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Since returning from his extended winter training in the Alps, Charles’s Fear Of Missing Out had gone on overdrive. The gnawing feeling that he was missing something important while he’d been isolated in the mountains intensified with each passing day.
When he finally got phone service back, his ‘For You’ twitter timeline helped him battling the amplified FOMO out. The endless stream of tweets, curated just for him, became a constant companion the following days to his return to Monaco.
As anyone could expect, the algorithm had its own flaws and ended up surfacing unintended tweets, most of them amusing, even the ones where fans were shamelessly thirsting over him.
Even when he stumbled upon something that could be considered scandalous, he remained unfazed and resumed scrolling.
However, lately, he noticed a shift on his recommended feed. The page that used to display tweets about how good his body looked now was filled with a series of thirst tweets directed at other drivers.
Tweets about Jenson Button and Sebastian Vettel weren't a huge surprise. Apparently, Twitter thought he had a thing for blondes, which wasn't that far from the truth. What shocked him the most were the amount of tweets about Max that he saw on his timeline.
Max was undeniably handsome. Tall, with a broad and strong build, he exuded a certain charm that even caught Charles’ discerning eye. Still, the idea of Max being on the receiving end of those kinds of tweets had never crossed his mind. Max’s social presence revolved solely around racing, sight of him shirtless on his Instagram was almost non-existent and he never wore anything besides his team’s clothes.
All it took for Max to be the object of online desire was his post-race glow. And Charles, without a hint of shame, understood why. It was Max’s most captivating look.
But the internet, wild and free, also decided to fixate on a rather specific attribute of Max.
Charles was completely taken aback when the first tweet about the fellow driver’s strong thighs popped up on his timeline.
@worldchampmax
just one bite, please.
Four close-up photos of Max’s legs were under the words. Whether they were straining skinny jeans or flexing under the hem of shorts, those thighs deserved every bit of appreciation from the tweet. Maybe not enough to feel the urge to bite them, Charles’ mind didn't dare to entertain the thought, considered far too dangerous territory.
As if the algorithm laughed at him, more tweets about them kept showing up on his timeline.
@verstappen_n
does anyone else think his thighs could be the perfect pillow??? ☹️💝
It was a full body shot instead, Max was beaming and his eyes crinkled, probably laughing at something one of his mechanics said. He looked handsome but the bottom half of the picture, where his thighs obscenely stand out, was worthy of all the attention.
Charles read the caption and silently agreed with the user, objectively and only objectively, they look comfortable.
@lecl33rc
sitting on his lap would fix my life.
Charles wished that was scientifically true, at least he could get a chance to get his life together that way, maybe win a championship, just after sitting on that man's lap. Max manspreading on the picture below the words got Charles wondering how that would feel.
@blondstappen
what is the purpose of max having thick thighs if he is not choking me with them
The suggestive remark sent a flush traveling down Charles’ neck, the recurring fixation many fans had with Max’s thighs triggered a wave of emotions within him.
Completely flustered by how blunt some of the tweets were, Charles decided it was time for a break. Spending too much time reading about another driver's legs couldn’t be considered healthy. He hoped for his algorithm to calm down and offer a wider variety of content next time he scrolls.
When his thumb motioned to quit the app, his hand slipped up and Charles let out a piercing shriek. In a rush to hold his phone before it ended up shattered on the floor, his thumb landed on the screen with a soft tap, directly into the heart-shaped button below the tweet he was reading.
A red heart mocked him from the screen.
Another shriek.
“Fuck!”
With help of his enhanced reflexes, he unliked the tweet as quickly as he could, praying that no one caught it. Even if miles of a second passed, he hoped the user who posted the explicit tweet never noticed his name on their notifications.
The non-stop buzzing of his phone afterwards drew Charles to the edge, a sign that indeed the user had seen it. Desperate for a break, he silenced his phone and drowned his anxieties with a luxurious bath, indulging in a bath bomb and perfumed salts.
Submerged under rose scented water, he wished for his notifications to have slowed down. Charles braced himself for the first wave of messages to be from a PR employee asking why he liked a tweet about getting choked by another driver’s thighs.
It was worse than he imagined.
Yes, he did have messages from a team member asking about his mishap but the contact name ‘Max’ being on his recent messages made him choke on air.
Thank you for the compliment about my thighs 😊
Good for my ego and my trainer would appreciate it for sure
it was a mistake, my finger slipped
Explaining himself was far from necessary, he could have sent an emoji, a dismissive laugh, or a question about Max's leg day routine that could effectively deflect the teasing by Max.
Still, being straightforward and cleared out what actually happened let his mind at ease.
Except Max seemed like he ignored Charles' text completely.
Never thought you were into that tbh
Now I know
??????
mate it was a mistake 🙃
Why was that tweet in your timeline then
idk you know how twitter is
I actually don't know, enlighten me
you're annoying
See you in Bahrain next week. Hope you don't get distracted 😂
Charles worked out that leaving Max on read was the safest option, even a simple reply could get Max going, it seemed like the guy never missed an opportunity to tease him.
