, despite all the boys Max may have kissed in the past, nothing compared to the feeling Max got when he was kissing Charles. The way Charles’ goatee felt rubbing against Max’s chin ignited a fire within Max, sending electric shocks through every nerve in his body. His hands on Max’s waist practically burned Max, hypersensitive to his touch. Max feared if Charles pulled his hands away, nothing but bright red handprints on Max’s milky white skin would remain.
It was the best kiss of Max’s life, but it was too good to be true. Max should not be kissing Charles. Max should not be contemplating doing the things he wants to do to Charles. Because Charles has a girlfriend. Why is Charles at Max’s party, celebrating Max’s win, instead of at his hotel with his girlfriend? He shouldn’t be here, he definitely should not be here kissing Max.
Max quickly grabs Charles’ shoulders, pushing Charles off of him, the Monegasque driver letting out a surprised whine.
“Charles, we can’t ,” Max says finally, slightly out of breath, his mind still spinning.
“Why not?” And Max takes a moment to truly look at the state of the Monegasque. His hair is sticking up in every direction, face flushed, lips slightly swollen. He looks utterly and thoroughly wrecked, and Max feels his cock twitch in his jeans. No... he can’t do this, he has to stay strong.
“Because you have a girlfriend?” Max says as if it’s obvious, which it should be. Charles shouldn’t even want to kiss Max. As far as Max knows, Charles is as straight as they come.
“So… you do not want me?”
And the look Charles gives Max breaks his heart. His beautiful big green doe eyes are blown wide open. The way he’s looking at Max is so desperate. Max shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t. He should tell Charles to go back to his girlfriend, tell Charles to forget this ever happened. If Max was a good man he would do that. But Max is not a good man. Max is selfish, and now that he’s tasted Charles once, he doesn’t know if he could ever go without tasting him again. Before Max can stop himself his arm is reaching out, cupping Charles’ cheek in his hand, thumb gently brushing his otherwise soft porcelain skin, now covered in a light layer of stubble.
“I don’t– I don’t know about that,” Max chokes out, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Charles eyes him for a moment, sparkling green eyes staring into his own before a playful smirk crosses his face.
“Then come on,” he says, grabbing Max’s hand as if it’s that easy.
Soon enough they are stumbling into the back of an Uber, Max’s heart practically beating out of his chest. He has no idea how Charles has managed to remain so composed. The Monegasque politely greets the driver, he’s the absolute picture of purity and all that is good. He has one hand on his lap, his other arm resting against the window, propping his head up. Meanwhile, Max feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust any minute.
His foot nervously taps against the floor of the car as Charles makes polite conversation with the Uber driver, chewing on his lip as he avoids Charles’ gaze. Everytime the Monegasque turns towards him, Max immediately averts his gaze. Max feels as if Charles’ gaze is burning, his gaze unpeeling layer from layer away from Max’s tough exterior.
‘Tough’ wasn’t exactly the right word. Max was a heavily guarded person. When it came to racing, Max had no problem speaking his mind. If he felt he was being mistreated, if things weren’t going the way he was used to, he would address it then and there. However, when it came to more vulnerable emotions, anything that could possibly be perceived as a weakness, Max kept those matters close.
It was a common issue with his past relationships. The amount of times he’d heard, “ It’s like I don’t even know you ,” from his partners, Max had lost count. It wasn’t like he wanted to be this way. He just… he couldn’t make himself open up. It was like the part of Max that could be emotionally vulnerable had been hammered out of him. His father had always told him that people will always use your weaknesses against you.
Of course his father would know, he was the one using said weaknesses against Max. But Max was lucky, he had a really good father. One of the best. His father had turned him into a champion, so what if he wasn’t able to properly express his feelings? He’d achieved his dreams, he had everything he could ever want. He didn’t need love. It was just another thing that could be used against him.
Soon enough the Uber is dropping Max and Charles off at their hotel. Max mutters a rushed ‘thanks’ to the driver before sliding out of the car. He makes a beeline towards the elevators, Charles walking about ten paces behind Max. When they arrive in front of the elevator, Max jams the going-up button over and over again. He was one of those people who had the belief that the more they pressed the button, the faster the elevator would come.
