Chapter Text
one
Milton Keynes, England
“You can't be serious?” Max mumbles furious and stumbles half a step back, sweat clinging to the collar of his fireproofs. Racing suit half way unzipped, hanging around his waist as he sinks between the backrests of the black leather chair with a thud. Heart pacing like a butterfly, skipping single beats here and there - making it hard to breathe and process.
“I am,” Christian replies with a calm, firm look as he settles in the seat across from Max. He leans back and interlace his hands like this is just one more business meeting - deep down it is - but still Red Bull cannot accept this in silence. “This time there is no way out or space to stretch the regulations, Max,” he explains with a calm voice. “We have discussed this with all other teams and the FIA. These new rules are finality and either we follow or you won’t race next season. They don’t care that you already won four WCD’s–”
Max brain short-circuits.
“Maybe they should care!” he bites back, all stubborn and mockery. “We always find a way to bend the rules, to make things work. This is Red bull, Christian,” he adds like it would explain everything in between the lines.
But this time it isn't enough.
Max flinches as the alpha’s jaw twitches and tenses. “They can’t exclude me from the season.”
They simply can’t, right?
Right. Right…?!
“Or can they?” Max asks, full of anxiety.
Christian’s gaze softens immediately and the omega knows he’s on the right path.
Holy motherfucking shit!
“But they won’t really do it right?”
“If we follow their rules - no.”
“What about–”
“No way, Max.”
“But we…and them -”
“Not this time,” Christian cuts him off sharply, tilting his head just the slightest bit before his voice cracks and softens to a milder tone. “This is too risky and too expensive. We can’t calculate on kindness and hope for the best—”
The omega narrows his gaze, “So instead of you having the decency to defend yourselves, me as your driver, you tell me to find a heat partner—an alpha to keep racing?”
The silence that settles between them is almost palpable. It displaces the air like sulphur and leaves nothing but uncertainty behind.
Christian leans forward in his chair, hands clasped on the table. “Max, please,” he says, gently and enveloping.
The omega whines and shakes his head, bitingly hissing. “Don't you dare to Max-me.”
“You are right and I’m sorry but we need to deal with this before the start of the season. We need you at full power, without worrying about your heats or a guy who doesn’t text you back all week.”
“Oh my God.” An incredulous laugh escapes him before he runs a hand through the damp strands of his hair, rubbing the palm over the nape of his neck, feeling the clinging, half dried sweat there. “You call it ghosting for God’s Sake and you can’t protect me from dumb assholes!”
A slight smile appears at the corner of Chrstian's mouth and he sighs exhausted. “Then I don’t want a guy who ghosts you all week and you can’t focus on racing.” The alpha pitches the bridge of his nose. “I know you had some quite difficult relationships with alphas but by the name of God, please get a grip and find yourself someone. Didn’t you date this one guy, Corey?”
“Caleb?”
Max regrets it the moment he corrects Christian.
A spark of hope flashes in the alpha’s eyes. A hope that Max will immediately crush.
“Yeah, yeah - wouldn’t he be an option?”
An option? What the actual hell!
He snorts.
They are speaking of sharing the most important and vulnerable time for an omega during a cycle, sharing those days with another person and Christian calls it an option?
Is Christian telling him he is replaceable too?
He blinks at Christian like he has suggested bathing in lava. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“No,” the alpha frowns. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Good, because it isn’t funny,” Max humorlessly mocks back. “And you aren’t any help.”
“Max,” Gemma gasps, shocked. “No reason to be rude.”
“Me getting rude?” The blonds blurts out, chuckling in disbelief and stares at the female beta. “I haven’t even start, Gemma and what about the fucking FIA, huh?”
“Can you please stop swearing?”
“Can you stop trying to knock me up with a stranger?”
“Nobody tries to knock you up, Max!”
The Dutchman snorts and replies defiantly while crossing his arms, “Yeah…tell that yourself.”
Christian sighs and observes the omega for a long moment before he turns his head aside to Gemma, the PR manager of the team. “Would you please present him with his offers, Gemma?”
His what?!
“My offers?” the omega blurts out, high-pitched. His muscles twitch and tense as he sits up, leaning forward, forearms resting on the hardwood table.
What the actual f—?
“Sure, Christian. Give me a minute,” Gemma smiles tensely and double-tabs her tablet before she looks up at Max. Behind all the facade of professionalism, Max can see a spark of compassion.
Fuck off!
“Okay, listen we are trying to make this as easy as possible for you. The main goal is keeping you on track and in the car. We want to keep you racing so you need to help us a little,” she begins with a calm voice. “As a team we want to defend the title and help you lead from the start of the new season. I read the new regulations and after consulting with the lawyers, you have a few options to stay in the car.” Gemma slips a glossy folder to him over the table.
