Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you ask Charles, it’s all Max’s fault.

He was always saying that if either of them was ever going to expose their relationship, it’d be him, so excuse you, Max, I saved both our asses. But Max always failed to see it that way.

(And—okay, technically, Charles was the one that put himself in that situation in the first place, but whatever, it was a mistake, okay?).

So Charles and Seb were in the car. They were going to some team dinner and the german offered to pick Charles up and drive him because he barely knew the streets of Maranello (not that Seb was any better, but he was nice like that).

“Here,” Seb said, handing him the aux cable. “You pick the music.”

Charles wasn’t about to fight him on it, so he plugged his phone in and opened up Spotify, playing a random playlist, most likely Max’s. He didn’t think much of it until some shitty EDM beat could be heard through the speakers. He scrunched up his nose in distaste and silently groaned when Seb gave him a confused, slightly judgmental side-eye.

“Never would’ve guessed you listened to this kind of music, Charlie.” He chuckled, but Charles didn’t miss the mocking tone. (And this is why he can’t be held accountable for the events that unfolded next).

“Oh, no,” he started. “I don’t listen to this, not really, just when Max—” (So maybe if he hadn’t cut himself off so abruptly he could’ve played it off as whatever. Or come up with a better fucking lie, but Charles wasn’t lucky like that).

However, his teammate wasn’t dumb, far from it, actually, and Charles could see Seb from the corner of his eye, staring intently at him when they reached a red light. He refused to lift his head, messing around on his phone.

“Max? I didn’t know you guys were friends.” This time his words were paired with a suggestive tone.

“We’re not!” Which, technically, wasn’t a lie (they weren’t friends) but the urgency in his voice, well, made it very hard to believe. “It’s just that, uh,” he cut himself again to let out a very forced, very awkward laugh that automatically made him want to clear his throat. His brain was screaming at him, say something, Charles, and fast, you look like an idiot. “Max just made this playlist for me cause… he… made one for everyone on the grid. Cause he’s, you know, super nice. Now.” He gave Seb his sweetest smile and it was sold. Or so he thought.

“Oh, really?” Disbelieve wouldn’t be the exact word Charles would use to describe Seb’s tone, more like a ‘I know you’re lying and you know I know you’re lying, Charles’ sort of tone (which Seb did use quite a lot around him) but Charles wasn’t anything if not determined and he’d see this lie through, thank you very much.

“Yep.” He shrugged, seeming as nonchalant as he could.

“Well, then I want to listen to mine.”

That’s when Charles’ mind pulled a very drastic U-turn. He had not thought this through and now he could feel his palms getting sweaty and the wheels in his head turning faster than his fucking Ferrari.

“Sure, I’ll ask him to send it to me and I’ll just forward it to you.”

His teammate was looking at him with a hint of pride, like he didn’t actually believe he’d manage to pull this off, but nothing else was said, Charles was sort of hoping that the whole situation could be forgotten and never spoken of ever again.

“Alright, I want it presto, Charlie.”

So that’s how Charles ended up here; back in his rented apartment, freshly showered and waiting for his boyfriend to pick up his oncoming FaceTime call. He had the whole thing planned out, though, and was quite proud of himself. Turns out that after years of fucking around and then actually dating Max, he really did know how to get him to do almost anything he wanted—yes, he was a manipulative little shit, but only because deep down Max knew and allowed it. Which is why he was wearing one of Max’s old Red Bull shirt (with every single curtain drawn because god help him if anyone caught wind of this), red bandana, the one Max had told him during one of his less coherent post-sex moments that he adored, hair wet enough to look it through the camera but also very strategically messed with so it’d appear fluffy and sexy at the same time, and last but not least, his glasses, which he had learned a few months prior that Max was, indeed, very weak to.

The ringing finally stopped, and now that he thinks about it, maybe he should’ve just gone full on shirtless—

“Hallo, schat, give me a minute.” He heard Max’s voice through the speakers but the screen only showed what he was almost sure to be Max’s kitchen ceiling. (Don’t ask him how he memorized that specific aspect of his boyfriend’s apartment, please and thank you).

Charles only had to wait a few seconds before Max’s face popped on the screen, cheeks a little flushed and hands running all over his hair, dopey grin etched onto his lips.

“You had that godawful Red Bull cap on, didn’t you?” Was the first thing that came out of Charle’s mouth, and yeah, he should’ve held back on that one.

Max deadpanned him. “Count yourself lucky cause I took it off just for you, dipshit.” But there was no real malice behind his words.

“You know that regardless of what you’re wearing I’ll always think you’re the most beautiful man in the world,” he muttered sweetly, automatically seeing the effect the words had on his boyfriend and his usually cold heart.

Max’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on his appearance, and even through the small screen of his phone, he could see his eyes trailing all over his body, getting a little darker as they went, specially when he noticed the shirt he was wearing.

“You say godawful but I see you wearing my Red Bull shirt, Charlie.” His voice was getting deeper with every syllable, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips and—don’t get him wrong, usually, Charles would be up for all and any kinds of phone sex with his boy but tonight he had more pressing matters.

“Back on your possessive bullshit, I see.”

“Okay, baby, you’re confusing me here. I see you all dressed up and ready but you’re not giving me the right vibes, so you’re gonna have to tell me what you want from this conversation,” he chuckled, voice back to normal, demeanor slightly more relaxed and now Charles was sort of regretting everything all over again because he was looking forward to that phone sex.

Focus, Leclerc.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Verstappen. Can’t a boy call his beautiful boyfriend just to say hi?”

Max sighed dramatically but smiled prettily at him.

“Of course you can, baby. You look damn good, though, I want you to pack that exact same outfit for Australia because as soon as I get my hands on you, I swear, Charles, I am going to—” Honestly, Charles wanted to hear the rest of that sentence too, but he had Seb’s awful Italian accented alright, I want it presto, Charlie, at the front of his mind and it was really messing with his ability to get horny.

“Maxy, chéri, I need to tell you something.”

Hearing this, Max’s face completely changed, eyes turning serious and Charles really did feel like an asshole, cause he had taken his boyfriend on one hell of a rollercoaster with all of this mood swings, but then again, that was sort of the plan.

“What is it, Charles? Everything okay?” he asked, voice sounded worried, which Charles was quick to soothe.

“Everything’s fine, Maxy, don’t worry. I didn’t mean to phrase it like that, it’s nothing bad, I promise.” He smiled reassuringly, watching Max’s frown slowly disappear.

“Okay, tell me, baby.” Charles could see that Max’s entire attention was trained on him, which, on the one hand, was really cute, but on the other, gave him something to worry about because he was pretty sure Max was cooking before he answered the phone and that was never a good combination.

Charles sighed and put on his prettiest, most innocent smile, batting his eyelashes slowly and everything.

“Maxy, my love, the best and sweetest boyfriend in the whole world, you know how you adore me and would do anything for me?” his voice sounded way too sweet even to his own ears, but at this point it’s go big or go home.

Max frowned a little, wheels turning in his head.

“Charles, if this is about you topping next time, I already told you I was down for it. Honestly, it’ll be—”

“Max, this is not sex-related. I really meant it when I told you to get your head out of the gutter, baby.”

His boyfriend rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Well, I wouldn’t need to keep guessing if you just fucking told me already!” he exclaimed, voice filled with laughter. “Stop sugar-coating it, Charles, I know what you’re doing, this whole angel act doesn’t fool me anymore, I’ve been dating you for way too long.”

Charles smirked before answering, “so you’re admitting that it did fool you at some point.”

“Alright, now you’re the one getting off topic, pretty boy.”

“It’s true, okay, okay, so listen.” Charles took a deep breath again, wanting to run his hand through his hair but knowing the bandana was going to make it very hard for him to do so. “I was in the car with Seb, right? And he told me to pick the music, so I plug my phone and play one of those playlists you made for me.” He could see Max’s face lighting up and was reminded once again of how much he truly loved him. “So then some EDM tune starts playing and—Max, I swear to god it wasn’t on purpose—I just panicked and, well, long story short, I told Seb you made a playlist for everyone on the grid and now he’s bugging me about sending him his.” He finished it off with a sheepish smile.

Max narrowed his eyes and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“I don’t get it, why would you tell him that?”

“Max, you weren’t there. Seb is super smart. I accidentally sort of maybe told him that it was your playlist and he got this whole ‘I know everything you’re not telling me and more’ tone he uses and I just freaked out. I thought I had exposed us. I had to act fast.”

Max rolled his eyes affectionally at him, smile back on his face when he answered, “I know you don’t want to hear it, baby—”

“Ma-aax—” he whined, Max completely ignoring him.

“—But I fucking told you it was going to be you and your big mouth that eventually slipped up.”

“But I didn’t! That’s the whole point! That’s why I need you to make a playlist for Seb,” he said the last part fast and quietly, like a part of him didn’t actually want Max to hear. Max who looked like the implications of this conversation had suddenly dawned on him.

“What? No, I’m not doing that, you do it!”

Charles whined again like the big baby he was, “No, Max, I can’t do it! I’m no good with technology and Spotify and stuff, you know that, and I don’t know shit about what Seb listens to. If I do it, then it’s you that’s gonna end up with a bad rep.” Charles finished that sentence with the best puppy eyes he could muster, the one’s he knew his boyfriend wouldn’t be able to say no to.

“Chaaarles,” he groaned loudly, running his hands down his face in annoyance. “Ugh, fine! I’ll do it. But you owe me big time, pretty boy,” he warned, the intensity in his eyes as he said that last part letting Charles know exactly just how he was going to repay him, a smirk stretching across his face.

“Oh, you know I will,” he started, slowly running his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth and releasing the reddened skin, playing the part, giving his boyfriend a preview. “As soon as we get a chance in Australia, I’ll let you fuck me wearing only this—I’ll even wear that hideous Red Bull cap and I’ll let you mark me up to satisfy that weird possessive streak of yours.”

Charles knew that if Max wasn’t completely convinced before, then now he had him tightly wrapped around his little finger.

“Goddamnit, Charles,” Max practically growled with how gravelly his voice sounded, eyes screwing shut. “You can’t say shit like that when we’re so far away. Just one week, baby, one week and I’ll have you all to myself and leave a million bruises all over your pretty little neck—”

“Two, Max,” he deadpanned. “Anything else is too hard to cover and the media team will end me.”

***

A few days later, Charles was getting on a plane to Melbourne when his phone buzzed against his leg. He took it out and instantly smiled when he read who it was from.

M 💙❤️:  You're lucky I love you

M 💙❤️: https://open.spotify.com/playlist...

Charlie:  MERCI MAXY!!! YOU'RE THE BEST

Charlie:  Ik hou van je

M 💙❤️:  Je t'aime

Copying the link, he forwarded it to Seb, but not before opening it up himself. What if Seb asked him about it and he didn’t know anything? As soon as Spotify loaded up, his eyes skimmed over the screen and he let out a chuckle at what he saw—he really wasn’t expecting Max to get so creative with the name.

dadrock

He turned the airplane mode on and locked his phone, finally settling down on his seat, excitement cursing through his veins at the prospect of racing again, but also seeing his boyfriend for the first time in weeks.

Seb’s answer came much later, when he was laying down on soft hotel sheets, Max’s head on his chest, arms tightly wrapped around his middle and legs tangled with his own, breath even as Charles carded his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair, his other hand occupied by his phone and when he did read the message, he turned bright red.

Charles L.: Enjoy

Charles L.: https://open.spotify.com/playlist...

Sebastian V.:  Thank you, Charlie

Sebastian V.:  And thank that boyfriend of yours too

Charles L.:  I'm sorry, i don't know what you're talking about, haha

Charles L.:  But i'll tell him

Alright, so that was one message Max definitely didn’t need to see.

Chapter Text

The second time it happened (and even though it was 100% his fault because Max had explicitly told him not that I care, but we’re going to get caught, however, Charles was barely an adult and horny and very determined) he would absolutely not take the blame for it.

So he was in his driver’s room; middle of the day, sunshine streaming right through the blinds, a hundred people running all around him, and yet, here he was, in his boyfriend’s lap, hands tangled in hair and roaming underneath shirts, lips locked. The paddock was always loud and Charles knew it, but the only sounds he could focus on were their heavy breathing and the stray moan that managed to slip through.

That was, until—

“Charles!” That was definitely his teammate’s voice, followed by a soft knock and, usually, Seb wasn’t one to simply barge in, but Charles could see how the surprised sound he made could’ve been interpreted as a confirmation of sorts.

Charles barely had any time to scramble of off Max’s lap, sitting uncomfortably beside him and looking a lot like a misbehaved child waiting for someone to tell him off when Seb opened the door, whatever he was originally going to say dying on his tongue as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Children,” he greeted them, a huge shit-eating grin decorating his face.

“What’s up, Seb?” Max, who had taken his phone out of his pocket and now seemed very interested in his instagram feed, nodded at him without taking his eyes off the screen.

“I thought you guys weren’t friends.” And of fucking course, of all the dumb shit that came out of Charles’ mouth 24/7, sometimes in three different languages, that’d be the one Seb remembered.

That seemed to catch Max’s attention, his eyes snapping up to meet Charles’, but he refused to do so, focusing intently on a spot on the wall somewhere to the left of Seb’s ear.

“Oh, no, it’s just, uh—” Cue the awkward laugh and throat clearing. “You see, Max just wanted some french lessons so I offered to help him out.” His award winning smile stretching across his face, a weird sense of déjà vu letting him know he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“Oh, really?” There it was again, Seb’s infamous ‘I know everything, stop lying to me, Charles’ tone.

He looked at Max imploringly, trying to communicate his urgency through his eyes. Please, Max, I’ll owe you forever, I’ll do whatever you want and apparently his boyfriend was once again convinced because, with an exasperated sigh, he put on his best fake smile and looked directly at Seb.

“Oui.”

“See? They’re paying off already!”

Seb really couldn’t do anything else besides laugh heartily at the absurdity of the situation. “And I’m guessing Pierre was busy?”

Max and Charles had identical perplexed expressions on their faces, like maybe after the truly incredible amount of time they spent together they were slowly becoming the same person.

“Uh, I’m—I’m not following,” the only brunet in the room muttered, clearly confused.

Seb was enjoying this, though, looking at them like he knew they were struggling. “Well, I just thought you could’ve asked him, since he’s your teammate. And french.”

“Right. Yeah, well,” Max mumbled and moved his hands around to emphasize that he wasn’t about to finish that sentence.

“Oh, Pierre didn’t want to teach him. Cause Max hasn’t been nice to him.”

Max raised his eyebrows, slightly offended, but didn’t bother to actually defend himself, just gave a that’s true, oui and then his eyes went back on the screen of his phone, skimming past something before locking it and standing up. For a second, it looked like he wanted to properly say goodbye to Charles (and by properly—well, you know that means), but then thought better of it, cause then again, they had just spent the last three minutes speaking utter bullshit and even though he was more than sure that Seb (and pretty much the rest of the paddock) perfectly knew they were together, cause at this point, any fucking idiot would, he was willing to keep up the façade. Even if it was just to see Charles embarrassing himself every other day.

So he simply smiled at him and nodded at Seb before leaving. His boyfriend could either keep digging his own grave or—well, knowing Charles, that really was the only option. He wasn’t worried about missing it, though, after all this time together, he knew that, more often than not, Charles’ bad fucking choices usually came back to bite them both in the ass.

