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Las Vegas had done a number on Charles, and his mind reeled once he got back to the hotel room.
He knew he should avoid his phone, for his own sake, but as soon as he sat down on the bed, he started scrolling, and he felt like he was scrolling endlessly through videos of his so-called “head loss”, of his “whiny outburst”, and news article after news article twisted and turned his words, clouding them in assumptions and accusations that were anything but true.
He knew not to let them get to him, he knew that, logically, but he couldn’t help but feel angry, because they didn't understand.
He huffed out a frustrated breath at the many videos of Max’s celebrations weaved in between the ones of his onboard camera. Max proudly displaying four fingers, Max getting absolutely drenched in champagne, Max wearing his new merch, Max, Max, Max.
The ugly feeling of jealousy festered inside of him like a vile stew, bubbling up until he felt almost sick with it, and he uselessly bit the inside of his cheek to try and contain it. It did nothing to help, of course, and it was almost overwhelming how much he wanted to be in Max’s position.
Max had control where Charles did not.
It was a contrast clear as day to anyone who cared enough to look, and Charles found himself thinking about it more often than not.
But especially after Las Vegas.
If there was one thing that was made apparent that night, it was that Max is Red Bull, and Red Bull is Max. He embodied the team and successfully carved out a permanent place for himself in their history, and he molded the team into being the ones to serve him rather than the opposite.
And Ferrari? Ferrari was always going to be Ferrari. Regardless of Charles, regardless of ‘Il Predestinato’, and everyone knew it, everyone saw it. He could see the pitying looks sent his way, the misplaced sympathy for a situation he willingly put himself in, for the bizarre compromises he made, and the blind willingness to always put the team first.
He was always asked to trust when the trust hadn’t even been earned, and he had reached a tipping point, his metaphorical cup overflowing with nothing but disappointment after disappointment.
What was the point of respecting the team, respecting his teammate, when it was never reciprocated? When it was never honored?
He tossed his phone aside, ignoring the incessant notifications from friends and team members alike. The hotel room felt stuffy, too hot even though the weather had been cool, but it was as if he was boiling from the inside out, a fever he couldn’t placate, a fire so hot it was scalding him.
There would no doubt be an emergency team meeting after everything he said on the radio, after everything he said in the post-race interviews, but for once, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He was done appeasing, he was done pleasing, and after an ice-cold shower he got dressed.
He needed to get fucking wasted.
~~~
Pierre didn’t tell him exactly where they were going, but Charles didn’t think it mattered either. As long as there was a bar at a club exclusive enough for him not to be overrun by fans, he would be happy.
Or so he thought, until he saw who was in attendance.
“Pierre,” Charles had to practically yell into his ear. “What is this?!”
Pierre shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Drinks are on me, ma poule.”
Charles could only roll his eyes before his gaze once again landed on the celebrations on the other side of the club, most of the patrons clearly hailing from the Red Bull garage. He looked back towards the exit, considering his options and whether or not he should just leave, but he supposed it didn’t matter.
Everyone knew he wasn’t here to celebrate Max’s win, and he would surely not even be invited to join the cluster of navy blue dancing to the beat, uncoordinated arms flailing as they jumped to the music. He doubted he would even be noticed as they seemed very much caught up in celebrating their champion.
He spotted a familiar mess of dirty blonde hair amongst them, and he looked away just as quick, Pierre coming back right on time with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.
“I didn’t know they were here,” Pierre leaned in and said, a bit apologetic. “But I hear good things about this place.”
Charles hummed, but it was probably not heard over the music, and Pierre leaned in again.
“What happened today? I saw the video after the race–”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe tomorrow.”
And it was true. Charles didn’t want to talk about it, and it wasn’t because he felt ashamed of it, or because he felt like he did something wrong. Frankly, it was the opposite, it was something that had been building up for so long he could scarcely remember when it had started, and he refused to take any of it back.
Charles knew he could tell Pierre about it, and that he’d understand, especially after the DNF and a generally disastrous season at Alpine. If anyone could understand at least a part of what he was going through, it was Pierre.
But talking about it meant thinking about what’s next, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment.
“Okay. Let’s sit?” Pierre nodded towards the quieter part of the VIP section, where the tables were, and they made their way through the crowd of people to reach it.
Once they sat down and Pierre poured him a glass, they talked about things unrelated to racing, and he was thankful the music was not quite as loud there as it was by the dancefloor. During the first two hours Charles threw back glass after glass of red wine, quickly losing count of just how many, and he finally started feeling that blissful buzz, his mind fuzzy around the edges as a smile played on his lips.