“What is this?”
Max watches the folder as it could physically hurt him. He pushes it back to the centre of the table.
“A summary of today’s events.” The female beta pushes the folder back to him. “And an overview of the options you can choose from.”
Aha…useless.
“A selection of options from which I have to choose.” Max pushes it away, again. “I don’t need this bullshit.”
“Take it.”
“No.”
“Max,” Christian warns him, voice lowering to a firm growl. “Please,” he says with more emphasis in his voice.
The blond pouts, his inner omega flinches unhappy. “Fine.”
Reluctantly and with slightly trembling fingers, the blond finally accepts it. He doesn't even bother to open the folder. Instead he crosses his arms and sinks down into the cushions.
Gemma sighs exhausted and wipes a loose strand of his pony tail behind her ear. “I've picked out a few dating apps for you. Reliable, safe ways to meet someone. We are not going with Grindr or Tumblr here---"
“So now you are really telling me how to be knocked up, huh?”
“Max!”
“Christian!”
The Dutchman snorts and throws the glossy map, still unopened, on the table. “No, this is insane! Do you hear yourself talking?”
For a moment silence stretches out between them in the whole conference room and Max tastes something like victory on the tip of his tongue but then Christian stands up, arms crossed over his chest, as he stares at him firmly. "I'm sorry, Max — I really am, but either you find an alpha yourself or Red Bull does it for you. We aren’t losing you out of one of your whims."
And then he simply stands up, turns around and leaves the room.
Without a smile. Without a supportive hug.
The slap of the door is loud, sounds like finality.
And Max…he feels it.
Deeply. Like a sting of a bee, straight into his heart.
Godverdomme!
Monte-Carlo, Monaco
Max sighs and snuggles deeper into the soft, warm pillows of his bed as he pulls the comforter up to the tip of his nose. The evening light spectacle dances through the half-open curtains. A gentle play of sparks and lights; the sky full of stars, the air mild and lukewarm while Jimmy dozes next to Max feet. In the distance, the sea roars, slowly lulling the omega into a dreamland. The sound of the television turns quieter, almost mute, as Max presses his cheek deeper into the softness of his pillow. The scent of fabric softener is fresh and thick as he nuzzles his nose into the pillowcase.
He nibbles on his bottom lip in bittersweet misery while opening up the apple app store. The blond scrolls down the main page to the listed app categories. As he spots on the right site dating apps he hesitates, thumb hovering over the small button.
Online Dating, ha!
What a waste of time. Max has been down this road, In Monaco, back home in the Netherlands. It’s always the same - guys, who present themselves with pretty, even angelic pictures just to break hearts in real life…or treat you badly.
Max knows the games.
He has been online long enough to read between the lines of profiles. Maybe Lando is just right and his omega intuition kicks in whenever some alpha starts talking nonsense. Max is like a walking bullshit detector.
A deceitful alpha nearby and Max strikes out.
Red. Blinking. Alarming.
With an audible sigh the blond omega clicks the category open and waits. It’s not really surprising seeing Tinder and Grindr still on the top spot - when he’s honest he has used those apps all by himself for long enough to know which kind of people sign up there. The presentation from Gemma and Christian hasn’t been necessary and still it was quite entertaining seeing those two whisper and blushing all over the meeting room as Max has thrown his quite intense, sexually related question in.
His gaze lingers for a moment on the logos of the two apps. P1 and P2 – Tinder and co must be doing something right. Sure, most of the people who signed up there just wanted to fuck and bring their darkest fantasies to life, but there are still some far-sighted, good-looking single alphas who...
Okay, who is Max trying to fool?
Tinder is the least desirable of all the major dating apps. End of story.
A meaningless hook up isn’t for what Max is looking for now.
Not really his goal this time.
He huffs and scrolls the selection of apps down. Hmm…maybe Bumble?
It always looks inviting whenever he sees those yellow posters across the city. Isn't it Bumble who has a friendship category as well? Maybe that’s the way the Dutchman should go.
There must be a few sensible guys there.
But then the quiet, nagging voice from the back of his mind pipes up again. Didn't Gemma say something negative about Bumble?
Yeah, alright…maybe Gemma has said something alarmingly about Bumble and a similar story to the guy who screwed a bunch of young women on Tinder. Representing himself as a guy he wasn’t - faking a highly-luxurious lifestyle but in real life he was a small banker from a town Max can’t remember. Ugh, doesn’t really matter here - the important thing here is…nah maybe not Bumble today.
Max navigates back and scrolls further down.
Hinge. Lovoo. Instinct.
Max sighs. At least Hinge is recommended with TV commercials - can’t be that shitty then right?