Before he threw his phone to take a second break from it, he typed a carefully worded message to the company's PR team, pleading they wouldn't blow it out of proportion.
Apparently his silly mistake caused a commotion on social media. First, the original user of the tweet, stunned that they got a notification saying that a Formula 1 driver liked, and then unliked, their tweet. Then, memes surfaced and tweets that showed Max's thighs with a caption like ‘Charles gets it’ went viral.
Even the Red Bull racing account joined in on the fun and posted pictures that not so subtly had Max’s thighs being the main attraction. They should send him a check for increasing their social media engagement.
Already in Bahrain for pre-season testing, Charles prayed that everyone would move on from his slip up but of course they didn't. The reporters had to ask something more lighthearted after the questions regarding his own contract and Lewis’. He hoped at least they had the decency to not bother Max about it, though he was sure he would be glad to indulge them.
In the media pen, Charles was crafting a perfect answer to whether he thought Lewis would make things harder in 2025 when he felt hands lightly squeezing his shoulders. “Hey mate, do you mind if I steal this one for a sec?” It was Max behind him, addressing the interviewer whose eyes instantly lit up, glad to have the attention of the world champion. “Of course you can have him, but bring him back to me when you're done.”
Charles turned himself around, ready to complain, and caught the wink Max threw at the interviewer behind him. “What are you doing?”
Max ignored him and dragged him with a painless but strong grip on his shoulders to another reporter, this one was from Germany. He recognized him immediately as one of the more lighthearted ones.
“Here's the guy you should be asking what you asked me earlier.” Max tapped on Charles' shoulders while grinning at him, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.
Charles felt a knot slowly tightening on his stomach, bracing for it.
“I asked Max Verstappen if he thinks he has good thighs but he said you're a better suitor to answer the question.”
Charles desired to send the biggest glare in Max’s direction but instead, he laughed nervously. Pushing those nerves away, he forced a smile, the one the media absolutely loved, and delivered a solid response. “Everyone on the grid has a good training regime so I assume everyone here has good legs.”
“Oh?” The grin remained on Max's face and the knot in Charles' stomach got tighter. “But you didn't like any tweets about Carlos’ thighs.”
The interviewer giggled at the exchange. Of course he did, he was all swooned by Max's skill to turn PR prince Charles into a flustered mess.
But two could play the same game, Charles refused to leave the encounter speechless. He had to put on a fight, like he usually did on the track.
“Only yours are worth a like.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, immediately regretting them. To top it all off, he also had thrown his best attempt of a wink to Max.
Max’s eyebrows rose up as he stared, a mix of bewilderment and genuine surprise. A silence stretched between them as wheels turned on Max's head, struggling to come up with a comeback.
The Red Bull employee recording Max's answers to the media let out a soft giggle and looked delighted that her driver was left without words.
Charles nodded his head politely, offering a tight smile to the reporter. He didn't dare to look back at Max, although he yearned to steal one last glance of his baffled expression before leaving. He put on a mental note to watch a video of the interview when he got back at the hotel.
Hopefully, no more questions about his mishap were asked and Max didn't show up again unprompted.
Accepting Lando’s offer to play paddle was a mistake, he should have known better. Charles wished he could have stayed in his hotel room instead of being on the receiving end of surviving the tempting view of Max wearing the shortest pair of shorts he ever saw him in.
Lando's grin stretched all over his face, ready to torment Charles about his alleged obsession with Max's thighs. He had caught him red-handed staring while they were waiting for Fernando. The frantic texts from Charles claiming that his twitter like was just a mistake were meaningless against that.
While Charles was bracing for any teasing remark, Lando decided he could make things worse. “Charles, Max, you should play together.”
Before Charles could mutter a complaint, Lando joined Fernando across the court, both ready to warm-up and dominate.
Charles fumed silently, cursing Lando for pairing him up with the worst paddle player among all the drivers. He also cursed Max internally for subjecting him to a guaranteed view of the back of his thighs.
Fernando and Lando worked well together as a team. Both had no mercy, especially on Max, who tried to return every ball they threw his way.
A groan escaped Charles' lips as another ball streaked past Max, who gave his all but not enough to catch it. “Can you put those legs to use and run faster?”
He never meant to snap but his inner competitive self couldn't help it, frustration bubbled over as defeat neared them. He didn’t care if it was just a casual paddle game between colleagues, the primal need of being competitive never went away.
He regretted his lashing out immediately though, after hearing Max's rebuttal.
“Shouldn't I use them to choke you instead?”
Lando’s eyes were glimmering, definitely loving the tension that was simmering on the court. Before Charles got another chance to offend Max, Fernando cut in. “Keep that talk out of here, I am begging you.”
“And Max stop pretending you haven't been staring at his ass this whole time.”
The game resumed, the ball kept going, back-and-forth, court to court, without any other word exchanged between them. Charles took Max's silence as a personal small win.