Charles watched his boyfriend leave almost longingly, regretting most of his live choices, not for the first time since this whole playlist debacle started. He sighed and stood up, knowing that the whole reason he was currently in this predicament was because they needed to go do some media thing, or whatever.

As he was about to walk out the door, he felt Seb’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Kid, this is not me saying you don’t look good in it,” he started, trying his hardest to stifle a laugh before continuing. “But I really don’t think the media team will appreciate it.”

And look, Charles really is smart, he swears, but he took an embarrassing amount of time figuring out what the hell it was that Seb was referring to. Until it clicked. And then Charles was blushing so much that he was sure he’d be the same color as his team polo—that is, of course, if he was fucking wearing it, instead of the very blue Red Bull team shirt he had on.

So he just stood frozen in place. Absolutely nothing going through his head, nothing to help him come out of this one unscathed. And Seb knew it.

“Alright, kid, as much as I’d love to hear the absurd excuse I’m sure you’ll come up with, we really can’t afford to lose more time.” He gave him a slightly amused smile, but there was fondness all over his face as he said it and Charles was very grateful for it, until. “Especially since you’re gonna have to spend a few minutes in makeup covering up those two… bruises on your neck, Charlie.”

For fuck’s sake.

***

For a couple of weeks, neither of them thought about the playlists, but that obviously wasn’t going to last for long.

Charles and Max were both on a sofa, just outside where their press conference was being held, waiting for it to start. They were sitting very close to each other, with Charles quietly snoozing, his entire body turned towards his boyfriend, face pressed against his neck. One of the Dutchman’s arms was around his boyfriend’s shoulder, his phone held in his free hand, lazily scrolling through instagram. Both their press officers were on their unoccupied sides and—okay, truthfully, Max wouldn’t really call their relationship a secret, per se, because—well, because they just weren’t actively hiding it. Sure, they hand’t declared their undying love for each other through a series of shots on instagram, and it’s not like they ran around the paddock kissing and holding hands in front of cameras and friends, but he was sure they were enough rumors for at least the other drivers to know. So, as long as they were “discreet” (or as much as they would be), their press officers didn’t really mind.

“Oh hey, guys.” Max heard the greeting and locked his phone before looking up at Lewis, giving him a small smile.

“Lewis,” he quietly greeted back, trying not to wake Charles, who still seemed completely knocked out. Max really had stopped questioning his boyfriend’s ability to fall asleep almost everywhere, at every second of the day, especially if any surface of Max’s body was available, but he also knew how badly Charles could sleep on most nights, so he wasn’t very keen on disturbing him.

“Kid’s passed out, huh?” Lewis nodded at Charles, a kind smile on his face and Max couldn’t help but gaze disgustingly lovingly down at his boyfriend before looking back at Lewis, not missing the fondness in his eyes.

“Yeah, he can literally fall asleep anywhere, it’s a real talent.”

They didn’t speak for a few minutes after that, Lewis being distracted by his own press officer.

Max felt Charles stirring and sat up a little straighter, hand still tightly wrapped around his shoulders.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered close to his ear, receiving a bright, lovely smile in return.

“Oh, Max. I was meaning to ask you,” Lewis started and Max’s eyes met his, waiting for him to continue. “The other day Seb mentioned that you made a playlist for everyone on the grid?”

Max knew where this was going, obviously. Because of course Sebastian Vettel would tell everyone on the fucking grid about the so evidently fake playlist fiasco Charles had so clearly made up just so he could hide their obvious relationship from his grid dad. And Seb fucking knew it and was probably getting a huge kick out of imagining them in this exact situation.

“Did he, now?” he asked, very forced smile taking over his face.

“Yeah!” Lewis continued excitedly. “And he said it was amazing and very on point. So I was wondering if I could have mine?”

“What?” Now Charles seemed to be very awake indeed, looking between Lewis and his boyfriend with ridiculously wide eyes.

“Um,” Lewis muttered, looking confused. “I, uh, I talked to Seb a few days ago and—”

“No, no, we got that. And, yeah, sure, I’ll forward it to you later,” Max answered distractedly, gaze steadily set on his boyfriend.

“Right. Thanks, mate.”

“No problem,” Max muttered, eyes not straying from his boyfriend’s, who looked like he really wanted to be anywhere but here.

He was about to grill Charles when they were told that the press conference was starting, so instead he settled for mouthing ‘you owe me,’ the Monegasqué nodding sheepishly in return, and that was that, really, it’s not like Max could actually be mad at him when half the time he looked like a kicked puppy and the other half he looked like something straight out of Max’s fever dreams.

***

Max Verstappen: Here you go mate https://open.spotify.com/playlist...

Lewis Hamilton: Thank you so much!

Lewis Hamilton: Loved the name, hahahaha

Max Verstappen: Glad you liked it, hahaha, I tried

“Who’s that?”

Max looked up at his boyfriend, who had just come out of the bathroom, towel riding very low on his hips, water dripping down his chest and face where his hair was still pretty much soaking because Charles absolutely never towel dried it and so Max had to deal with wet pillowcases throughout the whole night, but with the steam coming out the bathroom from behind him, Max really thought he could deal with wet pillowcases for the rest of his life when his boyfriend looked every bit the fucking wet fantasy he was.

Max had to shake himself out of his trance when Charles smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing to him, the little shit.

“Just Lewis,” he finally replied.

Charles scrunched up his nose, walking towards the blonde who was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why are you texting Lewis?”

Max chuckled and grabbed his hips, bringing them closer until Charles had each leg on either side of his own.

“You jealous, baby?”

Charles rolled his eyes, arms sneaking around Max’s shoulders and neck, giving his hair a slight tug. “Of course not, not with the way you were looking at me five seconds ago.” The smirk never left his face.

Max hummed and moved his right hand from Charles’ hips to his face, cupping his jaw and softly rubbing the pad of his thumb over the defined cheekbone before trailing it to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer. Charles’ eyes closed on instinct the second their lips met, soft and sweet and unhurried, Max’s other arm wrapping entirely around his slim waist, completely erasing the space between them until the brunet had to bend his knees on the bed to properly straddle him, sighing contently against his lips, completely lost in the warmth Max provided.

Max pulled back with a chuckle, wiping his own cheek where some drops from Charles’ hair had made their way to him. He ran a hand through the brown, unruly locks, slicking them back away from his boyfriend’s face and almost couldn’t deal with the soft look on Charles’ eyes, bright green and hazed over, filled with nothing but love and affection. He pressed his lips against the damp forehead and wrapped both his arms tighter around him, Charles’ head dropping to rest on his shoulder as they embraced.

“You’re literally dripping water everywhere, baby,” he laughed softly and Charles simply hummed, not willing to leave their current position anytime soon.

“I texted Lewis to send him the playlist.”

That made Charles sit up straight, frowning at the blonde. “You really did it?”

“Of course, and apparently he liked the name,” Max grinned.

Charles eyes narrowed before answering, “What’d you name it?”

Max blindly searched for his phone where he had left it beside him on the bed and unlocked it before turning it around so Charles could read, the brunet taking second before bursting with laughter, Max’s arm steading him when it looked like he would fall.

“Hashtag blessed?”

Max nodded, grin still stretched across his face as he shrugged. “Seemed fitting.”

They stayed quiet for a while, happy in each other’s presence and the calm it provided before Charles spoke up again, his voice a little shy.

“I really am sorry for getting you in this mess, Max,” he muttered, eyes downcast and hand playing nervously with the neck of Max’s shirt.

Max frowned, discarding his phone and softly tilting Charles’ chin up. “Hey, I really don’t mind, honestly. Plus your messes are my messes, right?” He smiled lovingly and got one in return.

“Je t’aime, Maxy.”

“Je t’aime aussi, you absolute menace.”

Chapter Text

Charles was currently sprinting across the paddock, running like his life depended on it (which—okay, maybe not his life, but his relationship was seriously about to be jeopardized).

“Daniel, wait!” he yelled after the Australian.

Goddamnit, why did this keep happening to him? And this time it was definitely Lando’s fault, thank you very much.

So he was walking around the track with Lando, some of the other drivers a few steps behind, and Lando was talking but he wasn’t entirely paying attention to him, his mind way to focused on silky blond hair and blue eyes.

“…There’s this Spanish singer that Carlos is always listening to—Rosa, uh, Rosa-something, I don’t know, but she’s pretty famous, so can you tell Max? For when he’s making Carlos’s playlist.” Oh. Oh.

But before Charles could say something, anything, Dan, who was apparently right behind them and listening to their entire conversation, beat him to it.

“Wait, what? Why’s Max making Carlos a playlist?”

Lando flinched and quickly turned around, just as surprised as Charles to see the Aussie there.

“Oh, you don’t know?” he questioned, a huge cheeky grin taking over his face and all Charles could think was not this again, attempting to communicate with his eyes, NO, SHUT UP, LANDO, because he had been here before, not two weeks ago, really, and he did not—scratch that—could not, deal with this anymore.

Dan just raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Lando, purposely ignoring him, smiled innocently before answering him, “Max is making Spotify playlists for everyone!”

And the rest really is just completely irrelevant, simply because we all know how it ends, which brings us back here.

Dan sprints past his own hospitality and straight into Red Bull’s, Charles hot on his heels, no one bating a single eye at them, Christian merely sighing and raising his hand in a half-hearted waved, to which Charles grinned back, still chasing after Dan, but the moment he saw him bursting through Max’s driver’s room door, he already knew it was too late.

“Maximilian Verstappen,” Dan announced himself loudly. From the top of the Aussie’s shoulder, Charles could see his boyfriend sitting on the couch, eyes slightly narrowed but face otherwise completely calm as he stared up at his best friend, yet to notice Charles.

“Max. Emilian,” the blond corrected.

Dan just ignored him and continued, “Of all the shitty, fucked up things you’ve ever done to me and they’re a lot—”

“Excuse me?”

“Shall I recall our 2018 season?”

Max rolled his eyes, taking his cap off and ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“That’s what I thought,” Dan said smugly. “Anyways, of all those things, this is by far the worst.”

Charles jumped a little behind the taller brunet, waving at Max, and when his boyfriend’s eyes met his, Charles could perfectly see the exact moment Max realized what this whole thing was about.

“Seriously, Charlie?” he sighed fondly.

At the mention of Charles’ name, Dan turned around, stepping aside to let him through. Charles entered the room like a misbehaved puppy would, with its tail between his legs and ears downcast, smiling nervously at Max. His boyfriend shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that took over his face as he opened his arms, Charles happily sitting down on his lap and leaning back against his chest.

“Alright, Dan, you were saying,” Max said amusedly.

Dan was looking at them with a fond look but quickly shook his head, expression becoming a mixture of seriousness and hurt once again. “I can’t fucking believe that you, of all people, is making playlists for everyone except for me! Your best friend! This is outrageous, Maxy, I am truly hurt. I am so disappointed, this is way worse than Baku—”

“You’re the most dramatic driver on the grid,” Max muttered.

Dan raised his eyebrows, incredulously. “I’m sorry but that position is currently occupied by the person on your lap.”

Charles gasped. “I am not dramatic!”

“Baby…” Max murmured, chuckling softly against his neck.

Charles wanted to protest, he really did, but given his current predicament, figured he wasn’t in any position to make any complains, so instead, settled for huffing and cuddling further into Max’s chest.

“Dan, you need to chill. I’ve only done two. Yours is next on my list, don’t worry,” Max answered simply, carding his fingers through soft brown locks.

“Oh,” Dan answered, clearly expecting Max’s usual defensive responses, but shrugging when he didn’t get one. “Alright then, but if I find out Carlos gets his first, I’m coming back for you.” He then proceeded to point at his eyes with two fingers before pointing them back at Max, receiving yet another eye roll in return.

“Alright then, peachy. Cheers you guys, keep being cute,” he happily told them before stepping outside the room and shutting the door behind him.

Max sighed behind him, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So… Carlos?” he questioned.

“I honestly don’t know, I swear to god it wasn’t me, Lando must’ve found out somehow because he was the one talking about it and Dan just heard,” Charles explained, closing his eyes as Max’s fingers scratching against his scalp and the rise and fall of his chest lulled him to sleep.

“I’m officially outing us if it means I don’t have to deal with Dan’s dramatic ass,” Max quietly chuckled.

Charles hummed, feeling his boyfriend’s arm tightening around his waist. “You truly are the best boyfriend ever, Maxy.”

“You better put a ring on it, baby.”

***

Logically, Charles knew Max had been joking. Because obviously Max didn’t want to actually get married… right? They were both just shy of twenty-three and had only officially been together for a year and they had their careers to think about, neither of them had a Championship (yet) and even though they weren’t in any risk and both had long-term contracts—

“Baby,” Max breathed against his neck, leaving a string of open-mouthed kisses.

Charles opened his eyes to find his boyfriend’s steel blue ones staring right back at him, pupils blown wide and his fingers tightened their hold on the blond locks, bringing their lips together. The kiss was filthy and fierce, with too much tongue and teeth. Charles was addicted to it, Max’s weight on top of him, their naked chests touching, setting his skin on fire where they met, pinning him against the soft sheets.

Max moved his lips, trailing kisses down his jaw, reaching his neck once again, biting down on his collarbone before sucking a bruise and Charles hissed, tugging his hair.

“Doux, mon amour,” Charles muttered.

Max chuckled, dragging his teeth further down over his chest, lips going lower towards his navel, hands splayed possessively against his ribs and Charles should be enjoying this, but he just couldn’t stop thinking, and as much as he’d love his boyfriend’s lips wrapped around him, he needs to talk to him first, so he softly runs his fingers through Max’s hair, coaxing him to meet his eyes.

“Max,” he mumbled, voice a little hitched and void of arousal.

Max’s eyes immediately snapped up to meet his, worry taking over them as he crawled back up towards him and pressed their foreheads together.

“Everything okay?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.

Charles brushed their lips together before gently shoving at his chest, trying to get up from under him. Max gets the hint, sitting back against the headboard of the bed and regarding him with a concerned look as he too sat up, not liking the newfound distance between them and moving closer, straddling the blond’s legs.

“Charlie,” Max started, hands gently resting on his hips. “What’s going on, baby? Did I do something?” his eyes were frantically searching Charles’ own, trying to understand his boyfriend’s sudden change in mood.

“You didn’t do anything, Maxy,” Charles assured with a soft smile. “I just—I need to ask you something.”

Max raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything else, waiting for Charles to continue.

The brunet adverted his eyes, focusing on the freckles across Max’s chest as he spoke, “Remember what you told me earlier?” he muttered. “After Dan left?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, schatje.”

Taking a deep breath, head running a mile per hour trying to string a coherent sentence, Charles met his boyfriend’s eyes, and Max could clearly see the apprehension in them, anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach at the sight. “When you said that I should put a ring on it, were you joking?”

Max stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to understand where this was coming from and Charles panicked. “Because if you were, then that’s fine and if you weren’t, then it’s fine too, but I just want to know, because I’ve been thinking about it ever since and, well, I just—”

Max leaned in, pressing their lips together and effectively shutting him up. Charles was momentarily lost in it, lips moving lazily against his boyfriend’s as the blond’s hands moved over his back, massaging the tension right out of him.

Max pulled back first, brushing the hair out of Charles’ face before giving him a pointed look.