“Excited?” he heard Charles mumble behind him, and Max could practically hear the smirk on his face, could visualize the stupid dimple that was certainly apparent on Charles’ right cheek.
“Shut up,” Max mumbles back, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the elevator dings, opening.
Thankfully Max and Charles are the only ones entering, and as soon as the doors are closed and Max has pressed his floor number, he’s suddenly being pushed back against the cool walls of the elevator. Charles’ lips are on his again in an instant.
He can’t help the excited whimper that escapes his lips as Charles moves his mouth against his expertly. Charles has Max’s face in his hands, slotting a leg in between Max’s. He can’t help himself when he ruts against Charles’ thigh, the Monegasque driver letting out a gasp into Max’s mouth, the feeling of satisfaction welling in his chest.
Max wraps his arm around Charles, feeling his strong muscular back beneath his fingertips. He can’t help himself from applying a bit of pressure, feeling the muscles constrict under his hands as he trails them down Charles’ body. He is then burying each hand in Charle’s back pockets, pressing Charles even closer against Max. Charles lets out a groan as he grinds against Max, both of them letting out hot moans into each other’s mouths. Their kiss isn’t even a kiss anymore, it’s more of an echochamber of sound, each of them reacting to this push-and-pull game they had unknowingly entered.
The elevator dings before they know it, signaling their arrival at their destination. They spring apart instantaneously, worried of who could possibly be waiting on the other side of the doors. Not that being separated would help them at all. Max was sure that he looked about as wrecked as Charles does. Plus, the obvious tent in Max’s jeans now could not be ignored. Thankfully, when the doors open there is no one on the other side and Max is immediately rushing out, excitement in his chest of what’s to come.
He turns around, a smile filled with adrenaline on his face, which immediately falls when he turns to see Charles. The Ferrari driver stands still in the elevator, eyes blown wide, hands by his sides as he stares at Max.
“Are you coming?” Max says, voice shaking with nerves.
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, green on blue, before he sees Charles’ leg look like it’s about to take a step forward, his jaw unclenching as if to speak.
“I-” Charles starts but Max doesn’t get the chance to hear what Charles has to say, the doors abruptly shutting on him. A wall of metal separating the two.
Max prays Charles presses the button to open the doors, he stands and waits for what feels like eons. But the doors don’t open. Charles isn’t coming. Max tries to pretend he doesn’t feel the stinging in his chest, the tears pricking his eyes before he rubs them, letting out a frustrated noise.
Max feels like a fucking idiot. Had Charles done this just to mess with him? To get in his head as some kind of sick game to get back at him for winning the championship? It was this moment Max should’ve known that Charles was going to ruin him. That Charles had already wormed his way too far past Max’s defenses for Max to push him out.
When Max goes back to the hotel room, the elated buzz he’d been feeling back at the club has completely dissipated, replaced with a dull ache and a feeling of disappointment as he undresses, alone . Alone. Max was alone.
He had been in a room surrounded by people who loved him tonight, but he still felt that all too familiar longing and emptiness. When Charles had kissed him… that feeling had receded a bit, replaced by something else Max couldn’t quite yet place.
He shook his head, moving to brush his teeth and climb into bed. He was going to forget this ever happened. He was going to forget he had ever kissed Charles Leclerc, felt his hard body pressed against his own. He was going to forget the small noises Charles had made against Max’s lips, how he yearned to see what other sounds he could pull from Charles.
When Max falls asleep, it’s not lost on him that this should’ve been one of the happiest nights of his life, a night filled with celebration. He should be collapsing in this bed wasted, heart full, excited for what’s to come. Instead, Max is more confused and uncertain of the future more than ever. He feels lost and unbalanced. And he has a feeling things will only get more off-kilter from here.
Max doesn’t see Charles again until Austin two weeks later. The week in between where Max doesn’t see Charles he’s restless, unable to get the Monegasque off of his mind. Did Max ruin everything? Surely not… it had been Charles that had initiated everything between them, Max had only been a passenger, an eager one at that.