“Ah, there he is!” Pierre said with a grin. “The dimples are back!”
Charles only laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I need to take a leak.”
“Go wild.” Pierre fished his phone out of his pocket, clearly content with having a few moments alone to text his girlfriend, and Charles stumbled towards the bathrooms.
He hadn’t realized just how drunk he was until he stood up, but it was far from unmanageable. He had definitely experienced worse.
The bathroom was quite fancy, and looked relatively clean even though it was a club. Considering how expensive it was to get in, he wasn’t that surprised, though. The stalls were pretty large and he looked around curiously before picking an unoccupied one, locking the door before unzipping his pants and sighing with relief.
He heard the sound of flushing from the stall over but didn’t pay it any mind, going about his business in peace. A few moments later he heard the tap running, and some off-tune humming to a song that had played on the speakers earlier. Charles zipped up his pants and took a deep breath, hoping whoever was out there had finished washing their hands as he wasn’t too keen on being recognized. At least in the crowd of the club he could blend in more, but when it's one-on-one in a bathroom? Less likely.
He opened the stall and fought the urge to immediately close it again. The eyes that met him in the large mirror above the sinks were a shade of blue that he knew all too well, belonging to the last person on earth that he wanted to be in close proximity to tonight.
“Charles!” Max exclaimed, too loudly for a bathroom, and his voice echoed off of the tiled walls.
“Max,” Charles said, not unkindly but perhaps a bit more reserved than what was normal between them these days. “Congratulations.”
Max’s grin widened, and his half-lidded eyes continued to regard Charles in the mirror for longer than was appropriate. It was clear Max was very, very drunk, and Charles was not in the mood to deal with that particular side of Max. Wasn’t in the mood to deal with Max at all, actually.
“I didn’t know you were here,” Max said, turning around to lean against the wall instead, but he was quick to resume the eye contact.
Charles hummed non-committedly, looking away before walking towards the sink to wash his hands. Max’s gaze burned into the side of his face as an awkward silence blanketed them, and Charles could feel his own cheeks heat up with frustration the longer the moment went on.
“Aren’t you going to return to the celebrations?” Charles finally bit out. It was perhaps unfair of him to take out his anger on Max, who was probably too drunk to realize that it was rude to stare, too drunk to realize that Charles really wasn’t in the mood for whatever this was.
“Sure,” Max said, which was a strange response. Charles wondered how drunk Max actually was, and he glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noting the way he could barely stand upright. His eyelids looked even heavier than before, and the way he was looking at Charles was… odd. It was a look he hadn’t been on the receiving end of before, not from Max, and it made his stomach churn with discomfort.
“You look good.” Max blurted out, the apples of his cheeks a crimson red, but the smile on his face never slipped. It was still there, warm and inviting, and Charles realized that the look Max was giving him had a name.
Seductive.
Charles' eyes widened in realization and he quickly wiped his hands and was ready to step back out into the club, because he was not about to deal with whatever that was, not when the flush on his own cheeks became darker due to not frustration, but something else.
“Charles,” Max said again, and Charles looked back again to see Max stumbling towards him until he was close enough to wrap a heavy arm around his shoulders. “Charlie.”
The nickname was breathed into his ear, the vowels drawn out in a way that had no business being cute, yet still was. Max’s forehead was pressed against the side of Charles’s head, and it sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.
“What are you doing, Max?” Charles' arm automatically wrapped around Max’s waist, for support if anything, and he felt the way the muscles rippled as his hand landed on the dip of it.
“Smell good, too,” Max mumbled, nuzzling his nose into Charles' hair.
Merde, Charles thought. This was ridiculous, unprecedented, strange, completely bizarre.
But why was his heart fluttering? Why was the heat on his cheeks quickly spreading down towards his neck and chest at Max’s proximity, his skin prickling with a familiar sense of want that he had never allowed himself to feel towards Max, never before having let himself even entertain the thought as a possibility, as an option.
They had spent years on bad terms, spent an even longer time as rivals, but Charles couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped, and he realized the churning wasn’t due to discomfort at all. It was an unbridled kind of heat pooling in his gut, and relating a sensation like that to Max was simply unspeakable.
“Charles,” Max mumbled. “Charlie, can I– Fuck–”
“What?” Charles swallowed thickly before he started chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Max only huffed out a frustrated breath, and Charles maneuvered them until they were face to face. The way Max was slumping against him made him seem shorter, smaller, even though they were the same height. He placed his free hand on the other side of Max’s waist, looking down at the black t-shirt he was wearing, the neckline stretched just enough to show Charles a glimpse of skin, and he tightened his grip on Max’s waist. He looked back up and met Max’s eyes, his pupils blown wide as they flickered down to Charles’ lips.