“I don’t want you to freak out about this, Charles,” he told him gingerly. The brunet just nodded, eyes trained on him.

“I was joking when I said it,” Max started. “But I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.” Charles’ face remained the same and the blond took that as a good sign. “I am not saying I’m planning on proposing anytime soon, or that I expect you to do it. I know we’ve only been officially together for a year, but I’ve been getting to know you pretty much my whole life and I knew I loved you way before I told you, probably even before I let myself accept it,” he chuckled, remembering all those years they spent dancing around each other, pretending whatever was felt between the two was hate and not the complete opposite.

“My family adores you, or at least the family I care about,” he continued and Charles didn’t miss the bitter tone in his voice. “We’ve been living together for a few months now, we know that our jobs don’t really affect our relationship, or the other way around—look, what I’m trying to say is that I can’t imagine my life without you, Charles Leclerc, and I don’t want to,” he finished, gaze not wavering as he looked at Charles, who was grinning from ear to ear and kissed him so hard his head hit the headboard behind him.

When they pulled apart, Charles eyes were shinning. “I’ve thought about it too.”

Max smiled lovingly at him. “Yeah, baby?”

“I want to do it at the Nice Cathedral, where Jule’s funeral was held.”

Max’s eyes widened a fraction but didn’t lose their fondness. “Well, you’re way ahead of me there, Charlie,” he laughed, pressing his lips against his forehead. “We can do it wherever you want, love. As long as it makes you happy. However.” He leaned back to look him in the eye. “I do think we should wait until at least one of us gets a Championship before we start thinking about getting married.”

Charles laughed loudly. “Be careful, Max, with the way your season’s going, we might be getting married at the end of the year.”

Max laughed too, not voicing it but thinking about how that wouldn’t be so bad, actually, it wouldn’t be bad at all.

***

A few days later, Charles was stood in front of his boyfriend’s hotel room door, stopping when he heard music coming from the inside, music that definitely didn’t sound like what Max usually listened too. He frowned, using the spare key Max had given him and slowly opening the door, not expecting the sight he was met with.

Max was laying down on his bed, laptop resting against his stomach. Lando was sitting beside him, fingers rapidly running across his own laptop, an intense look on his eyes. George was perched on the small couch, phone in his hand and Alex was lying face down on the carpeted floor, another laptop in front of his face. The music was coming from some speakers, also on the bed, and it sounded like Spanish but Charles couldn’t be sure.

“So, are you guys breaking bad or?”

All four pairs of eyes snapped towards him. Max instantly grinned, moving his laptop and motioning for him to get closer while the others greeted him.

“That was a terrible joke, Charles,” Lando said, eyes never leaving his keyboard.

Charles, that had already made the short journey from the door to Max’s bed, was about to answer when Max wrapped an arm around his waist and yanked him down, effectively pulling him right on top of him. Charles’ eyes widened, trying to get up, but Max’s arms completely snaked around his back, preventing any further movement.

“Max,” he hissed.

“Baby, they know,” Max laughed, looking down at him amusedly. And look, Charles knew they knew, obviously, he wasn’t dumb, thank you very much, but nothing was official and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with everyone actually seeing them.

“Yeah, mate, did you honestly think you guys were subtle?” Lando looked at him, expression almost judging. “Did you? Because I’ve caught the pair of you getting off between the motorhomes one too many times.”

Charles blushed furiously, hiding his face in the crook of Max’s neck.

“Careful, Charlie, your face’s matching your race suit.”

Charles chuckled hearing Lando’s hiss when Max punched his arm.

“Stop messing with him.”

“You caught them?” George asked, now very interested.

“Yeah, mate. I heard this weird sounds outside my motorhome and walked out to check. Max had Charles pinned against it and I’m pretty sure he was trying to rip his fireproofs.”

At that, Charles sat up, now straddling Max’s waist while he glared at Lando. “Shut up, we never did it against your motorhome,” he said skeptically, like he wasn’t quiet sure it was true.

Alex had sat up too, very amused by the conversation.

Lando looked at him accusingly. “Yes, you fucking did! That was three weeks ago! You think I wouldn’t remember that? I’m scarred!”

Charles looked down at his boyfriend, raising his eyebrows. “Back me up, will you?”

Max just shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. “He’s not lying, schatje. In our defense, though.” He looked at Lando. “I though it was Carlos’s.”

Charles groaned, facepalming.

“I’m sure you’ve done it against his too. Honestly, at this point, I’m sure there’s not one motorhome you haven’t unchristened,” Alex added from the floor.

Max grinned mischievously at Charles before answering, “No, we would never do it against Seb’s. We wouldn’t hear the end of it if he caught us.”

Charles squeaked, eyes widening, the thought of getting caught by Seb, of all people, disturbing him in more ways than one. He rearranged himself so he was pressed against Max’s side instead, placing the laptop back on his boyfriend’s stomach as the blond wrapped an arm around him, hand trailing across his forearm.

“I thought you were supposed to be quiet and nice, Alex,” he muttered begrudgingly.

Alex gave him a look. “Oh, I am, but your boyfriend’s my teammate and we usually share a lot of walls.”

“Alright, let’s stop talking about our sex life, please. What are you all doing here anyway?” Charles said.

“Why do we need a reason, Charles? Can’t have a boys night?” Lando questioned from beside him. Charles kicked his leg back, effectively hitting Lando in the shin.

“You’re so aggressive, Charlie. You’re definitely spending way too much time with Max.”

Max flipped him off without taking his eyes off the screen and leaned down to brush a kiss against his forehead. “They’re helping me with the playlists, since I’ve accepted the fact that I am going to have to do once for every member of the grid.”

“Are you done with Dan’s?” Charles asked, face pressed against the fabric of his boyfriend’s team shirt.

“Yes, here,” Max answered, loading Spotify and lowering the screen so Charles could see.

“Shitty Australian emo punk,” the brunet read. “Dan’s gonna hate that,” he chuckled.

Max smirked down at him. “I know.”

Chapter Text

They are not fighting.

They don’t do that anymore. They are way past that stage, yelling and fucking and slamming doors and wanting to kill each other on track. Charles doesn’t even want to think about it, it hurts his heart to remember all those years where their relationship was nothing but a toxic mess he thought he’d never be able to get out off.

But if this wasn’t a fight then what was it? They weren’t even on speaking terms, apparently, and the worst part is, this time it really was Charles’ fault.

It happened four days ago and thinking about it still gave Charles a headache.

They were in his hotel room and it was pretty late, later than it should’ve been considering they had a race the next day. Max hated sleeping without Charles and it’s not like Charles enjoyed the loneliness very much either, plus their teams sharing a hotel wasn’t a weird occurrence, so they were safe.

As usual, the blond was looking at some memes Lando had sent him, chuckling quietly every once in a while. Charles was wide awake, head resting on Max’s shoulder while his boyfriend’s fingers traced mindless patterns on his hip. He should’ve been trying to sleep, but he just couldn’t, his mind was running a mile an hour and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t talk to Max.

“Hey, Max?” he asked lightly, voice soft, receiving a distracted hum in response, his boyfriend’s eyes still trained on his phone.

Charles shut his own for a second, trying to clear his head and taking a deep breath before speaking again, “When did you tell Alex? About us, I mean.”

He heard Max locking his phone and placing it on the bedside table. “What do you mean?” He sounded confused.

“Well, I just- I just didn’t know he and George knew about us. Officially.”

He felt the blond sighing. “I honestly don’t even remember. I mean, he is my teammate, he was bound to find out eventually, and he and George are sort of a package deal, my guess is either him or Lando told him about it.” Max started running his fingers through Charles’ hair, coaxing him to look up, but he stayed put. “Why do you ask, baby?”

Charles could feel himself getting hot all over, dread building up in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want this to end in a fight. “I-” His voice broke and he had to stop and clear his throat. “Seb’s my teammate and he doesn’t know.” Max stiffened below him and he sat up slowly, eyes still not meeting the blond’s as he sat crossed legged, sheets pooled around his waist as he twiddled his fingers nervously.

“Charles, look at me for a second.” Max’s voice wasn’t harsh or commanding, it sounded more confused than anything else, so with another deep breath, the brunet finally looked up, eyes locking with his boyfriend’s blue ones, throat tightening.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” Max had sat up too, back against the headboard and now it was Charles’ turn to be puzzled.

“What do you mean?” he asked dumbly.

“Baby,” Max started slowly, cautiously, like he was speaking to a child or a scared animal. “Seb knows about us.”

Charles’ mind started racing once again. No, Seb didn’t know, how could he? Sure, he teased him about it but that was just because he wasn’t used to seeing them together and, okay, maybe he suspected— but no, no one knew Charles was gay, or Max for that matter, why would anyone suspect anything? That’s ridiculous. He’s never thought that about anyone else on the grid, so why would—

“No,” he answered confidently.

Max narrowed his eyes, sitting a little straighter. “Charles, Sebastian knows about us,” he repeated a little firmer this time, like he was really trying to drill it into Charles’ head. “I think he was probably one of the firsts to find out. Maybe he doesn’t know for sure and that’s why he’s always teasing us and stuff but—”

“What? Wait, what- one of the firsts?” Charles’ gaze didn’t waver, trying to gauge every reaction on his boyfriend’s face. “I know that you told Dan and Lando, and I told Pierre, and I guess now Alex and George know too, but I haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

Max scoffed slightly, looking incredulous. “No. But it’s not like we need to. We’re not very subtle, you do know that, right?” He could hear it, the condescending undertone that Max had used with him many times before, but that was back then, when they didn’t have this and Charles knew it hadn’t been on purpose, he knew that Max was probably just frustrated, but he hated it.

“I know that, Max, but we’re still careful—”

“No, we’re not.”

“Max—”

“Let me get this straight,” Max cut him off, taking a deep breath. “You think we’re a secret?”

Charles’ mind went blank for a second. Yes, of course they were a secret. They were careful, they didn’t want anyone to know, they—

“Why are you asking me that?” He sounded skeptical and Max let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair and laughing. Charles was confused and frustrated and a little pissed off.

“What’s so funny?” He wasn’t proud of how harsh his voice sounded.

Max, now with a borderline cynical smile on his face, raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s so funny?” he repeated, almost mockingly. “I still think this is some sort of joke, but you’re insane if you think we’re a secret.” Charles recognized Max’s tone very well, it was the one he used just before his emotions got the best of him and finally bubbled up to the surface in an explosion of harsh, loud words.

“Why wouldn’t I think that? We haven’t- we never talked about coming out, I thought we were on the same page about this—”

“Yeah, I thought we were on the same page too, Charles! Until three minutes ago!” There it was, the explosion. “Charles, everyone fucking knows about us! It doesn’t matter that we haven’t made an official statement. Do you think the rest of the grid’s stupid? Or what is it? There’s pictures of  you moving into my apartment, of us on dates all over Monaco, on holidays together, for fuck’s sake.” Max’s face was flushed with anger, eyes more grey than blue and Charles hated it. He gulped, feeling every word like a slap to the face, not just because they were yelled at him but because of what they meant. He felt like someone had pulled a rug from underneath him, he couldn’t really process what Max was saying, didn’t want to, but his boyfriend looked so sure and so frustrated at the fact that he didn’t know all of this and why would he lie?

“But those are just pictures. They don’t- we could be friends for all they know or—” He hated how much his voice was shaking, hated the fact that he was grasping at straws.

“Or what, Charles? I don’t get it, why is this such a surprise for you?” Max sounded mad but also tired, like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

“Because we never talked about it! This is big, Max! This is us coming out in a sport were we might not be accepted and I thought we had agreed—”

“We were talking about getting married not two weeks ago! I’m sorry, did you think we were gonna be able to hide that too? Pass it off as just friends kissing in a church for no fucking reason? What the hell, Charles!”

“Max—”

“Charles,” the blond cut him off again, taking a deep breath. “Look, I understand not wanting to say anything before because it was new and scary and we didn’t know if it was even going to work. But we’ve been together for a year, we live together and we’re- you think Ferrari’s gonna kick you out cause you’re dating me? You’re their next world champion, Charles, they won’t do shit.”

Charles looked down, not wanting to look at the swirls of emotions on Max’s eyes any longer. “You don’t know that,” he muttered.

Max didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, and for a split irrational second Charles thought he had left, but then he heard Max’s surprised tone. “That’s what this is about? You’re afraid you’ll lose your seat?”

Charles’ eyes snapped up involuntarily. “Aren’t you?”

Max looked defeated. “We’re twenty-three, that means we’ve got- what? Ten more years in Formula 1, fifteen if we’re lucky?” he stopped, letting the information sink in. “So what’s your plan here? You’re going to be afraid for the rest of our careers?”

Charles narrowed his eyes, something close to indignation crossing his features. “You say it as if it was irrational for me to not want to lose my seat. The one thing I’ve worked for my entire life—you as well! You can’t possibly tell me you’re not scared-”

“I’m more scared of losing you.”

Charles mouth snapped shut.

Oh.

Suddenly, Max stood up and snatched his discarded t-shirt from the top of Charles’ closed suitcase, putting it back on, along with his shoes, and it wasn’t until he had one hand on his phone and the other on the doorknob that Charles snapped out of his trance.

“Where are you going?” It was a stupid question he already knew the answer to.

Max sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, running a hand through his hair and messing it up even more. “I think it’s best if I sleep in my own room.”

Charles’ mind snapped. Long buried memories of Max leaving as soon as they were done, not even waiting for Charles to pretend to be asleep, not sparing him a single word or a goodnight, they were all coming back and his chest felt tight and swollen and his eyes itched with unshed tears because no, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening, not after everything they’ve been through, not because of a stupid misunderstanding. Not because of him.

“Max, wait,” Charles almost tripped on his way to the door, sheets getting tangled around his legs, but then he was standing right in front of Max, the boy he loved more than anyone else in the entire world, the one he fell in love with even before he himself completely understood what love was, the one he would do anything for—and yet there he was, frozen, mouth dry, no words coming out, nothing to make it better, to make it okay.

Max seemed to know this, because he slowly lifted his hand to Charles’ face, thumb brushing a tear Charles hadn’t realized he’d let slip and then pulled the younger boy close, one hand tightly gripping the back of his neck as he rested his face against the side of it, breathing shakily while his other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling them flush against each other. Charles wrapped both arms firmly around his back, wanting nothing more than to stay here forever, forget about the stupid fight and their careers and what people might think.

“I love you, Charles,” Max whispered close to his ear.

“I love you too,” Charles gasped back, not realizing how out of breath he was, panic gripping him because why does this feel like a goodbye?

Max pulled back, lips pressing against his forehead. “I don’t want to force you into anything, specially coming out,” he muttered, lips moving against his fevered skin. “But I can’t hide you—us—for ten years. I just can’t.” Charles only opened his eyes when Max’s mouth brushed against his.

“It’s your choice, Charlie. I’m not saying we have to scream it at the top of our lungs or post something on instagram. I’m fine with what we have right now but I don’t want to lie—if anyone asks—I don’t want to deny how I feel about you.”

Charles felt like there was a hand around his throat. “What- what if I can’t do it, Max,” he whispered, so quiet he doubted Max could actually hear it. But he didn’t want to hear Max’s answer to his question, not right now at least, so he kept talking. “I have to fly to Maranello tomorrow with Seb. Let me just get my head straight. You’ll have some time too.”