It’s not that Max had expected a text from Charles over the break, they hardly communicated outside of the paddock. But what Max hadn’t expected was for Charles to completely ignore him. It felt like post-Austria 2019 all over again.
Max and Charles’ relationship had been pretty good lately. They would greet each other warmly in the paddock, chat about driving, Charles was one of his favorite Maxplaining victims. But when Max walked into the paddock on media day, he’d sent Charles a warm smile and had been met by a blank gaze in return. Max pretended he hadn’t felt the sinking in his chest at that.
He and Charles had worked hard to rebuild their relationship, and just like that Max had managed to destroy all their progress with a stupid kiss that hadn’t meant anything. At least, that’s what Max told himself.
Unfortunately for Max, Charles and him were in the same press conference group. As the drivers shuffled into the room with the press, Max couldn’t help but notice Charles take a seat on the furthest end of the couch from Max. Being the freshly crowned two-time world champion, Max was receiving the brunt of the questions. The same iteration of questions that Max was sure he was going to be asked all weekend. ‘ How does it feel to be champion? Do you think you’ll be able to clinch a third next year? Will you be staying at Red Bull? Do you get tired of winning?’
Max endured all of their questions, pushing out the same flat responses through gritted teeth. Max was here to win. Why would he want anything but first place? The only thing he wished was for another season such as this one in the sense that he got to battle on track with Charles more than he had in past seasons. Nothing compared to the rush that went through Max’s body when he saw the all too familiar Ferrari of Charles Leclerc in his mirrors, a worthy opponent. His fated rival, their lives forever intertwined since their karting days.
He can’t help himself when he glances to the side to see Charles already looking at him. Charles, who usually wears his feelings on his face for all to see, but to Max right now he couldn’t possibly begin to decipher the look in his clouded green eyes. They share an intense moment of eye contact before Charles is tearing his eyes away from Max, staring straight ahead instead.
Max mentally checks out for the rest of the press conference. All the interviewer’s words might as well have been white noise, the only thing Max is able to focus on is Charles. This is not good, he needs to get it together. It’s only a press conference but if Charles holds this amount of power over Max now he can only imagine how much worse things can get. As soon as they’re dismissed, Max is off the couch, trying to rush out the room as fast as possible.
He starts to head down the hall to the exit of the building when he feels a hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling him into one of the empty conference rooms in the press building. Max considers screaming, wondering if this is some botched attempt at kidnapping him when he swings around, green eyes meeting his blue ones.
Max can’t help but roll his eyes, frustration rolling through him. Charles has given him the cold shoulder the entire day, and now he’s demanding an audience with Max? What happened to ‘ Hi Max! How’s your day? Remember when I shoved my tongue down your throat?’ Something a bit more civilized.
“The fuck are you doing?!” Max snaps, snatching his wrist away from Charles, rubbing at the sore skin with his hand.
Charles has the nerve to look at Max with wide eyes, like he wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction from Max. What the fuck? This only fuels Max.
“Look, if this is about what happened the other night just forg-” Max is cut off by two lips being pressed against his own.
Max immediately finds himself bringing his hands to Charles’ chest, pushing him away despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to hold Charles close and never let him go. He wants to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, to fuck off, to remind him that he has a girlfriend and to leave him alone, but the words get stuck in his throat.
They stare at each other for what feels like hours, Max’s hands on Charles’ chest, goosebumps raised on his skin as his fingers spread, feeling the hard muscle beneath Charles’ clothes. He tries to ignore the fact that Charles has his arms wrapped around his waist. Max slowly finds himself trailing his hands up, resting them on the back of Charles’ neck. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth entangling his fingers in the hairs on the nape of Charles’ neck.
He watches as Charles’ eyes flutter shut, like he’s reveling in Max’s touch, and he can’t help himself when he leans forward to recapture Charles’ lips on his own. A soft gasp leaves Charles’ lips at the contact, and Max can’t stop the small smile he makes. This is so wrong. He shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he does. Charles shouldn’t feel this good against him. Max is a two-time world champion. He could have anyone he wants. He shouldn’t want Charles as much as he does.
