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It was Christmas Eve, Eve. The 23rd December.
As he glanced in the mirror he could feel the heady mix of excitement and nerves vibrating off of him. He was sure his downstairs neighbour was going to come and ruin his excitement if he kept pacing, he must have been making a racket and if Pierre was here he’d be having a pop about ‘wearing the carpet thin’.
It was finally the day, finally the date. The entirety of his wardrobe was littered across his bedroom floor, and he wasn’t sure but he must have tried on every shirt and jumper he owned before finally settling on a deep green button shirt, open with a black t shirt underneath. A pair of black skinny jeans and a camel coloured jacket he’d borrowed from Pierre in an effort to look a little more like an adult than usual.
As he and Pierre had watched Love Actually the night before he’d spent close to an hour carefully scrubbing his rings with a silver cloth. Gently removing the flecks of pastel they were littered with before they were shiny and new again.
It was only a week ago when he failed the green cross code and smacked into what he had later learnt was a Ferrari Spider. He’d also later learnt that it cost more than his entire apartment building, he’d felt a little faint upon learning this.
Charles had managed to keep his composure and text Max a meagre five minutes after he’d arrived home, with the response bleeping back before he’d even managed to boil the water for his pasta.
And now three minutes before seven, he was anxiously peering out of the window waiting for Max’s driver to pick him up. He’d offered to drive multiple times, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable at the idea of putting someone out to pick him up. Maybe Max didn’t trust him to get there in one piece, his own driving ability hanging in the balance anyway.
All Charles knew was he was to be ready and Max would handle the rest, his care and detail for their date making his stomach flip.
He couldn’t hide the shock, his jaw agape when he finds out the destination for their date. He shyly slid into the backseats of the dark car, sinking into the plush leather and after five minutes of silent driving finally plucking up the courage to ask where they’re heading.
He’d expected a restaurant or bar, Monaco was packed to the brim with them and he was sure with Max’s influence they’d be able to hire somewhere private. But instead he thought he might he have been hallucinating, they were going to ‘Mr Verstappen’s’ house.
The fuck.
The drive up to the house was vast, twisting and turning with greenery either side. He started to wonder if he was actually being taken to be murdered and that the two time world champion actually had an elusive side hustle as a serial killer. But the sharp crunch of gravel echoing into the silent evening stopped him spiralling. From the expansive darkness, a solitary farmhouse appears.
Exposed red brick, windows with cream shutters, ivy tangling across the front of the house. Small firefly lights hanging along the guttering illuminating the greenery. It was beautiful, it reminded him of the sound of music, and it was the last thing he’d expected from Max.
Naturally, he’d spent a lot of time researching the Redbull driver, indulging himself in every piece of discourse surrounding him, pouring over every article. He expected something more similar to a penthouse apartment, all sleek and modern. But instead the house had lashings of character, it looked more like a family home than a bachelor pad for a millionaire. If Charles had felt inferior before, he certainly did now.
A boring normal primary school teacher. Sharing a tiny two bedroom apartment as far on the edge of Monte Carlo as possible, with his friend Pierre. He could feel panic rising in his chest, what the fuck was he doing here.
As the car pulls to a stop infront of the house, the bright blue front door swings open, Max leaning against the doorframe, almost filling the entire space height and width.
He looked different from the vision in black the first time they’d met, this time he looked softer, more cuddly. An oatmeal coloured cashmere jumper on his torso, he’d never seen a piece of fabric look so buttery soft. Charles wanted to wrap his arms around the blonde haired man, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and inhale the aroma of the musky aftershave which had bewitched him the first time.
In all of his research he’d seen endless chatter about ‘Mad Max’ but standing here with a gentle smile across his lips he looked more accustomed to be sat limbs tangled on the play mat in his classroom than fighting tooth or nail for championships. The reckless and cutthroat man couldn’t have seemed further away from this Max.
It was almost an out of body experience as his feet hit the gravel, making his way towards him. He was already waiting with arms unfolded, ready to pull Charles into a bone crushing hug, “I’m so happy to see you” Max murmurs muffled against the top of Charles head. “Same” the dark haired man could only reply.
As they entered the house, the smell of
home cooked food is heavy in the air. He had no idea what it was, but the it smelt rich and well seasoned, his mouth already watering.
He knows he’s probably acting like a tourist in a museum as his eyes dart around his surroundings, trying desperately to absorb everything all at once. He’d never been somewhere which such a homely and cosy feel, it felt like a hug.
Max finally stops on a dimly lit room with a roaring fireplace, crackling loudly, a dining table set for two. Charles can barely catch his breath, he’d never seen so many candles littering every surface, it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.
He can barely speak when he croaks out “did, did you do all of this?” pulling out his chair allowing him to sit down, Max grins down at the dark haired man in response.
“Yes I did, all for you” he replies, “red or white wine? But I’m thinking you’re a red man” Max continues, a shy expression on his face.
He was right, of course he was. “Red please, you’re right always red” he chuckles as Max exits the room.