Max nodded, looking pained. And then he was gone.

Charles felt completely lost as he felt the tears slipping down his face.

***

The race went okay. P5 wasn’t exactly something to celebrate but it wasn’t something to punch a wall about either and Max’s P4 meant that he didn’t feel the agonizing need to comfort his boyfriend as he joined Seb in the private jet that would be taking them to Maranello. His older teammate giving him one of his insufferable paternal looks as he took in his defeated posture and the bags under his eyes.

“You don’t have to beat yourself up after every race, kid. You had a good weekend.” He gave him one of him award winning smiles, warm and soft and better than Charles deserved. Usually he’d be frustrated both at himself and his teammate for nothing more than knowing him so damn well, but this time his crappy mood didn’t come from a bad finish.

“I’m okay, Seb.” He attempted a small smile, all boyish charms and puppy eyes. “You still smell like champagne, though.” He scrunched up his nose for good measure.

Seb laughed heartily, ruffling his hair when he was close enough and Charles felt himself relaxing a little, blond hair and blue eyes leaving his mind for the first time since last night and he could feel his eyes slowly closing.

“Sleep tight, kiddo, I’ll wake you up when we get there,” Seb said softly beside him as his head fell to rest against his shoulder, not having the strength to rearrange himself before sleep finally pulled him under.

***

To no one’s surprise, Seb spent the entirety of their trip casually trying to get Charles to tell him the reason behind his sulking. However, given the fact that his big fucking mouth had already caused enough troubles as it was since the beginning of the season, he managed to keep it shut for the four long days they spent under the Italian sun. Well, almost.

He and Max texted sometimes. It mostly consisted of good mornings and goodnights and Charles even went as far as to react to his boyfriend’s stories on instagram because he was just so damn deprived of his touch and attention and devotion and everything else that came with dating Max Verstappen.

But he was still confused about it all.

“So is everything okay with you and Max?”

Charles’ eyes snapped up, wide and frantic as he chocked on the pasta he had been chewing. Seb just looked slightly amused as he handed him his glass of water. The brunet coughed for a few more seconds before finally clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, debating whether to address the question or not.

“What do you mean?”

Seb raised an eyebrow, giving him a kind smile. “I don’t mean to pry, Charlie,” he continued, looking worried, Charles knew he wouldn’t just straight out ask if he wasn’t and he felt bad. “These last few days you’ve just been—well, it doesn’t look like you’re getting a lot of sleep and I haven’t heard any late-night FaceTime conversations through my hotel room walls, so.”

Charles swallowed hard, eyes never leaving Seb’s. “What do you- uh- what do you think is actually going on between me and Max?” He knew he hand’t answered Seb’s question, but right now he just had to make sure—that he was right, that Seb didn’t know and they had been hiding all along and nothing had to change and they could just stay like this—

Seb cocked his head a little, the smile on his face would seem patronizing if Charles didn’t know better.

“Just say it. I won’t be mad or anything.” There was a desperate edge to his voice and it didn’t go unnoticed by his teammate.

“You’re together, aren’t you?” he said slowly, carefully, voice very low because they were still in a semi crowded restaurant in a city were pretty much everyone recognized them.

The worst part of it all is that Charles wasn’t at all surprised by the German’s answer—actually, he was pretty much expecting it. Maybe he always knew. All along. And he was just denying it and deluding himself into believing a stupid lie all because he was scared.

“How did you know?” Charles didn’t want to meet Seb’s eyes, focusing on pushing his food around, appetite completely gone.

“Charlie.” He didn’t know what it was about his tone, but it made him look up, instantly regretting it when he saw the almost permanent paternal worried look etched onto his face. “There’s nothing wrong with it, you know that, right?” Charles thought he should feel offended, shouldn’t he? Because he knew there was nothing wrong with it, of course there wasn’t—but then he remembered the conversation with Max; the sadness in his blue eyes, the words he himself said, the things he insinuated and—okay, maybe Seb wasn’t wrong in wanting him to know that.

“I know that,” he spoke softly but full of conviction. “Not everyone does, though.”

“No,” Seb shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Charles frowned. “The team- if they find out- they might not want a gay driver and I can’t—”

“The team knows, too, Charles.”

If Charles was eating something, he’d be chocking on that, but since he wasn’t, he chocked on air.

“What?”

Seb was back to smiling brightly at him. “You guys aren’t—”

“Very subtle,” Charles interrupted dryly, no real bite behind his words. So apparently he wasn’t just the most dramatic driver on the grid, given that he was also the dumbest one too.

“Well, yeah.” Seb laughed loudly. “Mattia pulled me aside one day about six months ago. I guess he didn’t want to seem too noisy, he just said ‘make sure Charles doesn’t go spilling all of our secrets to that Red Bull boy of his.’ And that was pretty much it. I think at first he might’ve been worried about how you’d do on track, but since nothing’s changed.” He shrugged.

Charles felt like his face was on fire, but that was nothing compared to the relief that suddenly rushed through him like a tidal wave. He had always felt like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, but in that exact moment, he felt light as a feather. Void of worries, completely free. His face must’ve showed all of these emotions because Seb chuckled again and for a fearful second, Charles actually thought he was going to do something extremely paternal, like pat his cheek, or worse, kiss his forehead, but the german had good self-restrain, apparently.

“We had a fight about- Max said that everyone knew about us and I just freaked out. All this time I though we’ve been hiding, now I’m realizing we never did,” Charles spoke the words as they popped into his head, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks but also feeling like it’s been building up for a while now.

“I don’t think everyone knows. Maybe Grosjean isn’t up to date on the grid’s gossip.” Charles rolled his eyes, smiling.

“I have to talk to him, Seb. I’ve got to make it right, I- I don’t think I’m ready for the entire world to know, but Max said he was fine with what we have right now and… well, I am too. Apparently.”

Seb’s warm, paternal smile was back. “I’ve got your back, Charles, a lot of other drivers do too. It’s scary but nothing worth fighting for isn’t, right?”

Charles thought about Max, about his exasperated smiles and fond looks, about the way he felt safe and complete pressed against him at night, about his soft lips and whispered promises, about his fierceness on track and off it, about how brave he was, about the things he’s had to endure, about long nights consoling him because he missed his dad and Jules, brushing tears of his face and telling him how proud they’d be of him, how proud he was. He thought about Max getting down on one knee and vowing to love him forever no matter what, thought about the cathedral in Nice.

Yes, it would be scary, it would be hard, borderline impossible, but if there was one person worth all of it, it was Max Verstappen.

***

Thursday came and as every other media day it was boring and tiring and a bit annoying, mostly because with all the compromises, he hadn’t been able to properly talk to Max and he wanted to do it before the first free practice tomorrow, didn’t want to have all the unsaid words running around his mind once he got in the car. Which is why he was walking through the paddock, goal set on the Red Bull hospitality when—

“Hey, Charles!”

He turned around, following the voice and quickly came face to face with one of the two Canadians on the grid.

“Lance.” He nodded in greeting, giving him a small smile.

Lance smiled back before speaking again, a little rushed and out of breath, “I was looking for Max but I can’t really find him, so I figured you’d know where he was.” Wait up, so Lance knows too? How—

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m looking for him, too, actually.”

“Okay, well, can you tell him that I really like Drake and Justin Bieber? And that Checo loves Luis Miguel, or whatever his name is? Can you?” Lance asked with an earnest, puppy smile.

Charles stared dumbly at him for a few seconds, having completely forgotten about the playlists with everything that had happened in the last week, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him.” And before he could chicken out of it, he added, “Can I ask you something real quick?”

Lance just looked expectantly at him, still smiling friendly.

“How did you know, uh- about me and Max, like, how—”

Lance looked confused. “That you’re boyfriends? I thought everyone knew. Plus I saw you guys kissing that one time we all went out after Monaco.”

Not for the first time in the last month (read: since the beginning of the season) he felt like face planting straight into the floor. “Right, yes, yeah, everyone knows.”

***

Turns out Charles didn’t get a chance to see Max that day either. Something or whatever came up and soon he was being dragged to another interview and his heart was left aching and heavy with longing. He thought about knocking on his hotel door but the memories from the last time they were together like that were too much, he wanted a different environment. So he waited.

The first free practice went by okay and surprisingly he managed to keep his head straight the entire time, all thoughts of Max leaving him once he was in the car. It wasn’t until second free practice that shit hit the fan. It was raining but that was nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. He was fine and so was his car, but then he turned into turn 3 and saw a red flag at the same time he heard the static on his team radio.

“Charles, red flag, the session has been cancelled.”

“I know, I saw it. What happened?”

“It’s, uh, Verstappen, I think. He crashed.”

“You think?”

Charles felt like his heart was beating right out of his chest.

“It’s him.”

“Is he okay?” He sounded frantic and he knew it but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“He’s been taken to the medical centre.”

Charles didn’t say anything else. All of his focus set on not crashing his own car against the barriers. It felt like hours—even in his fucking car—it felt like an eternity until he finally reached the garage and scrambled out of the car, quickly hading his wheel to one of the engineers, who was giving him a worried look.

Seb was the first to approach him, grabbing his upper arm and pulling him towards a more quiet part of the garage.

“Seb, I need to- Max- he’s—”

“I know, kiddo, but he’s in the medical centre and you know they won’t let you see him. Wait until his back in the hospitality, I’ll go with you, but wait.” He wasn’t really listening to half the things Seb was telling him, but he recognized the firm tone and all he could do was nod.

The wait felt like hours. Realistically, he knew that it couldn’t have been more than 45 minutes, but he wasn’t the most dramatic driver on the grid for nothing. Seb stayed with him the entire time, trying to distract him with boring technical stuff about the cars and who knows what else. Charles appreciated it but it wasn’t really helping the situation. He was fidgety, couldn’t seat still and his heart felt like it would burst through his ribcage.

Suddenly he heard a little commotion outside, people murmuring and moving around. He didn’t wait a second before he was running towards the Red Bull garage.

He must’ve looked ridiculous sprinting across the paddock, bumping into multiple people on his way. But then he saw him, blond hair, blue eyes, still in his fireproofs, talking to Christian and Alex like nothing had even happened, like Charles hadn’t been worried out of his fucking mind thinking that he would have to go through this again—

“Max!” He didn’t think, about the journalists and photographers, about the team principals and drivers, about absolutely nothing as he launched himself at his boyfriend, wrapping both arms around his neck and clinging to him like his life depended on it.

“Charles, Charlie, baby, look at me,” Max spoke firmly, close to his ear, gently trying to pry the Ferrari driver away from him, both hands firmly holding onto his forearms, keeping him closer than they probably should be, considering the amount of people around them.

“Hey, hey, look at me—look at me, Charles. I’m okay, you see?” Max placed both his hands on Charles’ cheeks, trying to catch his frantic eyes. Charles took one last look across his face, making sure they weren’t any signs of harm before settling on the deep steely blue that he loved so much. “See? There’s not a scratch on me, love.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles chocked out in a whisper, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry. About everything- I don’t- I don’t care about- if people find out, I don’t care. I was so scared, I thought- I thought—”

Max pulled him closer again, hands securely on his waist and neck. “I know what you thought.” His lips brushed against the shell of his ear as he spoke. “But I’m okay, baby, nothing happened. I’m completely fine.”

Charles pulled back suddenly.

“I’m more scared of losing you too.”

Max’s eyes softened even more and Charles could see he was fighting the urge to kiss him, just like he was. They stared at each other for a few seconds, relishing in the closeness before the moment was broken by someone clearing their throat.

“Sorry boys, maybe you should take this inside.” It was Christian, looking at them sympathetically, which didn’t make a lot of sense to Charles considering he was Max’s most direct rival.

They finally broke eye contact, taking a step back. Charles noticed that some of the Red Bull engineers, along with Alex and Seb, had made a bit of a circle around them, trying to give them as much privacy as possible. Max grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards his driver’s room, giving Christian a small nod and a ‘we’ll talk later,’ his team principal just waved dismissively. Charles turned around once, making eye contact with Seb and receiving another affectionate paternal look, this time he was more grateful than annoyed.

Then he was in Max’s driver’s room, closing the door behind him. He took one step and then stopped, not really knowing what to say, a million jumbled words in his head but nothing coming out of his mouth. There was only one thing he could say.

“Max,” he began hoarsely. “I'm sorry.”

In two quick steps Max was right in front of him, he could feel his breath hitting the bow of his lips. The blond raised his hand and cupped the side of his face, very softly brushing his thumb across his reddened cheekbone. “Don’t apologize. I overreacted and left instead of talking it out, just like before and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t fucking care if I have to wait forever for you, I’ll do it. I’m not letting you go.”

Charles felt his eyes watering, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t trust his voice so he lunged forward, bridging the space between them. Max met him halfway, lips crashing against each other, desperate and forceful. The blond pushed him back and pinned him against the door, absolutely no room left between their bodies as Charles could feel Max’s every breath, every frantic rise and fall of his chest. He grasped Max’s fireproofs tightly with one hand, the other on the back of his neck, tugging at the soft hairs and Max moaned against his lips, his hand was cupping his jaw and the side of his neck, keeping him in place, while the other was leaving bruises on his hip, pushing him back every time Charles pushed forward.

Max moved his lips, leaving a trail of kisses across his cheekbone and down his neck, hand frantically fumbling the top of his race suit and Charles gasped out a strangled moan when Max bit down on the hinge of his jaw. His fingers traveled down Max’s abdomen, tugging at the hem of his fireproofs. Max pulled away, taking them off in one quick movement and Charles’ eyes darkened when he looked at the perfectly sculpted body in front of him. He ran his hands down Max’s torso, kneading the skin as he brought him impossibly closer.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, eyes never leaving Max’s. “When my engineer told me you crashed, I- I thought- they said you were in the medical centre and-”

Max leaned down, capturing his lips in a much softer kiss this time. “I’m okay, Charlie,” he told him, mouth moving against his.

“But I thought you weren’t.” He pulled back as much as he could with the door behind him. “For almost and hour, Max. No one would tell me anything and I wanted to go and find you but Seb wouldn’t fucking let me. I-” His voice broke, the words getting caught in his throat as he felt one wetting his cheek. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his breathing and the frantic beating of his heart, but he still felt like sobbing, the events still very fresh on his mind, the fear still gripping him.

“Charles,” Max murmured softly. “Charlie, open your eyes, baby, look at me.”

Charles did, taking another deep breath, trying very hard to get himself under control.

Max had a serious look on his face. “I know you were scared but I am completely fine. I promise. It was a minor crash, I just spun a little and hit the barriers. Christian insisted I got checked cause you know how he is. I should’ve let you know somehow, I’m so sorry I didn’t, but you have absolutely nothing to worry about, okay?”

Charles’ eyes trailed over his boyfriend’s body one last time. “Okay.”

Max smiled, kissing his forehead. “I missed you so much, I know it was only like four days but I fucking hate fighting with you. I couldn’t even sleep thinking about it.”

“I hate it too, Seb wanted to kill me, said I was ruining the mood everywhere I went.”

Max chuckled. “He texted me, said he was worried about you, threatened me a little, too.”

Charles pulled back abruptly. “He did what now?”

His boyfriend just shrugged amusedly. “He’s very protective of you, it’s cute.”

“Yeah, I know, he’s always bugging me about not eating well and not getting enough sleep,” he groaned out in faux-irritation.