Things between the two become heated fast, it isn’t long before Charles is shoving Max back against the door, Max’s fingers intertwined in Charles’ hair, pulling roughly, relishing in the groan that escapes Charles’ lips. He pays Max back by pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Max feels himself growing semi-hard in his jeans, arousal pooling in his stomach. He needs to get Charles closer, if that’s possible. He’s fisting the fabric of that hideous scarlet Ferrari shirt in his hands, pulling him flush against Max.
It isn’t until Charles grinds against Max’s leg that Max feels Charles is hard too. They makeout heatedly against the door to the meeting room for way longer than they should. Max is positive their press officers must be looking for them, Charles knows this too as he starts to kiss down Max’s neck, Max dropping his head back to rest against the hard surface of the door behind him.
“What is your room number? I saw we are staying at the same hotel,” Charles pants, and Max can hardly focus as he slips his hands underneath Charles’ shirt, feeling the hard abdomen underneath.
“Uh– it is uh… 510,” he manages to say and honestly, how is he supposed to form a coherent sentence when Charles is torturing him like this.
All too soon Charles’ is pulling away, smirking as a whine escapes Max’s lips at the loss of contact. He’s painfully hard now, he needs to get off. He’ll die if he doesn’t.
“10:30. Tonight. I will be there,” Charles says, an arm lingering on Max’s forearm.
“10:30? And you are not going to chicken out this time?” Max raises his eyebrows, voice half teasing.
He watches a soft flush cross Charles’ face as he backs away off Max, Max pushing himself off of the door.
“I will see you then, I promise,” Charles says softly, his eyes holding an expression Max can’t quite decipher before slipping out of the conference room, leaving Max with yet another hard-on that hasn’t been attended too.
He is so screwed.
It’s 10:25pm and Max feels like he’s going to puke. Why did he ever agree to this? Why did he think this would be a good idea? It’s not like Max was short of hookups. He could go to any club and take someone home with him. Not to be cocky, but it was true! He did not need to be sleeping with another driver, a taken driver, a driver that he has known for the majority of his life at this point. This was an extremely bad idea.
Max didn’t have any time to ponder further when the clock struck 10:30 and he heard a knock on his hotel room door. Of course Charles is extremely punctual, annoyingly punctual. Max checks himself in the hotel mirror one last time. He had tried to look as low effort as possible, wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Running a quick hand through his hair, Max let out a nervous breath before opening the door.
Charles, as always, looks immaculately put together. His hair is perfectly fluffy, goatee trimmed, he’s wearing this white t-shirt that drives him insane with the way it hugs his biceps, almost as if the shirt is a size too small. For bottoms he’s wearing a pair of light-wash baggy jeans, and Max can’t ignore the way his stomach flips when he sees the jeans are almost too long, practically swallowing his sneakers, his feet looking impossibly small.
“Are you going to let me in or are you going to keep staring?” Charles smirks, and Max wants to kiss the smirk right off his face, rolling his eyes and standing to the side so Charles can make his way into his suite.
Max closes the door to his hotel room, turning back to Charles to find the Monegasque already staring back at him. He feels goosebumps rise on his skin, a pit of nervousness in his stomach as he rubs his sideburn with his hand, a nervous habit he’s picked up over the years.
“So– would you like a drink?” Max asks, trying to awkwardly start a conversation. It’s been a while since his last booty call, he doesn’t know what the proper etiquette is for these kinds of things. Do they do small talk or is Max just expected to undress for Charles and bend over?
Charles shoves his hands in his pockets, an amused smile on his lips and he shakes his head, slowly approaching Max. He trails a hand down Max’s arm, and it takes everything in Max not to jerk away at the sudden intimacy. He hopes that Charles can’t feel the sweat on his palm as he intertwines their fingers.
“I would like you to kiss me, that is why I’m here, non ?”
Max has to kiss Charles at this point, if only to just kiss the smugness off Charles’ face. He smirks as he hears the Monegasque’s breath hitch in his throat when Max cups his face in his hands and smashes their lips together.