He scrolls further.
HeatWavers
That sounds interesting. Max clicks the app overview open and looks through the recommendations and description, and Gemma has approved this app on the silly list. His stomach rumbles restlessly as he clicks the little button and the download begins.
That's just wrong in so many ways. It feels unnatural and forced, but what choice does Max have? Christian's words come back to him.
Find a heat partner by yourself or Red Bull does it for you.
Damn FIA and their unapproved racing regulations for the upcoming season.
Young, unmated omegas need medical support from their teams and a permanent heat partner, they announced.
What a load of fucking bullshit!
A shallow throbbing slowly spreads behind Max's temples. He closes his eyes and drags the steady pounding back a bit, letting it fade in the almost silence of his room.
This is a fucking conspiracy.
A gesture of power.
A suppression for all omegas in racing.
His phone buzzes, announcing the completion of the app download. Max opens his eyes a crack and unlocks his phone. He scrolls right to the last page of his home screen and double-tabs HeatWavers .
The home page loads and when the little login bar appears, Max's stomach almost turns upside down. His chest tightens and he squints his eyes.
Everything inside him screams to throw his phone out the window and do something stupid — like curse at the FIA or break one of their big rules. Just please don't let him date again.
But all his pleas go unheard.
Max knows better.
With trembling thumbs, he clicks on the app logo: Register now
As he enters his data, a fire of anger and frustration burns inside him.
It's a cruel game of dominance and neither Red Bull nor Max himself can do anything about it. Neither his four world championships nor his reputation can help him sneak out and hide to avoid finding an alpha to keep racing.
Milton Keynes, England
The weather is gloomy. It perfectly reflects how Max feels – sad, empty, somehow lost between clouds. He is startled out of his thoughts when the wind drives raindrops against the window panes. In the background, the familiar EUROsports teaser flickers across the screen, and the sound of it echoes through his hotel room, surrounding his sighs like a kind of ambiently whistle.
Red Bull has taken its stand; small and withdrawn like a little whining puppy, his team nodded silently, accepting the regulations without a fight.
No words of protest. No comment. Just silent sympathy.
And Max had known he was screwed.
Match and race, or leave.
Christian has been crystal clear in the pre-season meeting two days ago.
Find an alpha by yourself or Red Bull does it for you.
Failing isn’t an option.
So isn’t rebellion either.
In other words…get your heats under control and race.
FML!
For a strangely brief moment, Max feels the injustice of the world resting on his shoulders. This is unfair, a voice screams from the depths of his head, but he cannot locate the cries, cannot contain them - they resound through his mind like an echo, all-encompassing and frustrating.
Max experienced a lot of injustice during his childhood. It has never been easy between the go-kart tracks and the school books, always with his father's expectant breath on his neck. Today he is grateful to him in a twisted, unhealthy way, but that doesn't change the horrible rumbling in the pit of his stomach whenever he sees his dad again. It's a strained relationship - with distance and brief, loveless nips, forced, half-hearted hugs - by default, and that's just for Christmas.
It has never been easy for Max.
But he's used to it by now.
On and off track, and still he had chosen racing. Well known that his path as an omega would be a rough one.
But this… kindless new rules of the FIA are…a conspiracy of epic proportions.
The television flickers, turning his nonchalant attention away from his phone for a second before he grabs the remote control and switches the channel. Carelessly he sips the channels up and down for a whole minute before the blond presses the familiar, red Netflix -button.
While the streaming platform loads his phone buzzes once more. He lowers his gaze again and frowns. His thumb pauses, hovering over the small display of his phone, ready to continue swiping as a notification flutters in.
HeatWavers
1 NEW ALPHA HAD LIKED YOUR PROFILE
Max nibbles on his bottom lip and hesitates for a moment. The chaos of his thoughts takes another turn on the merry-go-round of his emotions.
Again his phone buzzes.
HeatWavers
1 NEW ALPHA HAD SENT YOU A CHAT REQUEST
A breath of a moment washes over him, then —
HeatWavers
1 NEW ALPHA HAD SAVED YOUR PROFILE
Max blinks and moves. His pulse begins to quicken.
He shifts against the pillows and leans his back against the headboard. The movie selection of Netflix is all forgotten as he takes a deep breath and opens up the dating app. He navigates through the menu on the bottom line of his screen and clicks the small envelope open.
The screen flickers and for a long moment, the little charging circle makes its rounds on Max's phone. He sighs and tips his head back.
God, this is so fucked up.
Online dating.
A thing he had actually, under all possible circumstances, had sworn off.
...and surprise here he is again.
Online.
Swiping on a casual Wednesday night, pre-season, trying to find an alpha that isn't an arrogant, snob walking on two legs.
