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The art of becoming a successful parent is figuring out how to gracefully down a glass of wine in front of a room full of friends and family without causing concern. No one pauses or raises an eyebrow as Charles with perfect poise downs his glass of red wine. The stress of the day had finally caught up with him. That glass of wine was his lifeline, his saving grace, the light at the end of the tunnel. With equally perfected subtly he pours himself another glass and carries on. This one he will sip.
Being divorced was something Charles had planned for. Being divorced was an obstacle that Charles had taken in his stride and was handling far better than anyone expected. At least that is what people think. He’s been drowning since Max had muttered those words to him. For so long his head has been underwater that he never even considered that at some point he was going to have to celebrate his children’s birthdays. That they would want to spend their birthday with both of their parents and both sides of their family. Now Charles was trying not to drown himself in wine in front of judgemental parents and his ex-in-laws.
Eloise turned five yesterday. She spent the day with Charles and Xem, then spent the night with Max and Xem and today she wanted everyone, so Max gave that to her. Seeing Max’s family for the first time since they divorced was hard enough. Having his family in the same room as Max’s was nauseating. The crackling tension in the air goes unnoticed by the parents of Eloise’s friends, but Charles is fully aware of the glare Lorenzo sends Max’s way every time he walks by. This whole day had been a bit too much for him.
Taking his wine, he slinks into the corner to catch his breath. To think about anything other than Max in a tight navy polo playing with small children. All he needs is a moment. Just one, but God can’t even grant him that. Smirking, Pierre settles next to him in the corner.
“Having fun?” Pierre teases, eyes dropping to Charles’ wine glass. He says nothing, sipping his wine, glaring at his best friend, “It’s going far better than I thought it would. I really thought we’d be wiping bits of Max off the floor the second Enzo saw him again.”
Mentioning Lorenzo’s rage makes Charles’ stomach twist. He can’t blame Lorenzo he had spent so much time with him after the initial separation. He still spent a lot of time with Charles, he helped with the kids and always checked up on him. A good big brother. The best. Lorenzo had seen him at his worst, and he couldn’t do anything about it because the person who caused all that pain was the father of his niece and nephew.
“Don’t.” Charles warns, “There’s still time for it to all go wrong.”
“You worry too much.” Pierre knocks his shoulder against Charles’, “So… do I want to know what’s going on between you and Max?”
The way he says it makes Charles squirm, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Pierre just raises his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face, “Of course. Max won’t stop looking at you and you’re doing everything but look at him. Not suspicious at all.”
Every part of Charles tenses. There is nothing more annoying than having a best friend who knows you better than anyone and happens to have spent most of his Formula One career as the teammate of your ex-husband.
To say Pierre can read in between the very fine lines of Charles and Max’s tumultuous relationship with practiced ease is an understatement.
“Nothing has changed.” Which is the truth. Charles has never stopped loving Max even perhaps when he should have and Max, well, Max has never not been a high-strung mess. It’s easy to assume that something had shifted.
Thankfully, Pierre just drops it. Hums noncommittedly before his attention gets pulled away by Xem asking him to come look at his new karting helmet. Thank God for children.
Charles finishes his glass of wine. Carefully thinks about whether he should have a third, decides against it and slinks off down the hall to the kitchen, where he can pretend to be doing something while he breathes.
The universe however is out to get him.
“Have I done something to upset you?”
Sighing, Charles turns to face him, “Why would I be upset with you?”
Max startles at the harsh tone, but Charles is not in the mood to deal with Max right now. He wants to be alone, ideally at home, in bed, drinking wine and eating a box of chocolate. Instead, he’s drowning at his daughter’s birthday party. Life is cruel. Charles was very familiar with that now.
“Charles, what’s wrong?” His concern makes Charles want to strangle him. Everything about Max makes Charles want to strangle him. Imagine knowing someone so intimately that you can tell just by the tone of their voice, the way their body tenses, the way they look at you, how they are feeling. Imagine knowing all that and still leave them like none of it mattered.
The rage bubbles over and for the first time in years, Charles feels completely unhinged, “What’s wrong? Fucking everything. It’s my daughter’s birthday and I’m spending the day trying to drown my sorrows in wine because I hate that I have to spend the day with you and pretend it doesn’t kill me every time I see you. I hate that I have to keep my brother from murdering you. Even though you would deserve it. I’m tired Max and I want to be alone for five fucking minutes.”
He's panting once he’s finished. Somehow feeling like a load had been lifted from his shoulders, he almost wants to thank Max. But Max stands there across the room, eyes wide. Staring at Charles like it was the first time he was seeing him. Maybe he was. Finally seeing the devastation he caused and of course this being Max Verstappen he has to make everything worse.
“You think any of this has been easy for me?” Charles almost kills him right there and then, “You think I haven’t spent every moment questioning every decision I’ve ever made when it comes to you? You think I don’t spend every minute I’m with you thinking about how I want to kiss you?”
And of course, Charles being Charles Leclerc he makes everything worse.
“Then why aren’t you kissing me?”
Max is across the room in the blink of an eye. They’re devouring each other in seconds. Just as it’s always been between them, this kiss is no different. A violent desperate dance, that they perfected decades ago. It’s so easy to fall straight back into pleasure with Max. No one has ever set every nerve on fire the way Max does. His back presses into the counter, his arms wrapped tight around Max’s neck. Gripping him tight. Terrified that he would slip out of his arms again.
When Max’s hands are all over him. Trying to reconnect with the body he used to know so well. Only, when Max slides a hand to grip a handful of ass does everything get turned up a notch. They’re rutting against each other like they’re teenagers again. It’s silly and ridiculous and it’s the most turned on Charles has been since their divorce. He hates him for making him feel this way. He loves him for the making him feel this way.
For a moment Charles considers it. Seriously considers it. Letting Max take him right there in the kitchen. A door away from a party full of family and children. But mercifully or horrifically, Pierre walks through the door. A surprised sound leaving his mouth as they spring apart from each other. Blinking, he looks from Charles to Max then Max to Charles. A firm shake of his head like he can’t believe the shit he’s just walked in on. Which is probably true.
“I’ll give you two a minute to sort yourselves out, Eloise wants cake.” Then he’s out the door quicker than he was in.
Panting into Max’s mouth, clarity washing over him, all Charles can think is what the fuck?