Charles immediately responds, hands finding Max’s waist. Weeks of pent up sexual tension are poured into this kiss. It’s finally just the two of them, where they can’t be interrupted by media duties or pesky elevator doors. It’s just Max and Charles. Their tongues intertwine, the kiss becoming more passionate, saliva being swapped as they grab at each other, a battle for dominance. Leave it to them to become competitive at making out. Max pushes Charles’ shirt all the way up his chest, needing to minimize the amount of barriers between them as they stumble towards the bed, the back of Max’s knees hitting it.
Max allows Charles to gently shove him back onto the bed, allows Charles to climb on top of him so the smaller of the two has completely caged him in with his body. Both of Charles’ hands are on either side of Max’s head, and Max can’t help himself when he trails his hands down Charles’ biceps, holding eye contact.
They lie there for a moment, breathing each other in. Charles drops his head to kiss Max’s neck, a shiver shooting through Max’s spine. The intimacy of it all is almost too much for Max to take, he felt like every gaze Charles sent his way stripped Max bare. Max felt as if Charles was the only one able to see through Max this way. In some ways Max feels as if they’re the same. Two sides of the same coin. The thought makes Max’s eyes burn for some unknown reason.
“Off,” Max commands, trying to move things along, tugging at the hem of Charles’ shirt hoping he’ll take the hint. He can’t do slow, the idea of Charles spending his time taking Max apart bit by bit, savoring every moment… Max thinks he might actually die if that happens.
Charles gives Max yet another shit-eating grin, sitting up on Max’s lap and slowly dragging the cotton shirt up his chest before throwing it over his head and onto the floor of his hotel room. Max tries not to stare, and tries not to notice the little patch of stubble in the middle of Charles’ chest that tells Max that Charles shaves his chest hair. He’s so gone for him and they haven’t even slept together yet.
“Your turn, mon ami,” Charles smiles, pushing Max’s own shirt up his chest, sitting up so Charles can take it the rest of the way, pulling the shirt over his arms.
Max reaches an arm underneath Charles’ ass to support him, Charles’ arms wrapping instinctively tighter around Max as he scoots them both further up the bed so Max’s legs are no longer dangling.
To Max’s shock, Charles pulls his sweatpants and boxers off in one go, leaving Max completely exposed to Charles. He almost wants to cover his crotch with his hands, as if they’re not about to have sex. Max knows he has nothing to be insecure about, down there, but that wasn’t what he was worried about.
Max didn’t usually feel insecure in his own body, it just wasn’t something he usually thought about. As long as Max was hitting the goals he needed to keep driving as fast as possible, the rest did not concern him. However, when Max looked at Charles and saw how perfectly carved he was, how every muscle was perfectly contoured, he couldn’t help but think about every place he was lacking compared to Charles. Charles wasn’t soft like Max. He wasn’t broad like Max, they shared the same freckles that spackled their shoulders, but other than that Charles was everything Max wasn’t.
Charles didn’t seem to mind though, the way his eyes unashamedly dragged over Max’s body, hands coming to lightly trace over Max’s stomach, and Max couldn’t help the way his muscles tensed underneath his touch. His cock sat semi-hard against his stomach, twitching curiously under Charles’ featherlight touches.
The gentle touches cause Max to feel overwhelmed, all he can think about is how Charles’ hands are trailing up and down his sides comfortingly, and Max has to lean up to pull Charles’ lips back to his in order to distract himself. Charles immediately reciprocates, hands stilling as he gets lost in Max yet again.
Max begins to kiss and nip at Charles’ jaw, allowing himself to trail his hands down Charles’ chest, stopping at the button to Charles’ jeans when all of a sudden Charles’ hands are on top of his, stilling his movements.
Internally, Max panics. Did he do something wrong? Has Charles changed his mind again? Not that Max would hold that against him, consent is very important, Max knows that. If Charles were to change his mind Max would absolutely respect that. He stares at Charles expectantly, searching his eyes for any kind of answer.
“What is it?” Max whispers, removing his hands from the waistband of Charles’ jeans to wrap around his waist.
“I just– before we do this, I have to tell you, I have never done this before. With a man I mean, not sex. I have had sex before of course I just— if I am… bad, do not hold it against me,” Charles tries to play it off with a teasing smile and oh.
