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Max’s car had been a dog all day, sluggish through the twists, no bite on the straights even after the so-called upgrades. P4 at best, and that was generous. Charles hadn’t fared much better though, sliding between P6 and P7 like the Ferrari was fighting him every lap.
Up front it was the Mercedes boys trading one-two, with the two McLarens wedged in like bright orange reminders that the field was shifting.
Rumors were already crawling through the paddock like smoke. Max to McLaren, they whispered, because GP had gone there and the team needed a shake-up even though everyone knew how Zak talked about him behind closed doors.
Max didn’t care about most of it. He had heard worse. But the way Lando looked at him in the drivers’ room earlier, that half-bitter edge under the polite smile, stuck somewhere under his ribs. They had patched things after last year’s championship war, but the beta still seemed to carried it. Nobody wanted the only omega on the grid crashing their little papaya party. Still, Max knew McLaren would take him in a heartbeat if it meant owning the narrative.
Mercedes was worse in its own way. Toto had been circling for years, ready to throw whatever it took. Even Kimi, their young prodigy alpha, watched him with that open, easy interest that made Max’s skin prickle.
But George. Oh, George.
George would rather see him crash out and die.
The Brit made no secret of it in the small ways that never quite got caught by cameras. Pointed comments, manufactured radio messages, enough noise to drag Max in front of the FIA again. Everyone knew Toto would drop George the second Max said yes. Max knew it too. He just didn’t have the energy to play that game.
None of it should have mattered tonight. But it did, because Charles was here.
They weren’t even friends in the daylight way. Just this, whatever this was. Situationship is what the people nowadays called it when they didn’t want to name the weird ache.
Max had already come once, hard and shaking, Charles’ hand over his mouth to keep the sound in. Now he was on his back, legs spread, Charles deep inside him, knot swelling slow and inevitable. The stretch burned in the best way, locking them together. Max’s body trembled with the aftershocks, oversensitive, but he still rocked his hips up, greedy for more.
Charles’ breath was hot against his neck, alpha scent thick and sweet, wrapping around Max like it always did. Citrus and sun-warmed stone, the Monaco harbor after rain. Max’s own scent spiked sharper in response, something like rain on asphalt and engine heat, clinging to Charles’ skin.
“George was talking again today,” Max muttered, voice rough. His fingers dug into Charles’ back, nails biting. “Heard him in the hospitality. Made some joke about penalties and omega temperament. FIA’s probably already looking at my data because of it.”
Charles hummed, hips shifting in small, careful thrusts while the knot grew fuller. He pressed deeper, locking them tight. “He’s always like that. Ignore him. You drove well today, considering the car.”
Max laughed once, bitter. The sound cracked in the middle. Charles’ praise felt too good and not enough at the same time. The knot pulsed, pressing right against that spot that made Max’s vision blur. He was hard again already, trapped between their bodies, leaking. He chased the friction, slow and filthy, even as the conversation kept spilling out.
“Why do you keep hanging out with him?”
The words came out quieter and shakier than he meant them to. Charles stilled for a second, then pushed in again, knot fully seated now, stretching Max open in that overwhelming way that made everything else feel distant.
“Wha—? Why wouldn’t I?”
Max clicked his lips so hard he thought it would bleed. The sting grounded him. “Dunno. Perhaps I’m worried you’ll hate me as much as he does.”
Charles lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide from the sex and the rut-edge of Max’s scent. Sweat clung to his hair. He looked so beautiful like this, flushed and focused, but the softness in his face made Max’s chest hurt worse.
“Max,” Charles said, low, almost gentle. One hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip. “George is just… George. He talks. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re not even that close.”
“You were laughing with him yesterday. After FP. I saw.” Max turned his face away, but Charles followed, pressing their foreheads together. The knot throbbed between them, tying them so close there was no space to hide. Max could feel every twitch, every beat of Charles’ heart through it. “You always do that. You hang out with all of them. They spend all weekend talking shits about me and you just… smile.”
Charles exhaled shakily. His hips gave a small, involuntary roll, dragging the knot against Max’s walls and pulling a broken sound from his throat. “It’s not like that. This is racing. Everyone talks shit. You out of all people know how it is.”
“I know how it is for me,” Max whispered. His voice cracked again. He hated it. Hated how vulnerable he sounded while Charles was literally inside him, knot swelling bigger, locking him in place. “I’m the only one. The omega. Everything I do gets twisted. And you… everyone loves you. No one says a bad word. You can float through it all and still come here and fuck me like this and act like it doesn’t touch you.”
Charles’ hand slid down, gripping Max’s thigh, holding him open wider. The movement sent fresh sparks up Max’s spine. He was so full it ached, pleasure and pain blurring together the way they always did with Charles. Max’s second orgasm was already building, slow and devastating, coaxed by the constant pressure on his prostate.
“I notice,” Charles said after a long moment. His voice had gone rougher, alpha edge bleeding through. “I do. But starting fights with everyone doesn’t help you either. I’m trying to keep things calm. For both of us.”
Max closed his eyes. The lie, or the half-truth, sat heavy between them.
He wasn’t really sure why the thoughts of the alpha that had been fucking him (literally) hanging around with the alphas that trying to fuck him up (figuratively) is eating him alive like this.
Charles’ knot felt bigger now, stretching him to the limit, and Max rocked against it anyway, chasing the burn. His cock rubbed between their stomachs, slick and desperate.
“Calm for you, maybe. I get to be the villain every weekend. And then you come to me smelling like them. Like you were just laughing at the same jokes they make about me.”