The buzz of alcohol Charles felt when he stepped into the bathroom had morphed into the buzz of Max’s presence, and while the arousal gradually built, it was intertwined with a plethora of conflicting feelings.
The bitterness and jealousy he felt towards Max’s achievements, towards the power Max held, was almost debilitating. Charles had long struggled with how to handle those feelings, always at least trying to use them as a motivator, but it was hard to look into the eyes of the man who had everything he wanted.
He should walk away. He should clap Max on the shoulder, congratulate him once again, and leave. He should return to Pierre, to uncork their third bottle of wine, and enjoy the rest of his night where he doesn’t have to think about anything related to racing.
Max licked his lips, and Charles couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to the movement like it was magnetic. The bitterness and frustration he held towards Max quickly faded in favor of want, and that in itself should scare Charles enough, should scare him enough to turn tail and leave, to never even breathe a word of it to anyone.
The handle of the bathroom door turned, and Charles could hear voices approaching as it started opening, and before he could even think it through, he dragged Max into one of the stalls, closing the door and roughly pressing Max up against it.
The voices of the men entering the bathroom were loud, clearly wasted as well, and they didn’t seem to pay any mind to the stall with the locked door.
It was nerve-wracking, and it was only a matter of time until someone noticed that something was going on. Charles knew they would be in an immense amount of trouble if they were caught, but having Max pressed up against the door, having him so willingly go along with his whims, was… it was exhilarating.
Both of them were breathing heavily, and Charles could feel Max’s thundering heartbeat against his own as they were pressed chest to chest, lips mere centimetres away from each other. Charles' leg was conveniently between both of Max’s, and he could feel the evidence of what Max wanted against his thigh.
Just as an experiment, Charles pressed his thigh upwards, against the hardening bulge, and a sharp gasp spilled past Max’s lips.
“Please,” Max whispered, pushing himself closer to Charles even though he was practically immobile while pressed against the door.
Hearing Max beg had Charles’ brain short-circuiting, the unexpected surge of power making his stomach flip, and he looked on as Max squeezed a hand in between their bodies, sliding it down Charles’ chest until he reached his crotch. Charles felt his spine go rigid, eyes widening in surprise as he realized he was hard too, well on the way to being fully fucking erect.
It was hard to believe, it was hard to admit, that the obvious arousal prickling under his skin had been present ever since he met Max’s eyes in the mirror.
He was barely aware of the voices disappearing as the other people left the bathroom, all he could hear was his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, and when Max rubbed his palm against Charles’ dick again, he couldn’t do anything but lean in until their lips brushed, and they spent several moments just breathing into each others mouths.
He could smell the alcohol on their breaths, and he could tell Max's choice of drink was, unsurprisingly, gin & tonic.
The tension was so thick it was nearly palpable, though, and Charles felt Max’s hands tentatively slide up his body until they rested on his shoulders, and how could Charles do anything but lean in further to seal their lips?
It was messy, it was clumsy, but Max’s lips were oh-so soft and ridiculously plump. Charles felt himself getting lost in it, lifting a hand to cup Max’s cheek to angle his face, their lips slotting together in a way that felt effortless instead of clumsy, and he tried to hide his surprise at how pliant Max was in his arms, how he let Charles set the pace, as if he was only the enthusiastic passenger of the ride.
Charles trailed Max’s bottom lip with his tongue, who only parted his lips with ease, his arms around Charles’ shoulders tightening ever-so-slightly.
“Mmh,” Max sighed into the kiss, and it morphed into a moan when Charles placed his hand on the back of his thigh, hitching his leg up so they could grind their crotches against each other. It was a heady feeling, the hardness of Max’s cock against his own intoxicating in a way he couldn’t even describe, and he pressed against Max even harder, a low groan reverberating through his chest.
“Fuck,” Charles growled against Max’s lips, the hand cupping Max’s cheek sliding down to his throat. He loosely gripped around it, feeling Max’s pulse fluttering against his thumb, and knowing that he was the one making Max feel this way was…
Insanity.
He pulled back just enough to break the kiss, watching as Max’s eyes fluttered open to look at him, confusion flickering across his features. Unprompted, he squeezed Max’s throat, timing it with another rough grind against his groin, and Max’s eyes widened before they rolled back, a blissful smile spreading across those addictive lips.
“Crazy,” Charles mumbled. “You are crazy.”
Max let out a breathless chuckle, his lips shiny and cherry red, and Charles realized he wanted to see those lips around his cock, rather than just have them pressed against his in a kiss.
