Chapter Text
It was late spring somewhere in France. Max stood proudly on the top podium after securing another victory, the Dutch national anthem echoing in the background. Beside him, Charles finished in second place—but something was off. The usually lively, talkative brunette hadn’t been at his best this weekend; mistakes on the track had cost him the win, and he now appeared unusually quiet and distant.
Max’s gaze lingered on Charles, a frown tugging at his lips. There was something different about him—a faint, unfamiliar scent that clung to the air, impossible to ignore.
As the anthem faded, the podium ceremony continued. The top three competitors were gathered for a celebratory photo, and Max instinctively pulled Charles and Alex,who was third, closer so they could stand side by side. Their wide grins and the flash of the camera immortalized their moment of triumph.
Later, on the drive back to the hotel, Max’s father filled the car with his characteristic blunt observations.
“The Leclerc kid seemed off his game this week—good for you, because if he hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have won,” he remarked harshly.
He continued with a dismissive laugh, “I can’t believe he had presented—an omega, of all things! No son of mine gets beaten by an omega. Next week, we’re hitting the track until you’re a second faster.”
Max’s stomach churned with conflicting emotions. Though he longed to protest, he rarely dared disagree with his father. As the car fell silent once again, Max leaned back, his blue eyes wandering over the passing landscape. He couldn’t help but think about how Charles had presented Max himself has not. Now 15, Max felt the mounting pressure of time, that he wasn't going to be second gendered, that he was a beta. He was destined to fall short of his father's ridiculous plan for him to become the best F1 driver of his generation—an unstoppable alpha, a world champion, an accolade his father dream he had never attained.
Breaking the silence, again, Max asked quietly, “Is that why he smelled different?” recalling the unusual scent that had clung to Charles earlier.
His father’s head snapped around, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Wait—you could smell him?”
“Yeah, just faintly,” Max admitted. “It was… different, like a disturbance in the air.”
His father chuckled. “Oh, son, there’s still hope for you yet.”
Max wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he simply fell silent, staring out the window.
A week later, everything changed.
It began with subtle signs—a low, animalistic growl directed at his younger sister one morning, a flash of bared teeth when his father pushed him to take another lap. Instead of anger, his father offered a proud smile. By week’s end, Max was a whirlwind of hormones and raw emotion, so much so that his father locked him in his room for him to ride out his first turbulent rut alone.
Summer arrived in full force, and the next time Max and Charles found themselves on the podium together, the atmosphere between them had shifted. The air around Charles now seemed to pulse with warmth—a sweet, almost intoxicating aroma that drew Max in. Even with scent blockers on. In that moment, as Max took a deep breath, a hand landed softly on his shoulder. Though instinct urged him to remain in control, a low, almost imperceptible growl escaped him.
“Time for the photo,” the photographer announced, a hint of surprise in her tone at the unexpected growl.
Charles, already positioned on the top step, slipped an arm around Max’s waist and leaned close. In a gentle whisper he asked, “You okay?”
Max forced a small smile. "Yeah, just dealing with... young alpha things," he replied. He hesitated, raising his hand to nervously rub the nape of his neck, silently wondering if he’d shared too much with the Monegasque.
Charles’s eyes widened in surprise. "You mean…?" he asked quietly, his voice rising even as he tried to maintain his composure.
“Yeah. A few weeks ago,” Max confirmed.
"I thought you smelled different," Charles murmured softly, now that the initial shock had faded.
Max’s pulse quickened. “You noticed?” he asked softly, his voice hesitant.
“Of course I did,” Charles replied bluntly. “After all, I am an omega.”
“Boys, we’re waiting!” the photographer called.
“Sorry!” Both answered in unison with a light laugh as they quickly arranged themselves for the shot.
Later that night, Max had invited a few friends to his hotel room—no parents, just a night of FIFA and endless snacks. Charles hesitated before accepting, needing to check with his father as he always did.
The Dutch teen's face lit up with happiness as he opened the door to see Charles waiting on the other side. "My papa said okay," he said shyly, his eyes fixed on the floor to avoid Max's gaze. Ecstatic, Max pulled the brunette inside the room.
Inside, the room buzzed with energy. Shouts and laughter mingled with the sounds of video games as the boys crowded around the television.
“Calamar!” Pierre, Charles’ best friend, called out from his spot on the floor.