Max had never even considered that. Charles has never been with a guy before, but here he is now, with Max. He’s trusting Max with this, and he tries not to let it get to his head but he feels lightheaded at the idea that he’s the only man that’s ever gotten to see Charles like this. He knows that Charles must be nervous, to feel like the inexperienced one in any situation. Max certainly knows how he feels when he feels like he’s unprepared for a situation.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want, we can just play fifa or something,” Max rushes out, trying to reassure Charles that there’s no pressure here, that Max would never force Charles to do anything he’s uncomfortable with.
“No! I mean, yes of course I want to, I just, you will have to show me what to do,” Charles smiles shyly and Max tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at the soft expression.
“I can do that,” Max says gently, wrapping an arm around Charles so he can flip them over so Charles is on the bottom, Max’s broad shoulders caging him in as he fumbles with buttons to Charles’ jeans.
He slowly removes them and holds his breath when he sees the tent in Charles’ boxers. Max doubts it’s an overreaction when he thinks he can feel his mouth watering. He needs to put his mouth on Charles.
Max begins to kiss down Charles’ chest, a sense of pride filling his chest at the way Charles’ breath hitches. He lays a tentative hand over Charles’ length, giving him plenty of opportunity to push Max’s hand away as he begins to palm him gently through his boxers, feeling the length stiffen more underneath his touch.
He stops once his face is above the hem of Charles’ boxers, looking up at the Monegasque through hooded eyelids.
“Is this alright?” Max asks, hooking a finger underneath the waistband, giving him another opportunity to back out.
“Y-Yes, please,” Charles breathes, lifting his hips to make it easier for Max to remove his boxers.
Max slowly pulls Charles’ boxers down his legs, his length springing free. Yet another perfect part of Charles. He wastes no time wrapping a hand around his length, smirking at the hiss that escapes Charles’ lips.
He tentatively licks at Charles’ tip before taking him into his mouth without warning, Charles groans and throws his head back onto the pillows. He’s not the biggest Max has ever had, but still big enough that Max’s cock twitches at the idea of how deliciously the stretch will hurt.
Max begins to bob his head, taking more and more of Charles’ length with every pass before his nose is touching his pubic bone and he can feel Charles begin to go down his throat. He loves it. How his eyes water, breathing almost entirely cut off. He thinks he could stay there for at least an hour with Charles’ cock down his throat.
Just as he begins bobbing his head again, wrapping a fist around Charles’ cock to jerk him off, Charles is pulling on Max’s short blonde hair, signaling for him to pull off. Max slowly lifts his mouth off Charles’ cock, his mouth making a ‘pop’ sound. He knows he probably looks absolutely sinful, saliva dripping from his mouth, cheeks flushed due to the lack of air. Charles looks at him impatiently, pupils blown wide, Max can barely see the green of his eyes anymore.
“Get up here and let me fuck you,” Charles practically whines, squeezing Max’s shoulder as an indication to come back up, and who is Max to deny him?
“Yes, princess,” he rolls his eyes playfully and rolls off of the bed to grab his bag of toiletries from the hotel bathroom, he tries to ignore how Charles watches his every move, eyes shamelessly raking over his body. He takes out lube and a condom, tossing both to Charles.
“Do you want to prep me or should I?” Max asks, sitting back on his thighs, eyebrows raised at Charles.
“I want to… will you just… you will have to show me what to do,” Charles flushes, sitting up as well.
Max lies on his back, pulling his knees up to his chest, he figures it’ll be easier to walk Charles through fingering him, (a sentence he thought he’d never think to himself), if he can see him.
He tells Charles to coat his fingers in lube, giggling at the way Charles winces at the gooey, sticky texture on his fingers. He can definitely tell Charles has never done this before. He walks Charles through pushing the first finger past his tight rim, holding his breath as he tries to relax.
Charles gives a few experimental pumps of his finger, exploring the tight ring of muscles. Max soon tells him he can add another finger and Charles begins to scissor him open. It’s clumsy, and the pace is irregular. But Max can definitely tell how eager Charles is to please Max. That fact alone has Max whining, grinding against Charles’ fingers.