Max just laughed, brushing Charles’ fluffy locks away from his eyes.

“Oh, by the way, I bumped into Lance yesterday. Said to tell you that he really likes Justin Bieber and Drake, and also that Checo likes… shit, I can’t remember, some Miguel dude, you’ll have to ask him again.”

The blonde stared at him dumbfounded for a few seconds before realization downed on his face. “Right. Okay. I’ll get Lando on it. Right now I’m a little busy,” he said at the same time his hands squeezed both of Charles’ thighs, the brunet quickly getting the hint and jumping a little to wrap his legs around Max’s hips. Max moved forward, brushing their crotches together and Charles threw his head back, letting out a loud moan that had his boyfriend smirking proudly.

“The entire paddock’s gonna hear you, baby.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Charles panted, already way too wired up. “Everyone knows anyway, right? Let them hear I’m yours and only yours.”

Max’s eyes darkened significantly, pupils blown wide as he kissed him almost aggressively, sucking the brunet’s bottom lip between his own before biting down, Charles letting out another loud groan.

“Come on, then, pretty boy, scream my name,” he hissed against his ear and Charles smirked, breath erratic. He always knew how to put on a good show.

Chapter Text

“Max, you gave us quite the scare last Friday. Can you explain what happened?”

In all honesty, Max was very close to snapping a half-assed answer about how what happened was pretty fucking obvious and they could all simply rewatch it on YouTube, but his press officer was already staring daggers at him from across the room, anticipating whatever rude bullshit he was about to spew, so he barely managed to catch his eyes from rolling before clearing his throat, his smile a little too forced not to be sarcastic.

“We were struggling with oversteer throughout FP1 and it didn’t improve for FP2, so I spun and crashed against the barriers, that was pretty much it. Christian wanted me to get checked by the medical team just in case, cause I did get an impact on my hands and legs, but I am completely fine, as you can see, and we managed to snatch P2 for tomorrow’s race, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Very good, Max, he could almost hear Victoria thinking.

“Right,” the journalist begun, smiling politely but with a hint of something else and Max already knew he was going to hate whatever question came next. “On a more personal question, if I may”–bold–“we’ve all seen the pictures of you and Leclerc embracing inside the Red Bull garage.” And then he stopped, like he was expecting Max to–what, exactly? He wasn’t about to take that bait, so he simply raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, waiting. “So you guys are friends?” Seriously? That’s what Max wanted to say, because really, who even was this guy? What did this even have to do with anything at all? But he could see everyone on the edge of their seats, waiting for his answer like vultures circling a dying prey.

“We’re close, yeah.” It wasn’t a lie.

The guy looked like he wanted to ask something else but was probably too polite to do so. Max understood why, he had seen the pictures, there was nothing friendly about them–actually, it made them look exactly like what they were: a fucking couple, but this was a macho sport (obviously) and there was absolutely no room for anyone to even think about entertaining the possibility of two of the brighter stars of it dating, that was impossible, especially since most of these journalists were guys, they didn’t have the eye for it, which is why they kept on using the whole ‘cute bromance’ card they loved so much. Max truly couldn’t give a shit.

“I’ve heard some rumors about the two of you,” another guy at the back jumped in and now this was getting interesting. Max could hear Lewis sighing beside him. Still, he wasn’t going to take the bait, he hadn’t spent hours on media training for nothing, thank you very much. “That you guys are very close.” Max really felt like straight up laughing in this guy’s face, was he from The Sun?

He didn’t want to answer, but the silence was getting awkward and annoying. “I already said we’re close, I don’t know why we’re still on this topic.”

“It’s just weird, since you guys have spent your entire lives being rivals–,”

“Everyone on the grid is my rival.”

“Right, but your rivalry with Charles seems different.”

Max was really close to standing up and leaving. “Well, that’s what you’ve all been writing about since we were kids, you tell me.”

“I’ve heard you guys live together.”

Max chuckled sarcastically, “We live in the same apartment complex, yeah. So does Daniel and, like, half the grid. Monaco is really not that big.”

“But you guys–,”

“I’m sorry,” Seb jumps in. “Is there any particular reason you’re grilling Max like this? Because I really don’t think this has anything to do with the race tomorrow.” Max was grateful.

But if the guy listened to Seb, he didn’t seem to care, because he kept on talking, “Are you guys together?”

The room felt silent. Max was a little speechless, which didn’t happen a lot. The question didn’t really surprise him, what did surprise him was the fact that it took this long for someone to ask it in the first place. He didn’t let anything show on his face, but he also didn’t know what to answer, he remembered the words he told Charles, ‘I don’t want to lie,’ but he also remembered telling him that he didn’t care, that he’d wait for him forever, and he wasn’t lying.

He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Charlie

don’t lie

not for me. not if you don’t want to

“This is ridiculous,” said Lewis beside him, anger clear in his smooth voice. “Seb already said it but it seems like no one was paying attention. It’s absolutely none of your concern who neither of us are or aren’t dating. If it doesn’t affect the sport then it shouldn’t matter to anyone.”

“If two drivers were together, that would affect the sport.”

“How, exactly?”

The thing is, Max really didn’t want to lie, but if he was going to out his relationship, and therefor Charles in the process, he’d do it under their terms, not to please any of these idiots, hungry for gossip, something that’ll sell more magazines or newspapers or whatever, a stupid headline. His relationship wasn’t anyone’s business but their own and they would come out when they felt like it, when they were both ready and it’ll be cheesy and romantic and cliché because he hates that bullshit but Charles loves it and it’s what he deserves. So no, he wasn’t going to out them. As a couple.

“For starters, there’s never been a gay driver and it’s something we’d have to get used to–,” This guy is still talking?

“How do you know there’s never been a gay driver?” he asked with a mock curious face, head cocked to the side and all.

“No one’s ever said so.”

“Why do you think that is? Because like in almost every other sport, there’s homophobia and sexism everywhere, why would anyone risk coming out and being subjected to abuse?”

“You sound like you’re talking from personal experience.”

“I am.”

Max heard a few gasps but no one said anything. The guy that was asking the questions had such a surprised look on his face that Max would’ve laughed at it if he didn’t find it wildly inappropriate. Lando would’ve cackled for sure. Then suddenly the spell was broken and it sounded like every single person in the room was speaking at once.

“Right, I think this is all the time we have for now, folks, I’ve been your entertainment for long enough today. I’ll see you all on track tomorrow.” With that, he stood up and walked out of the room, he could faintly hear Seb and Lewis walking behind him, talking to him, but he wasn’t really processing any of it. What he had just done was slowly sinking in, and it’s not like he was scared, because he wasn’t, not really, he knew he wasn’t in any real risk of losing his seat, however, he wasn’t dumb enough to not understand that his life was about to change, dramatically.

“Hey, Max, you here with us, kiddo?” Max wanted to sigh deeply, hearing the way Seb was addressing him, but he knew that both he and Lewis had a tendency for babying the younger drivers on a good day, he really didn’t know how Charles managed, although he supposed Charles always did love getting pampered, even if he didn’t admit it.

“I’m fine. I just spaced out a sec,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair, effectively messing it up.

Both Lewis and Seb were looking at him with open, caring expressions, a hint of worry pinching their features.

“That was incredibly brave, what you did out there. We have your back, no matter what.”

Max wasn’t one for chick-flick moments. Albeit being with Charles had made him softer for sure, Daniel didn’t let him forget he was utterly and completely “whipped,” but it was still hard for him to show vulnerability to anyone else that wasn’t his boyfriend. He could appreciate the support, though, and he wasn’t ungrateful by any means.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking both of them in the eye. “I think I’m gonna go find Charles.”

Turns out he didn’t need to look far, since his boyfriend was already waiting for him in his driver’s room and jumped him the second he laid eyes on him.

“I fucking love you so much, Max Verstappen. You’re the bravest person I’ve met in my entire life,” he mumbled, face pressed to his neck and Max chuckled, filled to the brim with emotions, overwhelmed because he finally could be and before he knew it, there were tears streaming down his face.

Charles finally looked up, frowning when he noticed the wetness, but the smile never left his face.

“I love you, okay? I don’t care what happens, you’ll always have me. You’re listening, Max? You’ll always have me. I won’t ever leave you. I love you. You’re so brave, I love you,” Charles kept saying over and over and he adored his boyfriend for many reasons, but he loved that he wasn’t bullshitting him, he wasn’t promising that everything would be okay because he couldn’t, he was only promising stuff that were in his control.

“I love you, too, baby. Je t’aime aussi.”

***

Surprisingly, Max won the race. Unsurprisingly, no one gave a flying fuck about that.

For the next week, his impromptu coming out was anything anyone and their mother could talk about, which, honestly, Max was expecting. Everyone was taking it relatively well. Sure, there were a fair share of assholes online and offline talking all sorts of shit but what else is new? Red Bull were… processing it. Christian always knew, he’d had to be blind and maybe a little deaf to not know about him and Charles and Christian really couldn’t care less who Max was doing in his spare time so long as it didn’t affect his driving, and it wasn’t, so. Marko wasn’t happy but Marko could go fuck himself for all Max cared, he was way past being scared of that old bigoted asshole and Marko was a prick but he wasn’t an idiot and he knew that Max, gay or not, was still one of the best drivers on the grid, so he wasn’t about to do anything dumb like kick him out. As if.

So yeah, his life was pretty much the same, but it was also completely different. One thing he was absolutely hating was how the FIA was now using him as the poster boy for this whole We Race As One bullshit campaign, which he personally believed in but knew they didn’t, and he was fed up with them using him and his life to push their inclusivity agenda. But whatever.

Then things got bad.

It was media day again and Max, to say the least, was pissed off. He was sick and tired of answering stupid questions that had absolutely nothing to do with the one thing they were here for, his job, and even that he could deal with. What he couldn’t deal with was what he saw when he neared his garage.

For fuck’s sake.

Max stopped dead in his tracks for a few seconds, then it’s like his brain rebooted and he kept on walking, lowering his face, trying to cover it with his cap as much as he could. He thought Victoria noticed his sudden change in mood, because from the corner of his eye he could see her looking around and then freezing, she grabbed his arm, practically sprinting towards the garage.

“Max Emilian.”

He heaved a sigh, his blood running cold, but he didn’t stop walking, didn’t even look up, then he felt it, a rough hand around his upper arm, the one that Vicky wasn’t holding, and he instantly yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, finally meeting the man’s eyes.

“Is that any way to talk to your father?” Jos had a grim look on his face.

He ignored the question, instead asking one of his own, “Why are you here?” His face a mask of indifference.

“I just want to talk to my son.”

“Well, I’m a little busy, media day and all, so maybe another time.” He was about to turn around, be on his merry way, but things were never that easy with his father.

“Why would you lie, Max? Are you that desperate for attention?”

Not for the first time in the last month, Max felt the almost impossible-to-ignore urge to roll his eyes, but he knew better than doing that right now.

“I didn’t lie. I am gay and I came out to you when I was fourteen, you were just too busy slapping me into next week to get it through your thick skull. Now leave me alone, I have work to do and it’s not in your best interest to cause a scene.”

“Don’t you walk away from me, Max.”

But Max kept on walking, ignoring the rude remarks.

“Who are you getting on your knees for? Is it Riccardo? You two were always too friendly for my liking. Or is it that little bastard Leclerc? I saw the little bitch last time I went to your apartment.” Now that, Max wasn’t about to tolerate.

“Shut up! Just shut up! You don’t know shit, you never have. Leave, you’re barely allowed in the paddock and you’re definitely not allowed near the Red Bull garage, so just leave. You have no business here.” The last part was said with less conviction, because he’d been dealing with entitled assholes all day and now it seemed like he had to deal with the biggest of them all.

“You ungrateful little bastard! I’ve given you everything! I made you who you are and this is how you repay me?” Jos’ voice was raising and so was his right hand. Max moved to stand in front of Vicky, afraid she would try to get in between the two of them. He knew his dad was insane and capable of many things and he definitely wouldn’t put it past him to try and beat the shit out of him in the middle of the paddock, because even if they were partly hidden, anyone could still see them, Netflix even. Wouldn’t that be an episode.

“Max?” It was Nico. Oh, thank god.

Max took a step back from his father, gripping Vicky’s arm to push her back, too and Nico was fast to act, quickly placing himself in between them.

“Max, I was looking for you, we have to go,” he told him calmly, back to Jos, almost completely ignoring him.

“Yeah, not so fast, blondie. I’m talking to my son,” Jos spoke, irritated and grabbed Nico’s shoulder, trying to get him out of the way.

“Well, I don’t really think your son wants to talk to you right now, and as I said, we need to leave.” He smiled, but it was forced and looked more la a grimace, taking Max’s wrist and pulling him away. Realizing he probably wouldn’t get another chance, Jos took a hold of Max’s collar and dragged him forward, so their faces were inches apart.

“You listen to me, you little shit–,”

“Get away from him!” Max heard before he saw a flash of red. Charles.

Max felt dizzy with the turn of events, frozen in place until he felt his boyfriend’s back pressing against his chest, pushing him towards Nico. “Move, Max, we’re leaving,” he stated firmly, eyes never leaving Jos’.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you? I have a right to talk to my son.”

“You don’t. Are you even allowed in the paddock?” Charles almost snarled, Max rarely saw him this mad, if ever. It was kind of hot, to be honest, but this clearly wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.

“He’s my son, you have no business–,”

“He’s my boyfriend, so I guess it is my business.” Max saw it, the second his dad snapped, how his eyes clouded over with anger and he moved fast, grabbing Charles’s t-shirt, pushing him out of the way. The monégasque stumbled, but Nico, eyes wide and alert, steadied him with a hand on his waist.

“Don’t do anything stupid, dad. We’re in the middle of the paddock, you’re gonna punch me here? Bruise me up for everyone to see? Everyone will know it was you, you’ve already made enough of a scene as it is. We’re leaving and I don’t want to see you again.”

“We’ll call security unless you leave,” said Nico.

Slowly, they all started walking, Charles interlocking their fingers and pulling him and away from Jos.

“You can forget about being my son. You’re a disgrace to my last name.”

“Whatever, I always thought Leclerc sounded better anyways.”

***

Naturally, Max really thought things were gonna start looking up after that shit show of a Thursday, however, he quickly realized he hadn’t reached rock bottom as of yet. FP1 went well, then FP2 was better and then FP3 was a fucking disaster and he binned the car right into the barriers, second week in a row, and if that was the only thing that happened to him that would’ve been okay, but turns out he had a possibly strained wrist and wasn’t life just fucking amazing. The engineers were confident they could have the car ready in time for quali but Max’s wrist was still being assessed and it was unclear whether he’d be able to drive or not.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t, so they got one of the F2 boys to drive his car. Qualifying came and went and he didn’t even care about the result, he was sulking and he knew it, but he was allowed too, okay? He’s had a shitty week.

And that’s how his boyfriend found him, in Alex’s driver’s room because the F2 guy was using his–which, honestly? Curled up on one corner of the couch, phone in hand, staring at his unlocked screen and doing absolutely nothing because he’s really trying to avoid social media for, well, the rest of his life at this point.

He hears the door opening and doesn’t bother to even flick his eyes upwards, knowing it’s probably Alex.

“Baby?” Well, that’s definitely not Alex.