Would Max do it? Would he get on his knees for Charles, just like that? Without hesitation?
Charles released Max’s thigh and took a step back, watching with slight amusement as he slumped against the door, his eyes narrowed as he looked up at Charles.
“Why did you stop?” Max said almost petulantly, and Charles placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and pushed down. He went easily, his knees landing a bit too roughly on the tiles, breathing a small ‘oof’ at the impact.
Max looked up at him, but there wasn’t any hesitation in his eyes, only curiosity, maybe a little bit of surprise too. His eyelids didn’t look quite as heavy, the worst of his intoxication probably fading, and Charles was almost waiting for the moment when Max would come to his senses, where he would leave, ashamed and regretful.
But that moment never came, and Charles undid the button of his jeans, before slowly sliding the zipper down. Max looked almost eager, licking his kiss-bitten lips as he eyed Charles crotch with interest, shuffling forward on his knees to get closer.
Charles slid his boxers and jeans down his hips just enough for his cock to spring out, and he hissed at the cold air of the bathroom hitting his heated skin, but he ignored the discomfort in favor of wrapping a loose fist around his cock, swiping his thumb over the tip to spread the pre-cum generously drooling out of the slit.
“Wow,” Max breathed. “Your cock looks good, too.”
Charles bit back a chuckle, but he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Your mouth is still running in a situation like this?”
“I was just saying, mate, your cock looks nice.”
“I think you should shut up, mate.”
Max bit his lip, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Make me, Charlie.”
Charles tangled his free hand in Max’s hair, tugging on the soft strands to pull him close enough to graze the tip of his cock across those plump lips. He watched as Max’s lips became glossy with his pre-cum, and he could feel the way his cock twitched in his hand, eager to sink into the wet heat of Max’s mouth.
“Open up,” Charles mumbled, and Max did so without question, parting his lips and lewdly sticking his tongue out. Charles slapped the head of his cock against Max’s tongue, the resounding slap obscene in a way that made the coil in his stomach tighten, and he knew he wouldn’t last long, not like this.
Max placed his hands on Charles’ hips, opening his mouth wider as Charles started feeding inch after inch of his cock into his mouth. Max was eager, almost too eager, and it was too wet, too much tongue and not enough suction, but by god, if it wasn’t the best blowjob Charles had ever gotten.
Maybe it was because it was Max Verstappen, four time world champion, on his knees, mouth open and eyes shiny with unshed tears as he took Charles’ cock down his throat, trying his best to breathe through his nose. His nails dug into the flesh of Charles’ hips, but Charles didn’t mind, the sting of the pain in perfect harmony with the pleasure, and he watched in awe as Max finally hollowed his cheeks to suck, copious amounts of saliva dripping down his chin.
Charles tugged harder on Max’s hair, forcing his cock even deeper, and he wanted to revel in the sounds of Max choking, his throat constricting beautifully around the head of Charles’ cock. He wanted to close his eyes, to be fully consumed by the euphoria spreading throughout his body, his toes curling inside of his sneakers every time he bottomed out, but he stubbornly kept his gaze firmly locked onto Max, not wanting to miss a single moment.
He would ingrain it into his mind, to forever remember the time he made Max submit to him, so willingly, so easily.
He felt all of the hopelessness and frustration that culminated during the race melt away, and instead he was filled to the brim with power, like he had succeeded in doing the unthinkable. It was an indescribable feeling, and he looked on in a daze as he thrusted into Max’s mouth, tracing the tears that trailed down flushed cheeks, those blue eyes looking up at him almost reverently.
To be revered by Max Verstappen; to be the one holding the reins in any situation involving Max had seemed like an impossible feat, and Charles couldn’t help the way his lips curled into a victorious smirk. Max moaned around the cock in his mouth, the vibrations sending another spark of electricity up Charles’ spine, and he sped up his thrusts, his heart almost pounding its way out of his chest with exertion, with excitement.
His orgasm was building up faster than he’d like, the heat pooling in his stomach only moments away from spilling over, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, he wrapped his free hand around Max’s throat again, hunching over just enough to be able to reach, and he felt the way the muscles moved to accommodate for the girth of Charles’ cock, and it made his eyes roll back, his breath hitching before a loud groan crawled its way out of his chest as he reached his peak.
Wave after wave of his orgasm washed over him, and it practically blinded him, black spots clouding his vision as he gasped for air, cock still firmly nestled deep inside of Max’s throat.
His cock twitched with the last spurts of cum, and he only snapped out of his daze by a hand firmly gripping his wrist, and he quickly released Max’s hair before carefully sliding out of his mouth, hissing from the oversensitivity.