An absolute fucking rarity in or around Monaco.
Thanks to all the rich and beautiful!
Raise the champagne glasses, huh?
Once again questioning his life choices. Is this a sign of the universe?
A hint that moving away from away and to Monaco had been a mistake? That racing is a mistake?
Maybe, but now he needs to live with it. He could move again when he has solved this problem - and with solving his means finding an alpha.
The small circle stutters and disappears the next moment. The screen refreshes and then the notifications appear.
HeatWavers
❤️7.5K PROFILES HAS LIKED YOU
❤️🔥423 PROFILES SUPER LIKED YOU
💭1.1K PROFILES LEFT COMMENTS ON YOUR PROFILE
🔒161 PROFILES HAVE SAVED YOUR PROFILE
[click here to see more profiles]
A snort of disbelief bubbles over Max's lips. Is this a bad joke?
How is he supposed to find someone sensible among all these profiles?
His experiences with online dating and alphas hasn’t been the best over the last few years.
Since he had started dating around eighteen it has always been a secret sneak around. Hiding from press and headlines - getting to know somebody in the dark of bars and the hidden privacy of hotel rooms wasn’t the ideal way - Max really got that but he wanted some fun and love too. Travelling all around the world could get really lonely - that’s what they don't tell you at all when you start racing in Formula One.
The last year was a blur of emotions. Swiping left and right on Grindr for months had been exhausting. Scrolling through a collection of pictures, reading profile bios - Max had had enough and then... Caleb had slipped into his DMs.
After all the miserable conversations in the first few days, Max had agreed to meet up with the beta a few times at home during the off-season. At first, it had been refreshing, somehow relaxing, because it wasn't about roaring engines and technical data. Caleb was lighthearted and only interested in Max as a person.
Well...plot twist.
He was interested in Formula One after all, and in the fact that Max was a big part of it.
Well, by the second or third date at the latest, it had become clear that Claeb was only interested in Max because of Formula 1, but who was Omega to judge?
Max was using him because he didn't want to be alone.
Caleb used him because he wanted a glimpse of Formula One.
By now the omega thinks they were even.
They'd ended up in bed, and even if Max hadn't had any expectations, he'd had a spark of hope - almost for one full minute and then the small, fragile spark had been smothered by the smoke. Don't get him wrong - Caleb hadn't hurt him or done anything wrong, not like other idiots before, but - he wasn't an alpha and although Max doesn't want to admit it back then, a beta couldn’t fully satisfy him.
As an omega Max has his primal, inner needs and Caleb hasn’t simply been enough.
Hazily Max scrolls down the rush of notifications. Most of the profiles are located all around the world, too far away to really consider them or worth a look. He clicks the small three dots open and navigates through his profile settings with a few swipes, narrowing his searching radius down. Then the omega refreshes his notification box and the results shrink down.
HeatWavers
1 NEW ALPHA HAD LIKED AND SAVED YOUR PROFILE
Without thinking twice Max clicks the push message open. At least he needs to start somewhere, right?
Right!
HeatWavers
Charles Leclerc📍Monte Carlo, Monaco
Even if he doesn't like the circumstances, hating Red Bull a bit more than normal right now, Max knows he can't sulk forever. Deep down he knows the team and after all Christian trying to protect him - even though he does it in his weird, contradictory, confusing way.
At some point, he has to start doing more than just swiping . If he wants to race next season, he has to take it seriously – and that means less swiping, more matching and meeting alphas in real life.
A rush of energy floats Max veins as he hesitates for another moment. What if some dumb ass rips out his heart again?
He shakes his head. Don’t think about it, he reminds himself. Keep them close but still an arms length away. Don’t let them steal your heart. Steal theirs instead.
Head over heart.
Always.
Fuck off, his thinks and simply acts.
He double tabs Charles profile and holds his breath while the app is loading, again.
It takes a moment for the profile to fully load, seconds expands into eternit., Max feels his breath hiss in his throat as the app refreshes itself. His blue eyes widen and he blinks in shock. His pulse quickens, and in the next instant, his heart skips a beat.
Max isn't new to being knocked up by a good-looking guy. He just usually has the decency to play it cool. But one look at Charles and his brain melts into a puddle of pheromones.
Wow, what a man.
Screw Grindr and praise the monegasque instead.
Charles Leclerc is a sight for sore eyes.
Charles Leclerc
27 MALE ALPHA
📍Monte Carlo, Monaco
❤️LIKE 💭COMMENT 🔒SAVE
[click here to see more]
Max slides down the headboard and props himself in the pillows again with a gentle, damp whoosh . He blinks at a young man, filtered in aestical black and white but his facial features are sculptured. Lips to adore. Eyes to lose himself in. Hair to tousle his fingers in.