He looks at Charles and lets out a muffled grunt of acknowledgment. Charles sits beside him and starts running his fingers through his hair, but the blond still refuses to make eye contact.

“Maxy, aren’t you gonna watch the race?”

Max closed his eyes and sighed, letting his phone drop on his lap and finally turning his head sideways to look at his boyfriend’s green, green eyes and seeing a whole lot of love and fondness and many other feelings that he himself harbored as well.

Charles smiled, brightly and so soft. “I really think you should.”

“Of course I’m gonna watch it, love. Gonna watch you beat everyone’s ass,” he winked.

“Oh, so now you say that, hmm? Just cause you’re not racing?” Charles has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and Max wants to devour him whole.

“Obviously,” he answers.

The brunet rolls his eyes and tugs at the end of his hair before standing up and holding out his right hand. They’ll have to let go once they’re out of the garage, they know, but for now, this is enough.

***

Max knows something’s going on because Charles sucks at being inconspicuous and he can spot all the tell-tale signs as soon as they’re out of the garage and walking towards where everyone is mingling. He keeps glancing back towards Max and smiling nervously, eyes a little wild and Max could swear there’s sweat already gathering on his brow and it’s really not that hot, it takes a lot for Charles to break out a sweat, Max would know. But Max has half a mind not to question anything as of yet.

And then he sees it.

Charles gives him one last not-so-nervous smile and a wink before joining the rest of the drivers. They’re all lined up smack center in the middle of the track, in front of the cars, every single one wearing a black cap with a rainbow flag in the front, and as Charles joins, right besides Pierre, he picks up the last corner of another rainbow flag, this one bigger and brighter, that they’re all holding up. Max has a hard time processing the situation. It’s not really like him to get chocked up—or show emotion for that matter, but then his eye catches the stands, where a lot of fans are also holding up flags and signs. He sees a lot of #UnleashTheLion written in rainbow colors, along with his name, a lot of hearts with “love is love” and “we stand with you” and that’s just. Well.

The thing is, Max never had an issue with his sexuality, per se, he alway knew who he was attracted to, but with that knowledge also came knowing that he’d have to hide it because that’s just life and if he ever wanted to reach Formula 1 then he’d have to make some sacrifices and he was okay with that, for a very long time, because Max never did things halfway and if he was going to race then he’d give his heart and soul to it and he did, pretty much his entire life. And then Charles crashed into his life. Or, well, Charles was pretty much always there, which was harder to come to terms to, because once he decided to love Charles, to give him his heart and soul—well, Max didn’t do things halfway.

So this.

This is something he never thought he would get.

His dream job, the boy he loved and support?

Max stared at all of them. Dan and Lando with huge smiles on their faces—and is that glitter smudged under their eyes? Then his eyes move towards Seb and Lewis, standing side by side with serious looks on their faces because this is obviously Very Important for them and he definitely holds back the need to roll his eyes fondly, figures they’re a lot of cameras on him right now and he doesn’t need any more asshole journalists twisting his words or actions. He moves towards Lance and then Esteban, of all people, and quickly realizes he’s staring at him, trying to catch his eyes, and the french quickly gives him a small smile and Max is quick to give one in return, trying to communicate how much this means to him, how grateful he is, because he is.

And finally he locks eyes with Charles, his pretty, pretty boyfriend, with his beautiful forest eyes and soft brown locks and pale flawless skin and the only thing occupying his mind is that he would go through this, the scrutiny and slurs and hate and whatever else the world decides to throw at him, for the rest of his life, as long as he gets to wake up to that warm body at least one more night.

***

Later that night, with Charles peacefully snoozing half on top of him, clean of champagne and sweat, he quickly opens up Spotify and looks for Esteban’s playlist, changing its name to a very subtle: You’re Not As Bad As I Initially Thought (thank you) and forwards it without giving it any more thought, locking his phone and tightening his grip on Charles before closing his eyes, the brunet’s breaths lulling him to sleep.

Chapter Text

“I know you don’t like chick-flick moments– which, by the way, I think it’s highly offensive that you call it that–”

“Why?”

“Not the point, Max.” Daniel shuts him up by pressing his index finger against Max’s lips, cold and wet from the condensation of the beer bottle he was holding–disgusting–and then he continues talking like he didn’t just make Max taste his salty fingers, “The point is, I didn’t get to tell you before, but I am very proud of you– well all are. What you did will really go down in history–,”

“You’ve told me this, like, three thousand times, Daniel. It’s time to stop– no, don’t you dare put your fingers anywhere near my lips again!” Max moves towards the other corner of the couch, as far from the Australian as the furniture allows him without toppling over. He’s had a few beers. Technically, he’s had, like, three beers and a fair share of tequila shots because, according to Daniel, “you’re half dutch, half Belgian, you can handle alcohol.” Yeah, uh, tell that to Lando. Last time he saw him, he was stumbling around the apartment without his shirt, wearing questionable board shorts, one hand around the neck of a champagne bottle and the other around his boyfriend’s wrist and that– well, that should be worrying, because Charles is a lightweight at the best of times. The fact that he gets drunk every time he wins a podium, even after spraying half the champagne on everyone else, attests to it. But it’s okay, because they’re on break and they’re also in Daniel’s house, a floor above theirs, so it’s not like he can’t carry him home or crash here if things get too out of hand.

Daniel’s loud, booming laugh shakes him back into reality, his eyes snapping to the brunet, who’s on his fifth beer, probably, and leaning heavily against the back of the couch, face happy and relaxed as his laughter dies down.

“So,” the blond starts. “I need your help with something.” That gets Daniel’s attention.

“Shoot.”

Max takes a deep breath and scratches the back of his neck, suddenly very hot, even with the AC on full blast. “Daniel,” Max speaks, voice turning completely serious. “I need you to keep your fucking mouth shut, cause I know you and I know you can’t keep a secret for shit, but I guess you’re a little better than Lando–” An undignified squeak leaves Daniel’s mouth, which Max quickly silences with a withering glare. “Don’t even deny it, it’s a miracle in itself you didn’t out me before I did it myself.”

Daniel’s face morphs into one of absolute shock and betrayal. “Maxy, I would’ve never–”

“Relax, Dan, just listen. The season’s almost over and I’m really confident I can win it.”

Dan sputters, some of the beer he was drinking spilling out of his mouth and landing on Max’s arm and he sighs, quickly wiping it on the armrest of the couch. “You’re so fucking gross, seriously.”

“You seem confident.”

Max deadpans him. “I just said I am– just shut up, will you? Fucking listen. What I’m trying to say is that–” A very loud crash interrupts his train of thought, reverberating throughout the entire apartment, followed by shrieks of laughter. It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.

Daniel scrunches his eyes shut and sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This kids, I swear to god, can’t handle their fucking alcohol.” He gives him an apologetic smile while standing up and Max just waves his hand dismissively.

“Go, before they destroy your entire apartment.”

Max stays seated, nursing the rest of his beer, that’s now a little lukewarm and gross, but he can’t be bothered to go and get another one. His eyes scan the place, looking for one particular head of fluffy chocolate locks and he idly wonders when the hell he became this person, Max Verstappen: Whipped Idiot, but it’s not like he minds, not when forest green eyes lock with his from behind the balcony door, pulling him like a magnet towards them until he’s pressed against a surprisingly cold back, arms snaking around a thin waist.

“You’re cold, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of his boyfriend’s face.

Charles only leans further back against the blond’s firm chest, covering Max’s arms with his own, relishing in the warmth that his lips leave in their trail down the side of his face.

“It’s the breeze,” he whispers back and Max notices then that he isn’t wearing anything but a thin white shirt, his arms full of goosebumps.

“Where’s your jacket, mhm?”

Charles giggles and Max wants to fold him up and keep him in his pocket forever. “I don’t know, Maxy. Lando took it and I never saw it again.” Charles was way beyond healthily tipsy, his words slurring a little and the blond can’t see his eyes from where he is standing, but can imagine them, droopy and glassed over, brightbrightbright.

Max hums and Charles feels the vibrations on his shoulder. “I think that little menace is a bad influence, gonna make my baby sick.”

Charles laughs, a soft, clear sound and then they stay quiet. Max can hear everything, the ocean breeze and the waves crashing against the harbor, the muffled music that still manages to be heard even with the balcony door shut, his boyfriend’s slow, slow breaths.

“You know, I don’t think you should take my last name,” Charles speaks up suddenly, turning around in his arms to stare intently at him.

“What?” Max chuckles, right hand trailing upwards towards Charles’ sharp jawline, softly rubbing the pad of his thumb across it.

“You’re still Max Verstappen, honey blond hair, steely blue eyes, plump red lips, one of the best drivers I’ve ever seen, tough exterior but it’s all mush on the inside, worst cook, my beautiful, precious boyfriend,” Charles stops, taking a deep breath, both hands pressed against Max’s chest. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. Everything that makes you you, and that includes your last name. It’s not your father’s or your grandfather’s before him– it’s yours, Max. You are the man you are today thanks to you. You could’ve ended up like your father but you didn’t, career or personality wise, you’re nothing like him. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You’re just you, Max Emilian Verstappen.”

Max was frozen, trying to understand everything Charles was trying to tell him, trying to understand where it was coming from. He knew, though, that Charles was itching to talk about the incident in the paddock from a few weeks ago, but Max wouldn’t budge and he knew not to budge him, not on this specific topic, at least, not while he was sober. But Charles isn’t sober.

“Charlie–”

“No, wait–” he hiccups, eyes widening with urgency before shaking his head. “Let me just– wait. If we ever have kids, Maxy– or, like, a dog or a goldfish, I don’t know. I want them to have your last name, too. I know you feel this need to strip away every part of him but you’re not like your father, Max, you’ve never been like him. You’re just you and I want your last name next to mine.”

“You wanna hyphenate?”

Charles frowns, his whole face scrunching up, suddenly deep in thought. “Max Verstappen-Leclerc… Max Leclerc-Verstappen.”

“Charles Leclerc-Verstappen,” Max repeats in a murmur, kissing the tip of his nose and the words keep ringing in his ears, making his body go hot all over, even with the breeze.

Max crashes their lips together, hand grasping the back of Charles’ neck, other hand a firm weight around his waist, keeping the brunet downdowndown, feet firmly planted on the earth. Steady. Charles lets out a soft sound, breath hitching as his lips part.

“Charles Leclerc-Verstappen,” Max mutters huskily against his lips, voice raspy with arousal. “I can’t wait to call you that in front of everyone. It’ll be on your overalls, CLV, it’ll show up on the screens, on the tv, everyone will be able to see it–”

“Now this is a whole new type of kink. What’s it called? Marriage kink? Last name kink?”

Max lets out something that resembles a growl, slowly stepping away from Charles, whose face is back to his usual color–Ferrari red–and turns his face towards Lando. The little shit was standing on the now open sliding door of the balcony, lips stretching around a shit-eating grin, barely containing the squeaky giggles that were surely going to slip out.

“I don’t know, but this you’re doing is called voyeurism and is widely frowned upon.”

Lando scoffs. “Are you kink shaming me, Max?

“No, I’m shaming you for being a pain in my fucking ass.”

“Oh Maxy, you’ve got a mouth on you, does Charles like that?”

“Shut up, Lando!”

Lando bursts out laughing as he runs back in the house, yelling about how “Max was about to pop a boner over hyphens!” and Max, not for the first time, questions his choices in friendship, but, I mean, there’s really only twenty guys on the grid and one of them is his boyfriend, so, there’s really not a lot to chose from.

***

Now, Charles never claimed to being a subtle or inconspicuous person. Max would wholeheartedly agree to this statement. And now Dan, too, apparently.

“You and Max are both so weird,” Daniel murmurs through the phone.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. So you want me to look at the photos.”

“Yes.”

“And help you pick one.”

“Yes. But you can’t tell Max anything!”

“I know, I know, relax, Charlie boy.”

“Or Lando! Specially not Lando. He’s shit at keeping secrets.”

“I’m really starting to freak out, everyone keeps saying that and he’s gonna be my teammate next year.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

***

A few days later, on the Thursday of a race week, Charles wakes up to his phone ringing insistently and quickly thinks that he was sure he had left it on Do Not Disturb before picking it up from the bedside table and sliding his finger across the screen without checking who it was that was calling him so early in the morning.

“Baby?” Max’s voice rings through his head, and the Monégasque instantly notices something’s off. “Did I wake you?”

Charles simply hums, running his fingers through his messy hair.

“I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t mean to,” Max quickly gets out in one big breath, sounding like he’s running. Where? Charles stops himself from asking, he told me he had a free morning.

“It’s okay, chéri, I had to wake up anyways.”

“Alright. Listen baby, we need to talk but right now I’m running very late for a meeting and– fuck.” Charles hears what sounds a lot like Max dropping his phone just as his own phone starts vibrating in his hand. He quickly takes it away from his ear to look at the caller ID.

“Maxy, Mattia’s calling me and he never calls this early in the morning so I’m–”

“That’s fine, baby, that’s okay, Christian’s trying to reach me to just– before you hang up– I… I love you, okay? Please just remember that. I’ve always loved you and I’ll keep loving you no matter what.” Charles is a little speechless, because the thing is, Max isn’t necessarily selfish when it comes to his very vast words of adoration for Charles, he’s never been, at least not when it’s just the two of them, but this whole situation is starting to freak Charles out a lot, he just hasn’t had the time to fully wake up, let alone process the call he’s currently on, but now it’s really downing on him. Max calling him, now Mattia, and it’s only seven in the morning, three days before the race.

Shakily, Charles answers, “I love you too, Max. I always will.” The line goes dead and he answers Mattia’s call.

“I’m sorry, Mattia, I was–”

His team principal is speaking before he can even finish the sentence, “It’s okay, Charlie, listen, we have an emergency meeting, how quickly can you be at the hospitality?” Charles does a double take, because Mattia sounds winded and worried, two things he rarely is.

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” he answers decisively, already rushing through the room, grabbing clothes and a discarded towel before turning on the shower.

***

Charles didn’t known what to expect, really. He hadn’t allowed his mind mull over the whole situation, because he knew it would just send him spiraling and that’s clearly not what he needs right now. For all his usual emotional self, he had an impeccable track record of keeping himself strictly under control when he had to, during a race, a press conference, a funeral, you name it. So that’s what he did.

As soon as he walks inside the hospitality he knows something is terribly wrong, for a lot of reasons. Most notable, the fact that every pair of eyes in the vicinity is trained on him in an instant. It makes him shiver and squirm where he stands, but he simply smiles the same practiced and polite smile, that usually wasn’t as forced as the one he’s giving right now, and keeps walking. Once in front of Mattia’s office door, he takes a deep breath to compose himself and checks his cellphone one last time to see if Max has left him any other messages. He hasn’t.

He isn’t expecting Mattia’s office to be so full of people. There’s him, of course, sitting in front of a bunch of papers and folders haphazardly thrown on top of his desk, his face is impassive as always, but the frown lines at his brow and side of his mouth betray his faux calmness. Then there’s Silvia, Britta, Mia and finally, weirdly, Seb, who gives him a solemn smile as soon as their eyes lock together.

“Charles! Finally, come, come, sit down.” He does as told but doesn’t say anything.

“Right,” Seb starts. “What is this about?”

Mattia shares a look with the media team, brief but intense, and then all eyes are on Charles again. He swallows but remains quiet.