He tugged his boxers and jeans up his hips, deftly buttoning them before he looked down at Max, and he almost felt his arousal awaken again at the sight that greeted him.
Max looked completely wrecked. His chest heaved with his breaths, his eyes glassy and blissed out, face still damp with his tears, and Charles thought he could see remnants of cum and spit still lingering on his lips and chin. He looked like he just had the time of his life, and Charles couldn’t help but want to puff up with pride, because he did that. He reduced Max into a speechless, cock drunk mess, and Charles let out a breathy laugh at the thought.
“You okay, Max?” he asked, rasped, and he briefly wondered how noisy he’d been.
Max closed his eyes, and he leaned back against the door, still seated on the floor, only managing a little nod along with a pleased smile.
Charles looked down at Max’s crotch, seeing his pants unbuttoned and a large damp spot on his grey boxers, and he realized, slightly disappointed, that he wouldn’t have to return the favor. The disappointment was clouded in heat, though, because Max came from having Charles’ dick down his throat, and wasn’t that something that made his ego soar even higher.
“Come on,” he reached out a hand, urging Max to grab it. “You should clean up and get back to the team, yes?”
Max groaned, scrunching up his face. “M’tired.”
If Charles thought his own voice sounded wrecked, it was nothing compared to Max’s.
“Your team will get you home.”
Max lazily opened one of his eyes. “Can I come home with you?”
He said it quietly, almost shyly, but Charles must’ve imagined it because a universe in which Max is shy? Unthinkable.
“That would be stupid.”
“And this wasn’t?” Max retorted, and Charles cursed the way Max was always so quick-thinking, always having a comeback ready for any situation.
Charles sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Yes. This was stupid, too.”
The realization of what they’d actually done started to sink in, and Charles waited for the regret, for the shame, to kick in.
It never really did.
Max stood up slowly, gingerly, zipping up his pants with clumsy movements. He winced with discomfort, and Charles supposed he would too if he had cum in his pants.
“My hotel is closer,” Max finally said, and the way he said it was so casual one would think it was a common occurrence for him to suck Charles’ dick in a random and very public bathroom, only to later invite him back to his hotel room.
Pierre must be wondering where the hell he went, and Charles tried to discern how long he’d been gone. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour, right? If it was only half an hour, he could easily use the excuse of an upset stomach, and he fished his phone out of his pocket to check if he had any texts from Pierre, and of course there were several.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“What is it?” Max asked, draping an arm over Charles’ shoulders before looking down at his phone curiously. Charles locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, shrugging Max’s arm off of him at the same time.
“You’re going?” Max looked almost disappointed, and Charles fought against the urge to just follow Max back to his hotel, fought against the urge to please.
“Yes.” Charles reached for the lock, throwing a last glance over his shoulder. Max still looked like he definitely just had sex in a bathroom, and Charles briefly wondered how he’d explain it to his team. Not that it was Charles’ problem. “See you in Qatar, Max.”
“Bye, Charlie.” The cheeky grin on Max’s face was back, and he looked unbothered again, absentmindedly flattening the wrinkles on his shirt.
Charles stepped out of the stall without looking back, and he quickly ran his fingers through his hair in order to make it look naturally ruffled rather than sex-ruffled. He had excuses ready on the tip of his tongue as he walked over to Pierre, breathing a sigh of relief once he saw that Yuki had joined him while Charles was gone.
At least he could hope that Pierre would be distracted enough by Yuki’s dirty jokes to pay too much attention to Charles.
Before he sat down, Charles couldn’t resist looking over at the Red Bull-infested side of the club, and he was just in time to see Max rejoining them, the flush on his cheeks still visible even from a distance. Max was laughing at something Checo said, but then he met Charles’ gaze, and he winked.
Charles abruptly looked away, stunned.
When he eventually got back to his hotel room, the rest of the night having passed in a daze, he thought about Max, he thought about that goddamn wink, and he was left wondering whether he had truly been in control, or whether it was Max once again calling all the shots.
Deep down, he knew the truth even though it stung; he knew that at the end of the day Max always gets what he wants, and maybe it had all been a ploy on his end.
Charles tried to hate him for it, but all he felt when he thought about what they’d done was a pleasant heat, his fingers twitching with the need for more, and he almost regretted not following Max home. Almost.
Although, he found himself not hating the idea of it happening again, and again, and again, and if there was one thing that night solidified, it was that regardless of Charles’ jealousy or his frustrations, he could never deny that Max was, and would always be, his favorite rival.