The omega slowly swipes right, revealing the next picture. He pulls his phone closer, unable to decide whether he wants to jump right into the screen or pull Charles out by the collar of his damn innocent white linen shirt to taste the warmth of sunlight straight from his pink, curled up lips. In the slight caught breeze of wind his brown hair wavers and his bright moss-green eyes twinkle.
Without recognizing it the corners of his mouth twitch and curve into a gentle smile.
His thumb trembles a bit as he clicks the rest of the profile open.
In a rattly breath the last bits of oxygen leaves Max's body, steaming into dust and raising up above his head.
Well, judging by the pictures, Charles could be described as a feverish walking daydream - women, men - one look and they would all kneel before him and worship him without asking any questions.
Do the people who regulate HeatWavers even allow such sexiness?
What about the risk of heart attacks?
The risk of tripping over your own feet while swiping during lunch break?
Holy shit!
Max's lips parts; a small squick escapes his mouth. Describing Charles Leclerc as handsome doesn’t even begin to do him justice, but if you looked it up in a dictionary, you would find a picture of Charles next to it.
Damn.
Max sighs, and though he hates to admit it, Charles ist... attractive.
A piano playing daydream with great effortlessly tousled brown hair and inviting, kissable lips. But handsomeness wouldn't…couldn’t affect his racing. He must keep a clear head and make a good choice. Someone who's kind and attractive and a reliable heat partner. Max has dealt with good-looking guys before.
He can do it again.
The omega wouldn’t let himself tempt by a smile again so quickly - a pretty face, a warm smile, lovely dimples - there is nothing fancy about a charming guy in Monaco.
He purses his lips. Max is constantly surrounded by rich, handsome, and fragrant people, and Charles Leclerc is not going to ruin his dream of fighting for another title but he could help him, be beneficial.
A small scroll, his blue eyes examining the short biography with a sharp, skeptical look.
Charles Leclerc
27 MALE ALPHA
📍Monte Carlo, Monaco
about me
🐶 dog owner
likes
sunsets, coffee, fitness, music, racing, chess
looking for
heat partner, soul mate, long term relationship
you both connets
open communication humor sharing heats/ruts scenting safespace racing foodie
Max scrolls down further as he reaches out with his other hand, grabbing a chocolate Kinder-bar from his bedside table. The packaging rustles in the silence of the room and mixes with the soft hum of the television. Outside, the clouds gather, shrouding the evening sky in a dark gray dress of absorbent cotton and rain. The sound of the sea is drowned out by the hail of rules and the lights of the skyline flash hazily in the distance. There is something soothing about rain in the evening - Max snuggles deeper into the warm cocoon of sheets and pillows while the sweet taste of sugar and chocolate melts on his tongue.
He hums satisfied and nibbles on the next ripple. Hmm…not that bad so far. Then he realizes that he doesn’t know what the alpha does for a living. Max scrolls up again, back to the personal data and scans the biography once more but nothing.
How utterly disappointing. For a split second, something thick and heavy that omega cannot quite identify overshadows his curiosity, but then another thought occurs to him: You could ask him yourself.
Max blinks and considers it.
It has been a while since he had done the first step, reaching out to an alpha can be risky at least. Most alphas prefer a calm, submissive omega - someone who doesn’t is too noisy or too prying.
The truth is, most alphas are looking for a lot, but not for Max - a lively, contradictory bundle of energy and turmoil. In the past, his rebellious attitude has gotten him into trouble more than once. One alpha even subdued him in public, out on a date night. He was forced to kneel down and stare at his hands for the rest of the night. That had been a simply awful, humiliating, and hurtful experience and the last time he had seen the alpha. Sick bastard!
A shiver of remembrance runs through Max and down his spine.
But the reality is different.
Most alphas treat and see omegas as a pleasurable pastime. Nothing more than a sensual body to take apart for their own lust and primal needs.
Max had learnt that a long time ago.
This and that alphas aren’t there to please him, to kiss and touch him like he’s worth the wait and worship. That he’s worth a nice dinner with some expensive wine and pasta before dragging him to bed and ripping him naked, spreading his legs, grabbing his hips.
A wave rolls over him, buries him under memories. The barely perceptible touch of rough fingertips on his skin, the scarth of teeth and stinging pain of hard trusts.
He trembles and slightly flinches.
So no he won’t text first ever again.
Max trusts his omega intentions now. Swiping most of the alphas left is maybe not the way to solve his problem but it protects him from physical abuse and a broken heart. Both he doesn’t need ever again.