“I’m guessing neither of you know why you’re here and, before we start, I want to make one thing clear, none of you are in any sort of trouble, it doesn’t matter the way this talk ends, we just want to… figure everything out.” Every single word that comes out of his team principal’s mouth just manages to confuse him even further and, by the looks of it, Sebastian feels the same way, however, neither of the two do anything but nod.

“This concerns mainly Charles, honestly, but given the… gravity of the situation, Seb and every other member of the team, if not the grid, will be involved soon enough, so we’d rather have our side of the story clear,” Silvia speaks, her red hair in perfect match with her team uniform and her cheery smile fake as ever.

“Let’s just dive right in, shall we?” Mattia’s right hand pushes the folder closest to him towards Charles and then stares at him intently.

The folder itself is non-descriptive, simple and beige, no label or anything else to give him any sort of clue as to its contents. Swallowing down the knot at his throat, he slowly opens it, eyes sharp and pulse quickening.

He would like to say it takes him less than a second to process what’s in front of him, but that would be a blatant lie. The truth is, Charles stares at the photos for minutes, probably– not because he doesn’t understand them, they are pretty straightforward, he’s just composing himself before he bursts out crying in the middle of his boss’s office on a fine Thursday morning.

“Where did you get these?” Seb’s tone barely hides his anger and confusion.

“They were published by The Sun this morning.” And Charles is finding it very hard not to cry.

Published… this morning… Charles’ mind is stuck trying to comprehend what that means given the different timezones between England and wherever the fuck they are now– wait, where are they again? And then he starts thinking about Max. Shit. Max. His beautiful, perfect boyfriend that woke him up before his alarm rang to– to warn him. Warn him about the photos. The photos of them kissing less than a week ago on the balcony of Daniel’s apartment.

“There’s not a lot we can do now. The photos have been published and by tomorrow they’re gonna be on the cover of every newspaper or magazine interested in covering the story. All we can really do is damage control.”

Charles is sure Mia is saying something, and it’s probably very important, and now Mattia is answering and Britta pitches in too, but he isn’t listening to any of them, or at least not in a way that matters. Every single word is flying over his head. All he really wants to do is talk to his boyfriend.

“…Charles?”

He flinches when he feels Seb’s hand on his shoulder. “Huh?”

“What do you think about–?” But just before Silvia can finish talking, his phone starts vibrating in his hand, where he had been holding on to it the entirety of the meeting, and he doesn’t think twice about answering when he sees Max’s contact flashing on the screen like a lighthouse during a particularly nasty storm.

“Sorry,” he mutters distractedly while bringing the phone to his ear. “I’m sorry I have to take this.”

Mattia gives him a look that clearly says ‘no, actually you have to take this,’ but Charles is beyond caring at this point.

“Baby?” Is the first thing he hears. He feels the sides of his eyes burning with unshed tears. “Where are you, Charles?”

Sniffing, he attempts to pull himself together for what feels like the hundredth time today, and it’s still only ten am.

“I’m in a meeting with my team. Where are you?” He chances a quick glance at said team and isn’t surprised to see everyone staring. He adverts his gaze.

“You’re in a meeting right now?” Max sounds regretful, whereas it’s for calling him in the middle of a meeting or something else, Charles can’t be sure.

“Yeah, I–”

“Charles, I’m sorry.”

The Monégasque closes his mouth instantly, words dying on the tip of his tongue before they come spilling out again, “What? What are you sorry for? Max–”

“You have to have seen them by now– the photos. I-I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have kissed you in the balcony, I wasn’t thinking–”

“Max,” he says firmly. “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit. I– we should’ve been out of the closet months ago, we never should’ve been in the closet in the first place, I mean, it’s not like the other drivers hide their relationships, right?” He chuckles humorlessly, wetly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For making you think this is not what I wanted. For being so afraid.”

Max is silent for a few seconds, and then what he says next punches a breathless, relieved laugh out of Charles.

“We’ll be in the covers for months. Imagine the endorsement deals we’ll get.”

Charles laughs gleefully, like a child. “The star-crossed lovers.”

“Okay,” Max’s voices takes on a serious note, but it’s still full of fondness. “I’ll let you get back to your meeting and I’ll see you in the press conference. I love you.”

“I love you too, chéri.”

***

Max isn’t wrong. Of course there is a last minute switch of the drivers selected for the press conference.

Charles walks in the waiting room with his head held high, but his darting eyes betray him. As soon as they land on honey blond hair and steely blue eyes, his entire resolve crumbles. Max’s lock with his just as fast and it isn’t long before strong arms wrapped around his waist are pulling him towards a firm, broad chest. They keep it short and sweet, with Charles having to physically restrain from kissing his boyfriend, even though it really isn’t anything everyone hasn’t seen, but there are cameras everywhere and why add more wood to the already blazing fire.

Max pulls back first, hands rapidly moving to cradle Charle’s face instead, his touch soft and gentle, like anything stronger would break him in a thousand different pieces. Right now, it might.

“This is nothing, schatje,” Max murmurs so only the Ferrari driver can hear. “You’re so strong, the strongest person I know. You know I would take the fall if I could but–”

“You already did,” Charles reminds him. “And now we’ll do it together, okay? I’m not losing you over this– over anything. Je t’aime.”

Max’s eyes crinkle and sparkle as he smiles at him. “Je t'aime aussi.”

His team tried to brief and prepare him ahead of the press conference, but there wasn’t a lot they could do, it’s not like they had a One of Our Drivers Is Gay and Dating His Biggest Rival contingency plan. So yeah.

They sit side by side.

“Right,” one of the reporters starts. “Max, Charles, I think everyone here wants to hear your side of the story.” He always thought it was a good thing, the transparency of the sport, how no one really seems to have a filter, how no one hides anything– now he kind of hates it.

“Well, I think the pictures were pretty self-explanatory. We’re dating,” he answers calmly.

“Max,” another guy jumps. “How is this gonna work? Now that you’re together.”

Max rolls his eyes. “You mean now that you all know we’re together, cause we’ve been dating for a while, so my best guess is things we’ll work the same way they’ve been working up until now.”

The guy doesn’t relent. “How long have you been together?”

This one Charles is quick to answer, “That’s none of your business.”

The guy, Charles recognizes him as the same asshole that prompted Max’s coming out, smirks before asking his next question, “It would help us understand how this will affect the sport.”

Max licks his lip, his face a mask of indifference to everyone but Charles himself, who’s hand he’s clutching under the table to the point where it’s starting to hurt. “It hasn’t, so it won’t,” his boyfriend grits out.

“How do you guys deal with a relationship while being rivals on track?”

Charles can literally feel Max’s blood pleasure rising.

“I’m sorry, is this couples counseling or a Formula 1 press conference cause I can’t tell the fucking difference,” the dutchman all but growls out and Charles quickly glances to the side, where both their press officers are standing with grim expressions.

“Well, I sure would like to know how Charles deals with that temper of yours,” the same fucking guy chuckles and all the Ferrari driver can do is wonder why no one has kicked him out, because of course the comment is dumb, it’s bait, and Max has grown up a lot throughout the years, enough not to take them, but it’s the way the guy says it, the implications behind it– Max can deal with a lot of things, but he won’t let anyone take shots at his boyfriend like that.

“Well, I sure would like to know why the hell I have to sit here and listen to all of your dumb, stupid fucking questions when I have a race to prepare for, but I guess some things we’ll just never know.”

The entire room goes quiet after that, Max and the idiot reporter locked in a very intense staring match. Until–

“So,” Pierre clears his throat. “Did anyone know Max has been making Spotify playlists for the entire grid?”

Things go as well as anyone can imagine after that.

Chapter Text

“I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised Charles Leclerc likes to take it up the–” Charles jumps when Max plucks the phone from his hand and locks it.

“Stop watching that,” he says, his tone soft but stern.

The brunet sighs, taking his phone back from his boyfriend’s hand. He looks down at the blank screen, frowning, before turning his eyes back to blue concerned ones. “I wasn’t–” he cuts himself off when Max gives him a look that very clearly says ‘don’t even try it.’ “I mean, I didn’t look for it, okay? It just showed up when I googled my name.”

Max places both hands on his hips before petulantly saying, “So you did look for it.” He kneels in front of Charles, once again taking his phone and placing it somewhere at the end of the couch before grasping both of Charles’ hands between his own. “Baby, listen to me, I’m not about to sit here and tell you what you’re feeling is stupid or invalid, but I can tell you this, those assholes don’t know anything about us. They don’t know you, they never have and they never will. They probably don’t even believe what they’re saying, it’s just about comments and likes and whatever the fuck.” Max’s face is completely serious, but there’s still that edge of fondness that he seems to have developed only for Charles, doesn’t matter how mad or annoyed he gets, it’s always there.

Charles knows, logically, that Max is telling the truth, he even believes it himself, but he isn’t built like Max. For all the tragedy he’s had to endure, he is, at his core, a people pleaser, he can’t stand not being liked or disappointing anyone, it’s just how he is. Max used to hate that about him, thought it was just an act, to be more of a martyr than he already was. Now, though, now he hates it just at much, but only because he knows it hurts him more often than not. Charles just calls it his character flaw. He’s working on it, though, and he knows they’ll make it through. Together.

“I know, Maxy. I’m working on it. But I need you to know that I don’t regret any of this, yeah? Even if it’s not exactly how I would’ve imagined it happening–”

“Wait,” Max interrupts him, looking amused. “How did you imagine it happening?”

Charles gives him a funny look. “I don’t know. Maybe like. An Instagram post? With like a cute caption, hearts and stuff, y’know.” He blushes at the end and Max’s eyes go impossibly softer.

“Alright,” Max says, nodding to himself and standing up to sit besides him instead, quickly taking his phone out of his back pocket and opening Instagram. He puts the phone in front of them, front camera open.

“What are you doing?” Charles asks, scandalized.

“Smile for the camera, baby.”

And Charles does, a genuine, giant, dopey grin taking over his entire face, while Max pushes his own face next to his, so their cheeks are smashing together, smile equally as big, and then he snaps the picture. They both look so happy, bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

He types for a few seconds and then locks his phone. Charles instantly feels his vibrating with the mention and takes it out, reading the caption.

Full send ❤️ @charles_leclerc

Charles feels his eyes getting wet and blinks rapidly to get rid of it. “This is super gay.”

Max scoffs. “It’s cute and romantic.”

Charles has to agree.

***

Two days before the penultimate race of the season, Max is having room service with Dan in the Australian’s hotel room.

“So, how are things in paradise?” the brunet asks with a smirk, licking the corner of his mouth clean off whatever sauce he’s eating.

“Things are, uh, good–great, actually,” Max answers distractedly, and Daniel is quick to raise an eyebrow, disbelief all over his features.

“It sure sounds like it,” he mutters, loud enough for his point to get across, while bringing a glass of wine up to his lips, taking a bigger gulp than he probably should, considering.

Max gives him a blank stare, debating whether he should say anything else or just let it be, but knowing Daniel, he probably won’t drop it just like that, so he takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, messing it up and reminding himself of why he wears a cap 99% of the time.

“I’m not lying, things are good. It’s just… I don’t know, mate,” he exhales and lets go of all the emotions he’s been carrying since they came out (read: since they were outed against their will). “I just always thought that if we ever came out things would be so much easier, like, not having to hide and sneak around or make up dumb excuses–and it is, really, it’s been great, but Charles…” He stops himself, doesn’t know if the words on the tip of his tongue are fair on his boyfriend, but Daniel, after all this time knowing him–knowing them–gets it.

“How bad is it?” his ex-teammate asks, as if already aware of the whole thing without Max having to explain it to him.

“I’ve found him watching shitty youtubers four times already, and it’s not like we’re always together, who knows what else he’s been filing his head with.”

Daniel sighs. “You can’t wrap him up in bubble wrap and protect him from everything, Max. Charles is a big boy, he can deal with it, I’m sure.”

Max knows this, of course he does, but that knowledge doesn’t stop him from being mad at the world–or wanting to mutter a childish ‘watch me’. “He shouldn’t fucking have to, Dan. I just–” He scoffs, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Sometimes I think Charles was born just for the universe to take everything out on him.” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands before looking back up at his friend. “I know how it sounds, but I just–fuck, Dan. He’s been crying himself to sleep when he thinks I’m not awake. It makes me want to go on a murder spree.”

Dan’s honey eyes are soft and sad, but not pitying. “Maxy,” he stars in a gentle murmur, like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay to feel like that. I get it, mate, I’ve seen what some people have been saying–hell, I wanted to strangle that stupid fucking reporter, but it’s just the novelty of it. It will pass, people will get over it, and even if they don’t, then you both will. You can win this Championship and then Charles can win the next and that’s amazing, but titles and trophies, they’re good for a resume, maybe decoration. What you two have?” Dan cuts off, his eyes looking distant for a moment before they’re back on Max, intense and sincere. “You’re so young, sometimes I think about how you two found what we spend our entire lives looking for without even trying.”

Max smiles and, to his own horror, feels the back of his eyes burning. “I just wish it didn’t matter. It’s so stupid. Who the hell cares, you know? What’s the difference between me being with a girl or being with Charles–and I know, I know, that’s the million dollar question. I just thought, for some idiotic reason, that if I did it–win the Championship–it’d be like a step forward, because people would look at that and not at me kissing Charles on your balcony, but I know it won’t be like that, and if I don’t win, then it won’t be a car issue or a talent issue, it’ll be a sexuality issue. I just never thought this was a fight I had to fight, cause I shouldn’t fucking have to, and Charles shouldn’t either, no one should.”

Daniel seems to be at a loss of words, because it’s the truth, isn’t it? No one’s rights should be up for debate, but it’s a bigger issue everyday, and Daniel, for all he wishes he could, can’t really say he understands, because, unlike Max and now Charles too, he’s never been judged by what he does outside of the sport, by things he can’t really control, and he knows that if he fucks up on Sunday, no one will be wondering if it was because he did it on purpose so his boyfriend could get more points. Which is completely ridiculous, of course, but what are people if not ridiculous.

“Anyways,” Max clears his throat. “Charles and his self-flagellation tendencies aren’t really helping the situation. I used to hate him for it, now it just scares me.” Because Max remembers very well the extent to which his boyfriend would go to hurt himself when he felt like he deserved it.

Austria, 2019.

The second he opens the hotel room door, Max knows what the driver standing at his doorstep is feeling and almost manages to feel bad about the whole thing, the ugly pity and regret creeping up on him. Getting pole, leading the race, only for it to slip through your fingers like water–hurts like a bitch, he knows. It’s late now, though, the thrill of the win has faded, exhaustion is settling in and Max isn’t really up for a fight. But before he can shut the door on the Monégasque’s face, something catches his eye. A dark bruise, peaking from underneath Charles’ white shirt, low on his collarbone. That alone makes him pay more attention.

The Ferrari driver looks worn to the bone; pale face, except for his flushed cheeks, probably from the shower he apparently just took, judging from the wet hair falling all over his face. His lips are unnaturally red–kiss-bruised for sure–and his eyes look blank, dull, despite the brightness of their color. Max knows this routine very well.

“What do you want, Charles?” he asks, cold and emotionless.

Charles looks like a deer caught in headlines, like he usually does when cameras aren’t around. “Uh,” he starts with a scratchy voice, coughing to cover it up. “Can I come in?”