Charles made a low sound, almost pained, and thrust as much as the knot would allow, short and deep. “I’m here now. With you. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Max came again with a gasp, clenching hard around the knot, body shaking through it. Charles followed close behind, groaning into his neck, hips jerking as he spilled deep. The knot swelled even more, sealing everything in, and for a minute there was only heat and breath and the overwhelming feeling of being claimed.
But the knot would go down eventually. It always did.
And tomorrow Charles would smile at George again in the paddock, clap him on the back, keep the peace like he always did. Max lay there, locked together with the alpha he couldn’t stop wanting, and felt the same old hurt settle back in, sharper now.
He pressed his face into Charles’ shoulder, breathing him in.
In quali, Charles’ car felt alive for once. It’s responsive through the high-speed sections, the upgrades finally biting the way they were supposed to. He pushed clean laps in Q1 and Q2, slotting into P2 behind George. The radio was full of encouragement, Bryan’s voice steady in his ear. For a moment it felt possible, like the weekend could turn.
Q3 started fast. The track was still tricky after earlier sessions, curbs biting, grip marginal in places. Charles was building a lap when the yellow flags flashed across his steering wheel. First single, then double at Turn 9. His stomach dropped before his brain caught up.
“Big crash for Verstappen.”
Oh. Charles pressed the button on his wheel, voice tight. “Is he okay?”
A pause. The car kept moving, tires humming under him.
“Double yellow at Turn 9. Focus, Charles. Stay in the lines.”
“All good for Max?” he asked again, louder this time. His heart was already hammering, louder than the engine.
“We don’t know yet. Will get back to you. Push on the clear sectors.”
Charles finished the lap on instinct, crossing the line in what turned out to be P2. Lewis took P3. George had pole. The Mercedes driver hadn’t lifted enough when the yellows came, stealing the time while everyone else backed off. Even Kimi, his own teammate, had slowed properly and confront him about it. Charles saw it in the replay. No further investigation. He said nothing in the debrief, though.When George approached in the paddock, grinning about the pole, Charles gave short, clipped answers. His chest felt too small. Every beat of his pulse sounded like Max’s name.
He barely remembered the cooldown room. The moment media duties ended he walked straight to the Red Bull motorhome, ignoring the looks, ignoring the whispers about Max’s crash. The door was unlocked. He pushed inside without knocking.
The omega was sitting on the floor against the couch, legs stretched out, back to the wall. No phone, no tablet, just staring at nothing. His race suit was half peeled down, hair damp with sweat. The room smelled like burnt rubber but it isn’t rain Charles smells, it was all just cloudy.
Charles closed the door behind him. “Are you okay?”
Max didn’t look up right away. When he did his eyes were flat. “Front row for you. You should be celebrating.”
“I don’t care about that.” Charles crouched down closer, careful. “I saw the replay. You spun, hit the wall. They said you were out of the car walking, but—”
“I’m fine.” Max cut him off, voice low. He pushed a hand through his hair. “Car’s fucked but I’m fine. Go celebrate your P2, Charles. George got pole fair and square, apparently.”
Charles’ jaw tightened. “He didn’t slow down enough. Everyone knows it. Kimi lifted. I lifted. He didn’t. It’s wrong.”
Max blinked slowly, then let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll investigate or they won’t. Same as always.” He leaned his head back against the wall, exposing the line of his throat. The scent of him shifted again, gloomier, heavier, like damp concrete after a long storm. “Why are you even here?”
“Because I was worried.” Charles sat on the floor across from him, close enough that their knees almost touched. “I asked on radio. Twice. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Max’s mouth twisted. “Of course they wouldn’t. Why would they? You hang around with all of them anyway. George, the others. Even your own team probably celebrating my crash. It’s easier that way.”
Charles is trying to ignore the way his chest tighten with a swift ache behind his ribs.
“I don’t agree with what he did today. I told you that.”
“But you’ll still talk to him tomorrow. Laugh at his jokes. Stand next to him in the paddock like nothing happened.” Max’s voice stayed quiet, almost detached, but his fingers flexed against the floor like he was holding something back. “It’s natural, I guess. People hate me. Always have. Since we were kids you hated me too, right? You just hid it better. I was too blind to see it or maybe I didn’t want to. And now I’m scared one day you’ll stop hiding it. That you’ll turn into them and I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
Charles’ throat worked. He reached out, hesitant, and rested a hand on Max’s ankle. The contact felt fragile.
“I don’t hate you, Max.”
Max hummed, low and tired. His eyes drifted to the side again, staring at the corner of the room. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say that. At least this way I know you feel something towards me. Even if it’s just this.” He gestured vaguely between them, the messy, secret thing they kept doing. “Fucking in motorhomes. Knotting me when no one’s looking. It’s more than most give me.”
The gloom in Max’s scent thickened, wrapping around Charles like fog. It made his alpha instincts twist, wanting to pull Max close, to fix it, but he stayed where he was. His chest felt so tight he had to breathe through it.
“You should never feel that way,” Charles said finally, voice rough. “Like everyone’s against you. Like I am too. You shouldn’t have to.”
Max didn’t answer for a long time. The silence stretched, filled only by distant paddock noise and the faint hum of air conditioning. When he finally spoke his words were soft, almost kind in their resignation.
“But I do. And you’re still here anyway. That’s something, I guess. Is it not?
Charles swallowed hard. He wanted to argue, to promise more, to say he would stand up in the open next time. To say thay perhaps Charles does feels something so strong towards the omega and it isn’t hate like what he thought it would be.
But the words stuck. Instead he just shifted closer, letting his hand slide up Max’s leg, thumb brushing over the fabric of his suit.
Max didn’t push him away this time. He just closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like it was the only solid thing that belongs to him.
Maybe Charles is his, after all.