The Dutchman lowers his gaze down on his phone again. Screen black and blurred with fingertips - he reflects a young omega. Bright blue eyes, tousled blond hair. His eyes shine with anxiety and concern.
God, what happens when he doesn't find anyone?
Would Red Bull really drop him?
Give him up without a final fistfight?
The mere thought makes Max's whole body tense up and makes him want to throw up. His chest constricts, squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. He gasps and wrinkles his nose.
This is bad.
Even worse.
A disaster.
A soft noise shakes him awake and his phone vibrates. He blinks and clears his throat before unlocking his phone. His vision is a bit blurred around the edges, salty tears tugging on his lashes but Max blinks them away to sharpen his gaze.
HeatWavers again; this time it’s not another like or comment. It’s a request straight from the alpha’s profile Max is observing at the exact moment.
HeatWavers
CHARLES LECLERC HAS SENT YOU A PRIVATE CHAT REQUEST
RECECT or ACCEPT
His heart skips another beat and Max lets the pooling heat swirl around in the depth of his stomach, letting himself be guided by instinct and omega intuition.
Don't make me regret this, he thinks.
Thumb hovering over the request and then he simply hits the small button.
ACCEPT
Monte-Carlo, Monaco
A soft rustle of noise rushes through the cracks of his AirPods as Max nestles around his bedroom. His phone buzzes all few moments, announcing another bunch of notifications from HeatWavers.
It's been a whole week since Max has started to swipe and match and ever since Lando on the other side of the invisible line of connection is a pain in the ass. The blond tries to hide his extended annoyance but the Briton doesn’t go easy on him. In the background he can hear Carlos' thick spanish accent, pouting about the upcoming team presentations in London, calling Lando - his former team mate, his boyfriend, his mate to get a move and help him packing for their upcoming vacation. But Lando, the mischievous little smog he is, ignores him and keeps his focus on Max.
“Soo…” the Briton purrs, voice edged with amusement. “You have downloaded the app, right?”
Max rolls his eyes in annoyance but replies while folding a few t-shirts into his suitcase, mostly team merch, “Yes, I did.”
“And have you only been swiping or actively matching alphas?”
“Ughh,” Max growls, “Lando, I’m not talking with you about—”
“Why not?” the other omega cuts him off, rudely. “We are friends. We need to find you an alpha. The season would be lame without you.”
“We?” Max breathes out and frowns. “We don’t need to find anything. I must!” he clarifies, feeling his chest tighten.
Lando points out dramatically, “Don’t be such a bitch when I try to back you up!”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
Max sighs, exhausted and stares at the unfolded, wrinkled shirt in his hands. With a shrug he throws it carelessly into his suitcase and flaps on the bed. He blindly grabs his phone and presses it, displaying down, against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a stretched moment of silence. “It’s not your fault.”
The mechanics complain - standard.
Gemma blinks innocently over his shoulder whenever she catches a lucky glimpse of his phone, buzzing - annoyingly but manageable.
And Christian ... God, he just stares at him silently, introverted. He pushes Max into a corner and lets him feel that he is being watched with every step he takes in the paddock.
Max is just under a lot of pressure, okay?
“I know.”
“It’s a lot.”
Again Lando says, quieter now. “I know.”
Another moment passes.
“I'm just trying to help you. You aren’t alone with this shit.”
But it feels like I am, the omega thinks.
Max swallows and closes his eyes.
This time he mumbles, “I know.”
“There is still some time,” Lando adds gently and pauses, letting Max breathe through the chaos, giving him room to settle a bit.
Max whines softly and squirms his eyes, dragging the tears back. If he allows his feelings to break free now, there will be no stopping him—no turning back. He can feel it—the slight tingling in his nose, the taste of iron on his tongue. with a low whisper he repeats, “I know.”
“We’ll find a solution,” Lando tries to support him, lighting up his mood but Max simply feels emotionally wrecked. In the background, footsteps approach, followed by Carlos' familiar murmurs. A mix of English and smooth, thick Spanish. Only snippets of conversation reach Max, but somehow he knows they are talking about him.
“You can call me back later again if—”
"Absolutely not,” Lando cuts him off. “Just give me a moment,” he gently begs and before the blond can interject he hears footsteps again. “Wait a minute, Maxie. I’m right back.”
With a hushed rustle the phone is thrown down and Lando’s voice echoes through the small speakers of his AirPods like he’s miles away - probably off the couch now, bantering Carlos off. “No – hey, hey…leave me. I’m talking business here…no Max needs me. I will pack my stuff later —Thanks, baby.”
“Te quiero, mi vida,” Carlos thickly accent swirls through the line smooth and warm as honey, making Max's chest arche. “Let me know when you need something.”