Max breathes deeply, stepping to the side and watching the boy walk inside with his head down and shoulders slumped. He makes sure the door is closed before turning around and staring at Charles, who’s standing almost awkwardly, hovering by the bed.

Max’s words die in his throat when Charles’ shirt moves a little and the hickey–because that’s exactly what it is–now fully exposed, has his stomach churning. Jealousy and something else he can’t quite put his finger on, but it has alarm bells blaring in the back of his head, too.

“Where were you?” he asks, even though he doesn’t necessarily have the right to.

Charles’ eyes widen quicker than he can stop them and tries covering it up with a smirk. Max can see right through him. “Having some fun,” he begins. It sounds sultry and fake. “Why? You jealous, Maxy?” This is the kind of talk and attitude Max usually falls for, a nightmare dressed like a daydream kind of situation. But Max has been finding it harder and harder to keep pretending–pretending he likes aiding Charles in his ridiculous quest to destroy himself, pretending he likes having his fingers wrapped around the boy’s throat when he knows it might not be what Charles wants, just what he thinks he deserves.

He is no saint, he has played his role for long enough, but he doesn’t think he can keep doing it, not with the way Charles seems to be giving more and more of himself every time they do it, not with the way his eyes look empty and hollow, not when he knows someone else might be hurting him worse than he does. Because the truth is, Max doesn’t want to hurt Charles, far from it, actually, but he’ll do it if it keeps Charles from finding someone who will.

Max takes a step closer towards the Ferrari driver, who reaches down to grasp the hem of his white shirt, trying to pull it off until Max stops him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. Charles’ face falls and his cheeks flush further, he chews on his bottom lip anxiously, but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dart from Max to the door.

“Who was it?” The answer to that question isn’t necessarily one he wants, but he still asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles replies instantly.

“I thought you didn’t like marks.”

“It’s not–” Charles’ voices breaks. “I told him not to.” The alarms get louder. “I didn’t–we didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Max feels his heart at his throat.

“You’re drunk,” Max says dismissively. He knows it’s a lie, though, knows Charles doesn’t drink a lot.

The brunet frowns. “I’m not, I didn’t drink anything, you can ask Pierre.”

“Did he do that?”

His frown deepens. “What? Of course not. Pierre is my best friend, I would never–”

“Wouldn’t you?” Max regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

The brunet’s mouth twists. “Right, of course, because I’m such a whore.” His smirk is back full force as he takes a step closer to the Red Bull driver, nimble fingers toying with his collar. “You’ve never cared before, though, so why don’t you fuck me once and for all?” To anyone else, Max is sure, it would look real, but he’s known this boy pretty much his entire life and he can see the sharp, uneven edges of his facade, the desperation in his eyes.

“No, Charles,” he says firmly, taking the boy’s hands away from his collar.

Charles swallows. “Max I–we just made out, got a little carried away, that’s all. I showered. I know it’s late–you don’t have to prep me, I’ll–” Impulsively, Max cradles Charles’ face with both his hands and presses their lips together. The brunet’s breath leaves him at once and Max feels it against his lips but also in the way his entire body sags against him.

Charles has always been an eager lover, giving more than what he expects to receive. He kisses him like that now, too, opening his mouth before Max prompts it, hands flying down to his own zipper, and just when Max was about to stop him once more, he drops to his knees, blown eyes staring up at him with despair.

Max barely avoids tripping with how quick he steps away from Charles, who still doesn’t falter, “Maxy, I’ll make you feel good, I’ll be good, I promise.”

Max’s eyes go wide. “Charles,” he whispers. “I–”

Charles’ eyelashes are stuck together with unshed tears and he gasps, suddenly, loudly, like he just realized he needs to breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chants over and over again, with his head hanging between his shoulders. “I’ll be good, Max. I can be good.” Max can barely catch the words as they tumble out of Charles’ mouth in incoherent mumbles and he doesn’t know what to do or say, so he falls to his knees in front of the brunet, wrapping his arms around him when it looks like he can’t keep himself upright anymore.

“You’re always good to me, Charlie, even though I don’t deserve it, even when I’m a complete dick,” he says close to his ear, lips bushing against warm skin.

“Then why don’t you want me?” It comes out defeated and broken. Max wishes they could’ve had this conversation months–years–ago, so maybe some of the hurt could’ve been avoided, so this wounds wouldn’t need to heal, because they wouldn’t exist.

“I’ve–” he stops himself, breathes in through his nose, brushes his fingers through the back of Charles’ head so he’ll look at him when he says his next words, “I’ve always wanted you.” He kisses the side of the boy’s head. “Just not like this. Not when all you want is for me to hurt you.”

Charles eyes are red-rimmed and tired. “You never hurt me, Max. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

“What happened, Charles? Who was it?” Max hopes he understands that he’s not asking out of jealousy or possessiveness, that it’s not because he cares about being the second pair of lips Charles has kissed tonight, that he doesn’t think of Charles as something he owns.

The Ferrari driver does understand. “We went out, Pierre and some of the others.” He leans back against the bed, sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees. “There was this guy. Kept glancing at me, bought me a drink even though I told him I didn’t want one. We danced for a few minutes and he kissed me, took me to the bathroom and I blew him, but then he wanted to fuck and I didn’t. So I left.”

Max doesn’t say anything, doesn’t think there’s a lot he could say anyway, but he brushes his knuckles across Charles jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, his hand wraps around Max’s. “I’m not–I don’t want you to think I’m using you, it’s not like that. You just–you understand me. Always know what I want.”

“I’ve never thought that,” Max reassures him. “But Charles, I can’t–you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Despite what you might think–a bad race, a stupid mistake, they don’t define you, don’t make you deserve whatever it is you think you do.” Of course Max knows. Knows that asking this of Charles is like asking him to turn off his personality like a light switch, because what is Charles Leclerc if not forged from tragedy and loss, misery and pain. Those pretty smiles and hollow eyes don’t come for free in this sport. Everyone needs something to keep themselves together, something familiar, and god knows nothing is as familiar to Charles as pain, in any shape or form, and pain is always easier when it doesn’t come from one’s own hand.

Max sees Charles’ eyes watering again, stormy green but brighter than they first were when he arrived at his doorstep. “I think I’m in love with you,” he says softly and full of conviction.

The blond’s heart stops for a second and then goes back to its regular pace. Charles’ words don’t feel like a confession so much as a fact, the simple truth, because somehow, after all this time, after years of knowing each other, between shared dreams and ambitions, hotel rooms and podiums, Max sort of knew it would come down to this, because feelings can’t be ignored forever, specially not once you’ve had a taste of how things could be like if they weren’t.

So he smiles, a little sad, and then rolls his eyes fondly. “I know.” He leans closer. “I love you too, you complete menace.”

They don’t have sex. Charles takes another shower, this one hotter and longer as he takes his time massaging Max’s grapefruit shampoo and conditioner into his hair, his equally citrusy body wash across his body. When he gets out, he spots a pair of boxers, sweatpants and a Red Bull hoodie besides the sink and quickly puts them on.

He opens the bathroom door feeling drained and a little anxious. Max is on his bed, eyes closed, head resting atop his folded left arm while his phone lays on his stomach, hand loosely wrapped around it like he had fallen asleep without meaning to. Charles debates whether he should stay or leave for his own room, but ultimately decides it’d be worse if he did, because it would look like he’s running, like he regrets what he said. So instead, he quietly and slowly climbs on the bed, lying on his side, face resting against his folded hands as he stares at the boy he loves soundly sleeping next to him.

Just when he feels sleep starting to drag him under, Max’s eyes flutter open and he smiles, soft and fond. It makes his heart want to burst out of his chest.

“You took a while. Had a good shower?” the dutchman mumbles sleepily.

For some unknown reason, it makes Charles blush. “Yeah, sorry. I, uh, like your shampoo.”

Max props himself up on his elbow and gets a little closer, almost hovering above him. “Yeah? It smells good on you.”

Charles scoffs. “It’s cause I smell like you, you possessive freak.” He says it without any malice.

The other boy lets out a surprised laugh, clearly not expecting Charles to be joking at a time like this, but then again, if anyone would, it’d be him.

A minute passes before any of them speak again, charged but not uncomfortable. “I meant what I said, Charles.”

The brunet’s smile is the prettiest thing Max has seen in his twenty-two years of life. “I know, I did too.”

Max’s right hand reaches out, gently cupping the Monégasque’s cheek, trailing upwards to brush the hair out of his eyes. “You want this?”

Charles doesn’t hesitate when he nods, nuzzling against Max’s touch. “What if we crash and burn?”

Max laughs, moving so he’s completely covering Charles’ body with his own and the brunet rearranges himself, laying on his back and looking up at Max with stars in his eyes. Slowly, the Dutchman leans down, making sure Charles has enough time to say no. He doesn’t.

Max’s lips touch his when he speaks, “Baby,” he says barely above a whisper, trailing kisses on his way to the brunet’s ear. “We’ve been doing that for as long as I can remember.”

A few hours later, with one of Max’s arms pillowing his head and the other firmly wrapped around his waist, hand coming up to rest against his chest, intertwined with one of his own, with the sun rising beyond the shut blinds, Charles finally falls asleep.

***

The last race of the season, arguably the most important moment of Max’s career, is a whirlwind of moments and emotions–as it should.

With the Championship being as tight as it has been the entire season, it almost comes down to this one race. Almost. In Max’s eyes, it’s pretty much a done deal–as long as Lewis doesn’t win and he doesn’t have a DNF, he’s safe. But when the final Sunday of the season rolls around, the possibility of being crowned World Champion for the first time in his career isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Max has done this so many times before–it’s muscle memory. Free practice, qualifying, pre and post-race interviews, Red Bull promo–it all flies by with little inconvenience and, before he knows it, he’s crossing the finishing line, the checkered flag a blur as his radio explodes with sound.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU’RE THE WORLD CHAMPION!” He’s pretty sure it’s Christian’s euphoric screams the ones mixing with his own, but he can’t be completely sure.

He isn’t completely sure either, when he stops his car in parc fermé, shutting the engine off and getting out of the car, that this isn’t one big dream that his excited mind conjured up the night before the race. That thought doesn’t deter him from running towards his team, throwing his arms out towards whoever catches him first as he screams inside his helmet. He feels arms and hands all around him, patting and hugging and congratulating as they all start chanting his name.

Vicky–after congratulating him–reminds him he still needs to go and get his measurements but his mind is somewhere else.

“Where’s Charles?” he asks her instead, finally taking his helmet and balaclava off. “Did he get the podium?”

Before Vicky can answer him, however, he’s thrown off-balance by someone jumping on his back. Reflexively, he grabs the legs wrapped around his waist and then hitches them up when he sees the bright red of his boyfriend’s overalls.

“MAX!” Charles screams so loudly Max is sure he’ll be hearing it for at least a few weeks. “YOU’RE A WOLRD CHAMPION! MY BOYFRIEND IS A WORLD CHAMPION!” the Monégasque continues, effectively and permanently ruining his hearing capabilities, and somehow manages to climb around him like a monkey so they’re chest to chest. Max has less than a second to adjust his grip on Charles, making sure he won’t drop him, before said boy smashes their lips together, teeth clashing almost painfully with the force of it, and Max–Max should be thinking about how they’re in front of hundreds of people, how this whole entire moment is being broadcasted on live television for at least a few million more, but as Charles’ gloved hands firmly grip the back of his neck, his sweet taste on his tongue, he quickly realizes that he really doesn’t give a single fuck.

When they finally break apart, Charles throws his head back, laughing madly and delightedly and so fucking happy for him. Max can’t stop himself when he pulls him back in, tightly hugging the boy against his chest, wanting to keep him there forever.

“You got P3, right?” he asks, but the brunet seems more concerned with squeezing the living daylights out of him than his race results.

“What?” The Ferrari driver looks as dazed as he feels when Max gently lowers him down, making sure he’s steady on his feet before letting him go. “Yeah, yes–we’re on the podium together!” Charles’ eyes go wide like he is just realizing what that means.

The next minutes go by so fast Max isn’t sure he’s able to keep up with them. Soon enough, however, his name is being called out over the speakers and he’s standing on the podium, first place trophy on his hand as he proudly stares down at the smiling faces of the people below him. Time seems to stop when he squeezes his fist tighter around the object that has been practically burning a whole through his hand from the second Vicky gave it to him just before he climbed the stairs to the podium.

He takes a deep breath and wills his body to face his boyfriend, wondering how he manages to drive a car at neck break speed every other weekend without any nerves and still feel nauseous right now. He doesn’t really get the chance to throw up, though, because an entire different set of physical reactions hit him like a freight train when he sees Charles getting down on one knee.

Max, unlike the boy kneeling in front of him, has never considered himself to be a particularly dramatic person–actually, his next actions would’ve been the most dramatic of his entire life, probably–that is, of course, if Charles hadn’t beat him to it. Which is why he doesn’t think he is being dramatic when he says that right now his lungs feel like they’re about to collapse in on themselves like a poorly constructed jenga tower.

The Dutchman starts contemplating the dream scenario once more when Charles opens his fist and–to no one’s surprise at this point–reveals a single silver band. He can almost feel the entire paddock collectively holding their breaths as everyone waits for Charles to speak.

The brunet licks his lips, can’t stop smiling even as he starts talking, “I used to be so afraid of people finding out about us–I still am, sometimes–but it wasn’t because I didn’t want everyone to know you were mine–no, it was because I was terrified of how it could change our relationship. I should’ve known back then it wouldn’t, because you’re the bravest, strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’ve been taking shots for the both of us long enough.” He stops to take a breath, eyes never leaving Max’s. “I love what we do, you know that more than anyone else. Formula One is my life, but this life–and any other–would be absolutely nothing without you in it, because it’s never really been just my own–you’ve always been there, since we were little kids, since before I could even dream about kneeling here in front of you. I’ve never lived without you, Max, I don’t know how to.” The threat of the thousands of videos and gifs and pictures that he is sure will be all over the internet in a few hours isn’t strong enough to stop the tears streaming down either of their faces as Charles says his next words, “Max Emilian Verstappen, Formula One World Champion and love of my life, will you marry me?” Charles is looking up at him with stars in his eyes and Max would watch the entire world burn before answering with anything other than a yes.

But first.

He grasps both of Charles’ shoulders, gently pulling him up so he’s standing in front of him, and for a second something flashes across Charles’ face, confusion and fear, fear of Max rejecting him–like the blond would ever even dream about doing that–but before rumors can start spreading like wildfire, Max simply holds out his own closed fist and opens it, palm up, to reveal an almost identical silver band. His heart sizes up at the way Charles is covering his mouth in shock, laughing wildly, happiness radiating of him in waves.

“You always were my biggest rival, baby, even managed to steal my thunder on my big day,” he chuckles wetly, but there’s no real bite in the words, nothing but love and unadulterated affection for the boy standing in front of him. “I will marry you, Charlie, in this life and any other.” Charles is nodding frantically before he can even finish the sentence.

Some people could say it’s cliché, like something out of an 80’s movies–and some will, Max is sure–but as Charles slips the ring around his finger, Max doing the same to him, as they kiss to the cheers of everyone below them, even though he can barely focus on them, as he feels the cold champagne raining on them (Lewis’s work), as he finally steps back and cradles his fiancé’s–holy shit–face in his hands, he can’t help but think: I made it. And it was fucking epic.