He wondered if he’d slipped and fallen into an alternate reality, that he was going to wake up with his head on his desk it all being a dream.
The blonde haired man returned, with what looked like a very expensive bottle of red and as Charles took a sip, the burst of flavour only confirmed this. Rich and full bodied.
As the evening passed, it was like a game of tennis across the table, questions exchanged back and forth between the two men, slowly learning more information about eachother. He’d told Max about growing up in Monaco, about his mother and brothers, about his love for playing piano. But he was sure the love struck expression on his face only intensified as he rambled about his kids.
All thirty of them, even when they make his life hard and he wonders why he didn’t do something boring like be an accountant like his brother, it was always with a pinch of salt. He’d grumble and groan but those thirty little faces smiling back at him every morning made it worthwhile, offered him a little bit of purpose as his alarm cruelly blared before the sun had risen.
A fond smile played on Max’s lips as Charles barely stopped for air, he could feel his heart bursting through his ribs at how he was looking at him. He wasn’t bored, he wasn't just waiting for Charles to shut up, he cared.
His face completely relaxed listening to Charles talk, he looked divine. In all of his social media stalking he’d gotten used to seeing his bushy brows furrowed, his jaw clenched. But right now he was languid, leaning back in his chair at ease, effortless.
Charles couldn’t absorb anything Max was saying fast enough, hanging on his every word. His accent becoming more pronounced the more excited he got, talking about his childhood in Belgium, his sister and his nephews. He had never been a fan of racing, at all, but listening to Max talk about his job with such passion and drive it made Charles swell with pride. He was so talented, Charles definitely knew that but he was seemingly a master of playing down his own achievements, like it was all no big deal.
The racing driver continued to surprise him when he felt a furry creature snaking around his legs, a soft little cat with the most beautiful markings. He’d never expected something so domestic of Max, something so settled and tender.
He later learnt that was Sassy and Jimmy was off elsewhere exploring. Max’s two little loves, apparently Sassy was hostile and didn’t like new people, but she was purring louder than he’d ever heard a cat purr, jutting her head towards Charles
making sure he had the right spot. He could see Max from the corner of his eye staring incredulously as he reached towards his glass, bringing it to his lips before taking a sip he murmurs “she’s not the only one who likes having you here”
Charles could feel a blush growing in his cheeks, maybe a mixture of the wine and his kind words, but Charles liked being there. He felt like he’d known him his whole life, the comfort and ease between the two men nothing Charles had ever felt before. He couldn’t believe the lengths Max had gone too that evening, the home cooked meal, inviting into his home, his own space. Allowing him to meet his pets, it felt like more. It felt intimate.
He was at risk of fall, and badly. This man was practically holding his heart in his hands already, and the fall from this was going to hurt. Taking a longer sip than anticipated, almost draining his glass he reminds himself it’ll be fun whilst it lasts. Character building as Pierre would tell him, what’s a bit of heartbreak at Christmas.
Following Max into the living room, he’s in awe. The Christmas tree standing proudly in-front of the bay window was the most beautiful tree he’d ever seen, immaculately to colour scheme littered with gold baubles. The warm glow of the fairy lights offering a glow across the room. A deep teal velvet sofa sitting in the middle of the room, and Charles can’t help but sink into as Max went in search for more wine. Not that they really needed it.
As Max threw himself down next to Charles, he can feel him pressed against him. Their jean clad thighs firm against the other, their warmth bleeding into each other, Max’s arm trailing across the back of the sofa, his fingers tracing small patterns on his shoulder. The comfortable lull of silence washed over the two of them, but the internal panic Charles felt began to rise bit by bit. What if he’d misread the man completely, what if he didn’t want Charles in the same way he desperately wanted him.
But his mind is silenced as a deep voice begins to speak “hm Charles?” Max asks. The dark haired man hums in response as he turns to look at Max, his ocean eyes glimmering in the light. And then Max just simply gestures with his eyes, glancing up to the ceiling, in an exaggerated movement. A little slow to the mark, he’ll blame the alcohol, Charles realises after the second time he wants him to follow his gaze.
Mistletoe.
Carefully hanging above the sofa, yet randomly in the middle of the room. The small smile on Max’s lips confirms the placement might have been a little calculated. He leans closer to Charles, his warm breath tickling his neck.
“Merry Christmas love” he whispers.
Charles isn’t sure who closes the gap first as their lips press against eachother, moving in sync. Max’s lips were soft and plush against his own, the taste of wine mingling from both of them.
Christmas Eve now, sitting on Max Verstappen’s sofa, with his tongue down his throat, what on earth.
But not even that, he’s not just kissing F1 star Max. He’s kissing the kind, gentle, thoughtful, gorgeous Max, the one who he’s sure now after kissing him once he’ll never be able to forget.
But as Max’s lips began to trail down his neck, nipping at the sweet spot at the base of his collar bones, causing a breathy slightly embarrassing moan to squeak out of him, maybe he won’t have to forget him. Maybe he could just enjoy him.