As he hears muffled footsteps echoing off and Landos picks up the phone again the blond says, “You know you shouldn’t mock him off so often.”
“Ohh, shut up, you muppet!” Lando chuckles. “Carlos is fine. I’m more worried about you.”
“You don’t have to,” instinctively backs off.
“That’s nothing you decide.”
Max sighs and sits up, pushing himself up from the mattress. He throws his phone back onto the pillow and strolls over to his closet before he exhales, “Fine. What’s your plan then?”
“Oh my - are you serious?”
He can Lando squirms with excitement but he keeps his iron mask of calmness and annoyance up. “Yeah, I’m serious. Now - you little muppet - give me a master plan so I can drive your ass off again next season.”
“Rude!”
“I’m just honest, Norris. When will McLaren finally build you a fast car?”
“Hmm…” The Briton growls, hissing something unintelligible. “I’l give you honest….” he mocks, making Max laugh. “Don’t you dare to laugh…thought you want my help?”
“Ohhh,” Max chuckles and clears his throat, sounding calmer and a bit more relaxed now. “I do…oh headmaster of HeatWavers help me.”
“You are no fun!”
Max grabs another pile of sweaters and looks through them before he selects an old, washed out one. All worn out and comfortable, soaked with familiar scents and fabric softener. “Yeah… whatever. Can you help me now?”
A machine rustles in the background, and then Lando asks, muffled by the sound of freshly ground coffee beans. “Alright, I’ll help you,” he announces in a gentle tone. “Be honest…have you avoided more than swiping by now?”
Max bites his lip. Not that annoying topic again.
He remains silent, “Kind of.”
“Kind of? What does this mean?” Lando sounds confused.
“It means that…” Max pauses and considers his next words. “There are a lot of crap people online.”
That's only half the truth, but Lando doesn't know that.
“You can't wander through life forever with caution, Max." Lando sounds compassionate, but also concerned. He knows the whole bitter truth about Max's dating history.
Ohhh...I can and I will - watch me, Norris!
But the honest truth is mockery won’t help the Dutchman here. So instead of bursting back he replies, “I know but it’s hard.”
“There are so many other people than him…you know that, right?”
Max nods but then realizes that Lando can’t see him so he hums, “Yeah, I know…”
Then Lando sings in a sing-song voice, dripping with mischief. “I’m sure there are already a bunch of likes on your profile. Alpha’s who wants to get to know you.”
Or get between his spread legs…he can’t be careful enough, right?
Right!
The best way to protect himself is to swipe them off…
"Quite possible."
A blink of an eye passes and Max grabs another chocolate bar.
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“Don’t what me!”
Max simply ignores him. He can literally hear Lando thinking through his AirPods like the little gears in his brain starting to rattle and smoke. With boldness he asks, “What?”
Lando groans, “Don’t you dare…stop withholding information from me. Share your thoughts with me, Verstappen. Now. "
The omega holds a grin back and lies: “There isn’t really much to share.” He opens the drawers to collect some socks and underwear.
“Liar.”
“I’m not-”
Lando cuts him off, sharply. “Liar!”
Max nibbles on his lip. A small snort of amusement tugging on the edges of his mouth, but he keeps his voice casual before he innocently asks, “Excuse me?”
Lando restraints pushing, “You are holding back something, and by something I mean someone. I know you, Maxie…who’s it?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Hmm…” Lando grumbles in disbelief. “Try again.”
The blond omega glances a look over his shoulder, spotting his phone on the bed. For a flash of a moment he considers sharing his secret with Lando.
“Maybe I matched a few guys.”
“Lies! Lies! Lies!” Lando mumbles, his tone feigned displeasure. “Try harder.”
Max hesitates, feeling his pulse quicken. Speaking it all out loud makes the whole thing real.
The FIA rules.
Red Bull forcing him to date, to share his heats with an alpha.
The online dating.
Charles.
Spelling the words, maybe even labeling it weighs just too much.
It scares Max, okay?
Telling Lando about it makes things touchable and that feels vulnerable. As if he were presenting his heart to the world on a silver platter. Not checking the app each time a notification bumps up protects him and his wild pounding, betraying hard because Max isn't make out or iron, okay?
Swiping and observing good-looking alpha males all day sounds safe but it's not. Not really.
Keeping Charles in the digital pocket of his phone is safe. Why can't he have only this?
The safe option?
The dream of having someone.
Because life doesn’t work like this.
Max already knows this and still—
“Okay…” he gives in, whining. Within a few steps he crosses the room and launches on the bed again. The omega grabs his phone and hugs a pillow like it's his lifeline. Maybe it is…he needs some support here, okay?