Finally, Max gives Charles the ok to add a last finger. It’s very clinical, the way Charles is opening Max up. They’ll focus on the pleasure side of it all next time, if there is a next time. The thought has Max’s abdominal muscles clenching. Suddenly, Charles curls his fingers, hitting a spot that has Max seeing stars, back arching off the bed as a soft moan escapes his lips.
His eyes open to see Charles with a satisfied smirk on his face. Max wants to kiss it off of him.
“Where’d you learn how to do that? Gay porn?” Max manages to tease, grinding against Charles’ fingers as they open him up, chasing the feeling.
“Maybe, I wanted to be good at it,” Charles mumbles and shrugs, as if it’s obvious. Leave it to Charles to watch gay porn in order to research how to properly fuck Max.
After a few more minutes, Max deems himself open enough that Charles won’t split him in half. He reaches for the condom, ripping the foil open with his teeth as he shoves it towards Charles’ chest. Charles takes the hint, taking the rubber out and rolling it onto his length.
“You know you have to use a ton of lube still, right?” Max half-teases, rolling onto his stomach to push up onto his hands and knees, surely if he watched gay porn he knows, right?
“You are awfully mouthy for someone who wants my dick inside him,” Charles teases, and Max hears the cap to the lube flip open again as Charles lathers his dick up.
“What if… I want to see your face?” Charles says softly and Max feels his heart stop. If Charles continues to say stuff like that Max isn’t sure how long he’s going to last.
“It’s your first time, it’ll be easier if we do it like this for now. Next time… we can do it the other way,” Max breathes out nervously, he hopes he’s not being too presumptuous by saying there will be a next time. Maybe this is just a one off thing for Charles. A sexuality crisis.
Charles places a hand on the small of Max’s back, aligning his tip with Max’s entrance. He shivers as Charles squeezes some more lube out where they’re about to be joined.
“Hurry up,” Max whines, tired of the foreplay, tired of how careful Charles has been with him thus far. It’s been too intimate, too slow for something so casual.
When Charles pushes his tip inside Max, he groans at the perfect stretch, every nerve synapse firing off and Max doesn’t ever think he’s felt so alive.
Charles slowly pushes in with so much care, bottoming out and Max reaches back to squeeze Charles’ hip, signaling him to stay still so he can adjust.
Max leans down so his back is perfectly arched, ass up in the air for Charles as he trails his hand up the middle of Max’s back, landing on the nape of his neck.
When Max finally turns his head and nods, giving Charles the signal to move, and Charles begin to thrust in and out of Max.
It’s not bad, it’s actually half decent for Charles’ first time. He’s so gentle with Max. Like Max will break if he thrusts in particularly hard. The gentleness has Max himself wondering if he will break. Charles has seen Max at his most vulnerable. Max has known Charles longer than he hasn’t. His thoughts are messy, scrambled as Charles lets out quiet grunts behind him.
Max tries to remember a time before Charles, a time where their lives weren’t so impossibly intertwined. It’s here Max realized that he thinks he doesn’t want to remember. Before Charles Max remembers being separated from his mum and Victoria, trying to ignore how miserable he was because he got to race. He remembers doing everything to win. He remembers the only time his dad ever seemed to love him was when he was in first place. And he liked that feeling. So Max did everything in his power to win, because if he won that meant his dad would continue to love him.
Then he remembers how Charles pushed Max into that puddle after the checkered flag. He remembers being furious. His father’s temper raging within him. The nerve of him to call it an ‘inchident’ as if his cute little ambiguous accent made up for it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Charles could race just as hard as Max could and yet Max would always be considered a villain in the situation.
He remembers Austria in 2019, how angry Charles had been with Max and he hadn’t been able to understand why. It was just hard racing, wasn’t it? Charles would have done the same in that situation. Max remembers how that win hadn’t felt the same, no matter how happy his dad had been, his father’s hugs hadn’t felt the same when he remembers the hurt on Charles’ face on the podium. How he’d left before Max could spray him with champagne. Max should’ve known then how different things were with Charles.