“Pierre!” Charles grinned as he moved away from Max to join his friend. “What are you doing here?”
“When Max mentioned FIFA and snacks, I was in,” Pierre smirked. “Come on—Charles, you’re up next!” he teased as Charles took his seat beside the French teen.
Max had hoped for at least a few moments alone with Charles that night, but as the hours passed in a blur of gaming, sugar highs, and playful banter, the chance slipped away. One by one, the boys eventually filtered out.
Alone now, Max sighed in relief as he leaned against the closed door. He’d enjoyed the evening, but exhaustion was setting in quickly—after all, he had an early flight back to the Netherlands in the morning. As he pulled back the blanket and prepared for sleep, he noticed a familiar shape in the darkness.
Charles was curled up on his side, fast asleep.
Max frowned. He was certain Charles had left with Pierre over an hour ago.
“Hey, Charles—you fell asleep,” Max murmured gently as he shook him awake.
“Arthur, get off,” Charles mumbled groggily.
Max couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t know who Arthur is, but that’s not me,” he teased while still trying to rouse the other.
Charles stirred, blinking in confusion. Recognizing his unease, Max softened his approach. “It’s just me. You dozed off—everyone else is gone.” Climbing onto the bed, Max pulled the younger Charles into a comforting embrace. He hadn’t meant to startle him.
After a few moments, when he’s settled, Charles mumbled, “Oh—I should probably go. My papa’s probably worried.”
Max hesitated. He didn’t want Charles to leave—not yet. “Stay a little longer?” he asked softly.
Charles paused, considering the invitation, then nodded. “Just a bit.”
Still reeling from Charles’s affirmative response, Max leaned back against the pillows, trying to keep his cool. "You had a good race today," he began once Charles had settled beside him.
Charles’s smile widened, his dimples evident. “It felt good to be on top.” Recalling his win, his scent turned happy.
Max scoffed lightly. “You only won because I was off my game.”
“Excuses, Verstappen,” Charles teased, playfully nudging Max’s shoulder.
A low growl rumbled in Max’s chest. “Oh, you’re asking for it,” he murmured before lunging playfully. Limbs tangled as they wrestled, laughter mingling with their half-hearted struggles. Soon, their roughhousing gave way to something more intimate. Max’s strong legs wrapped gently around Charles’s hips, holding him close as he rolled them over until Charles landed softly on his back. Max hovered above him, resting his forearm beside Charles’s head, their bodies pressed together.
In that quiet moment, the air between them thickened with anticipation. Soft moans escaped as their scents—vanilla intertwined with the freshness of rain—mingled. Blue eyes met green, each filled with a tentative promise of what might come next.
Max lowered his head, and their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. Charles’s eyes fluttered closed, and though Max remained watchful, both surrendered to the natural progression of exploring tender touches, whispered words, and quiet moans. It was unpracticed and imperfect, yet in that intimate haze, neither cared.
When the intensity faded and their breathing slowed, Charles attempted to pull away—but Max was still connected.
“Max!” Charles hissed, reaching out to gently push him aside. “I have to go—get off!”
Max winced as he tried to adjust to Charles' movements, “Uhh… I… kind of can’t,” he explained, gesturing toward the connection that still bound them.
Charles froze. “What do you mean you can’t?”
Max groaned softly in disbelief. “When I finish, it… hooks in. It keeps me connected for a little while.”
Charles’s eyes widened further as he turned to face the blonde. “What?!”
Max managed a rueful smile. “Just give it a few minutes,” he said, unwilling to provide further anatomical details in that vulnerable moment.
So they waited, filling the quiet minutes with soft conversation about summer plans, siblings, and even karting; just two friends talking in the dark. Eventually, the connection eased, and Charles dressed, lingering only for a moment before heading to the door.
“Night, Max,” he murmured before slipping out the door. Door auto locking behind him.
Max watched him go, his lips still tingling and the memory of Charles’s lingering scent imprinted in the air.
After that night, circumstances kept Max and Charles from ever being alone together again, leaving them with no chance to talk about what had happened in Max’s room.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, Max moved up to F3, leaving Charles behind in karting. Before long, at just 17, he was racing in Formula One. He never spoke to anyone of that night in 2013—a secret he intended to take to the grave.
When Charles eventually joined the grid in 2018, racing for Sauber, it was clear he had moved on. And if he remembered that night at all, he wasn’t willing to talk about it either.