Max removes the AirPods and presses his phone against his ear, exhaling deeply. He can hear Lando breathe on the other end, grounding him without really knowing it. Somehow Lando feels closer with the phone to his ear, and Max sinks into the feeling of having his rival on the track, his friend off the track, close by.
“Lando?” he asks into the silence.
The line cracks and Max closes his eyes as his friends whispers back, “Yes?”
“Maybe there’s someone who looks… promising.”
What he doesn’t say is… this scares me to hell.
The good thing is Lando already knows him well enough to guess this right. “Finally,” the brunette sighs, stretches and chuckles a bit as he adds, “I know dating someone can be terrifying but you won’t find anybody when you lock yourself in your apartment and…unfortunately you don’t really have a choice, don’t you?”
Max makes a face, “Yeah…I guess you are right.”
“I mean can you imagine Christian swiping for you online?”
“God no!”
What a dreadful thought.
A moment of silence erupted between them before they both burst out into laughter.
Lando sighs softly, his breath rattling through the loudspeakers, a purr edging the sound. “See - It’s better when we do the swiping and matching and…I’m glad you admit it.”
“Admit what?” Max leans back against the pillows and snuggles into the soft, familiar scent of home and comfort.
“That it’s not that bad being online again. Swiping a bit here and there has never hurt someone.” He chuckles, “I’m a bit jealous - not of your situation but of taking a look at the endless, prudence of single alphas out there. Now spill the tea.”
Max almost chokes, “Jealous? Have you lost your mind?”
“Ehhh no?”
“You have Carlos. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any other attentive guy who would survive a single day with you.”
“Oh, wow - and for a split second I thought you would say something nice…thank you very much!”
Max smirks, “You’re a lot to handle, Norris.”
“And I thought we were friends,” he points out, agitatedly.
“We are on track rivals.”
“Yeah, and off track friends…but maybe I’ll overthink this one.”
“Lando!”
“Max!”
“I’m just kidding you.”
“You better mean that,” Lando growls, but Max can already hear him smile. “Now spill the tea, Verstappen.”
“Ughh…” Max frowns, caught off guard. “The what?”
“Are you serious? Oh my — send help. Can’t believe we are friends,” the brunette says, voice high-pitched with perplexity. Then the Briton groans, the noise half a pout of annoyance, half a craned chuckle, as he explains, “Give me the hard facts.”
“Like?”
“Name, age, what he’s doing for a living?” Lando suggests. “Most importantly, share his freaking photos with me, Maxie.”
“No.”
“Come on!”
“No way.”
“Just a screenshot of his profile?”
“Don’t even try it.”
“Fine…one photo, please?”
Max exhales and stares at the ceiling, “Lando…”
“Yes, Maxie?”
“I will not send you a photo of Charles. That's not up for debate, indisputably. You will only show it off to Carlos and who else knows."
“That’s his name?” Lando ignores him completely. He doesn’t give Max a moment to breathe. “What nationality is he? He sounds French!”
“No, he’s Monegasque.”
“Ohh….”
“So he lives nearby, huh?”
“Yes.”
Lando hums, acknowledgedly. “Hmm…”
Max's eyes widen as the silence stretches for a moment and he realizes what game Lando is playing. “You little snitch,” he blurts out, shocked.
The other omega, mockery as ever, chuckles and innocently mumbles, “Don’t be mad - Sometimes you need to play your cards right.”
“I can’t believe you tricked me…”
“To get some information out of you? Yes, I did,” Lando says, visibly proud of himself.
“I won’t tell you anything ever again.”
“Now you’re being dramatic.”
“Yeah…I am!” Max breathes out, “Can’t believe you played me.”
“Sorry?”
“Ohh no,” Max shakes his head and licks his lip. “Don’t try to manipulate me now by being all sweet to me and pretending you are sorry .”
“But I’m really sorry.”
“No, you are not,” Max tries to suppress a laugh.
Lando hesitates and then blurts out, “Fine, I’m not sorry…how could you hold this information back? When did you match?”
Okay, fine.
That's the moment, Max thinks and makes himself comfortable in the pillows. As good as he knows Lando, this one will take a while now. The only way to ever get out of this bombardment of questions in one piece is maneuvering right through it.
“Last Wednesday.”
“Last - this is almost a week ago,” Lando complains.
“Yeah, and?”
“And?” Lando sounds like he's about to jump through the phone and throttle the Dutchman. “You can't be serious!”
Now it’s Max who mumbles, apologetically. “I’m sorry?” It sounds more than a question but Lando swallows it anyway.
“Whatever you, muppet,” the omega grumbles, balancing with his phone and a cup of coffee back to the couch. “I need snacks for this invasion. Give me a minute and then I won’t have any mercy on you. And Max?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you dare to spare anything out.”