He remembers Austria this year, when he felt a joy almost as euphoric as he’d felt when he won his first championship. And for the first time, he’s not feeling this joy from the top step, because Max hadn’t won this race, Charles had. And for the first time, Max is ok with it. For the first time, Max isn’t scared for the lecture he’s going to get from his father. It’ll be worth it, because Max gets to see the deepness of Charles’ dimples, he gets to see how his eyes sparkle with pride as the Monaco national anthem plays, how his eyes shrink into small crescents. He sprays Charles down the back of his neck with champagne, how he wanted to three years prior, and he smiles widely when Charles turns around, laughing loudly and shaking his head at Max.
Charles pounds into Max relentlessly, Max instructing him to lift his leg up so he can get even deeper, Charles’s cock brushing his prostate head on and Max almost collapses, struggling to hold himself up. Charles must notice because soon he’s reaching an arm under Max’s chest, lifting him up so now his chest is pressed against Charles’ back.
The closeness of it all has Max’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, Charles’ hot breath now against his ear almost driving Max to the point of overstimulation. He won’t last long now, and he knows Charles won’t either by the way his hips are stuttering.
It isn’t long before Charles is letting out a long groan, thrusts coming to a stop as Charles spills into the condom. Max is fully prepped to just jerk himself off to his own climax, he’s used to it at this point. Most of his past hookups leave after they come, leaving Max to tend to his own orgasm. He’s used to it at this point, the disappointment had faded long ago. He’s actually surprised when Charles flips Max back onto his back and wraps a hand around his painfully hard cock.
Max feels as if he could come the moment he sees Charles’ face. Maybe he should’ve fucked Max on his back. His face is flushed red, covered in a sheen of sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. Max can’t stop himself from affectionately pushing the hair off of his forehead, and when Charles makes eye contact with him he can’t stop himself from spilling over Charles’ fist, throwing his head back onto the pillows, moaning something that sounds suspiciously close to Charles’ name.
When Max comes to, he opens his eyes to see Charles grimacing, wiping his come on the bed sheets. Max raises his eyebrows in amusement.
“Really? I had your cock in my mouth and you can’t handle my come on your hand?” Max teases, something dangerously close to affection welling in his chest as Charles flushes, biting his lip shyly.
Before Max can say anything else, Charles is rolling off of the bed, tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin before putting his boxers back on, searching for the rest of his discarded clothes.
“You’re leaving?” Max asks, trying to hide the disappointment, trying to ignore how his stomach drops. He knew this was casual, he doesn’t know why he’s expecting anything more.
“I have to, my girlfriend will be wondering where I am if I am gone too long. I told her I was playing a few rounds of fifa with Joris,” he smiles at Max apologetically, hopping as he tries to pull his jeans up quickly, throwing his shirt over his head.
Right. Charles has a girlfriend. Max seemed to have forgotten when Charles had been fucking him. A wave of nausea overcomes Max, he tries to believe it’s unrelated.
Max finds himself standing up, not bothering to put clothes on as he follows Charles to his hotel room door.
“Well I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, sleep well,” Max forces out, offering Charles a nonchalant smile, trying not to laugh as Charles tries to ignore his nakedness.
“Yes well… we should do this again, yeah? It was fun,” and Charles has the nerve to smile at him, and all Max can do is nod stupidly as Charles slips out of his hotel room.
Once Charles is gone, Max is left with a pit in his stomach and what he doesn’t know is a Charles sized hole in his heart. He knows it’s wrong, that everything up to this point has been so wrong. But what’s even worse is that Max knows he’ll let Charles back into his bed. That he’ll do whatever Charles asks. Because Charles makes Max weak. He makes Max soft, vulnerable. Everything Max’s father hates. But is that so bad? Max has done everything his father has expected of him his whole life. Maybe…. Just once it would be ok to rebel a bit. To have something just for himself. Even if he could never truly have it.
Ever since that night Charles has been at Max’s door at 10:30pm on the dot every race weekend. He’s never been late, or early, always exactly on time. No pleasantries are ever exchanged. Max answers and Charles’ lips are pressed against his almost immediately, clothes quickly discarded. Charles never stays and Max is ok with that.
At least, that’s what he tells himself.