The last ball of the match went, of course, to Max. Fernando and Lando continued attacking him, which Charles considered a little bit unfair. He had stepped on Max's way to help but the last one went excessively wide, forcing Max to take a big side-step and stretch his arm to get it. A second later, the sounds of his heavy breaths and Lando's cheers were signs that the game was over.
The sight of a defeated Max was foreign, catching his breath, kneeled. Charles was sure the dutch’s ego got bruised after that horrendous performance. They both had lost the match as a team, still, no one needed to know that the image of a sweaty Max stung by defeat made up for the loss.
Despite everything, Charles pushed his way to Max with a well-deserved compliment hanging from his lips. He extended his hand, anticipating, “You did well, good game.”
A charged silence hung in the air as their eyes met, neither of them looking away. Then, Max shifted, putting his weight back and sitting on his heels. The sudden motion sent a jolt through Charles.
He flinched, being the first one to break their unwavering eye contact. His focus blurred for a second, all he registered was a flash of pale skin after the pair of Max's shorts rode up, which made his thigh muscles stand out obscenely.
A heat ran through his face, feeling like there was a magnetic force that made it impossible to tear his eyes away. Totally consumed by the sight, he prayed for inhuman strength to hold himself back from straddling him.
Charles didn't bother hearing what Max said back to him, he crossed the court to congratulate Lando and Fernando for their fair win and settled on getting out of there as soon as he could. Desperate, he grabbed his things and exited the court with a fleeting wave.
Why did you leave all of a sudden???
We didn't even take a picture
You forgot your towel too
[img]
keep it mate, i have tons
Whatever
Sorry I sucked, paddle is not my thing I guess
you just need more practice😘
Maybe
Come get your towel, room 204
Charles was not sure why he was even bothering going to Max’s room. Max could keep the towel or return it the next time they see each other at the paddock. But the words on the message could be laced with a different intention that didn't involve a stupid towel and curiosity gnawed at Charles like an itch.
Seconds later, he found himself staring at a sign with the number 204 in front of him. He hesitated for a moment, almost walking away, but he collected himself, suddenly wondering why he was getting so worked up over it.
Knocking twice was enough as Max opened the door immediately. Good fortune on his side, Max was wearing sweatpants, no flesh on display. A swirl of disappointment bubbled on his stomach, hoping it didn't reveal in his face.
“I came here for my towel.” Charles blurted, straight to the point, cutting through. He needed to grab it, escape this room, and retreat back to the safety of his own. He just wished Max could make it easy.
Max's voice, dripping with sarcasm, echoed inside the room. "Well, hello to you too, Charles."
And because he never made things easy, Max gestured him inside. Charles fought the urge to ask the question that hung in the air, why was Max inviting him in if all it took was to simply give him the towel and send him off.
Max sat down on the bed, arms crossed and a frown etched on his face. A loud sigh left his lips, a sound that resonated with the disappointment of a parent.
Charles braced himself, he felt like a child, ready to be lectured.
“Why would you leave like that? Lando was furious.”
Charles couldn’t help himself and rolled his eyes, Max acted like a simple text message wouldn’t fix everything. A quick apology with a kissy face emoji next to it would be enough to get Lando to forgive him, because he always did, the guy could never stay mad at anyone for too long.
Yet, leaving the court wasn’t a choice, it was a desperate need to save himself from embarrassment. They didn't have to witness the sight of his shorts getting tighter after seeing flesh on display like he was a Victorian man seeing an ankle.
Just because Charles was petty and hated the idea of coming to Max’s room just to get scolded for something so stupid, he retorted, “I'm a busy guy, Max.”
“What was so important that it couldn't wait for us to take a picture?” Max demanded.
Heat crawled up Charles. He just came here for a towel, not to get interrogated. Never being considered a patient guy, Charles protested, “Mate, can you give me my stuff back?”
Max and his stubbornness didn't back down, ever. A smirk played on his lips. "Why did you run off?" he taunted.
“I told you, I had things to-”
“No, you didn't. I know you're lying.”
“Can’t a man have secrets?” Charles walked up to the door, decided on leaving the room and putting an end to their useless argument. Screw his towel, he was pretty sure his trainer Andrea had another one of those microfiber towels packed on his suitcase.
Max couldn’t allow him to leave with a peace of mind, he always preferred to have the last word on every single exchange he ever participated in.
“Like secretly drooling over my legs the whole match?”
The accusation pushed Charles to the edge. Without needing to take a look back, Charles knew Max was wearing a triumphant smirk, every word he said dripped in smugness.
Charles knew he shouldn’t have reacted to the words, but something stirred within him and made his tongue betray him, spitting out a response.
“As if you haven't been looking at my ass the whole time!”
“I can admit it, at least.” Max threw his head back in a boastful laugh. Then, like it was such a casual thing to say to Charles’ face, he leaned in and said, blunt and confident. “You got a nice ass and a small waist.”
Charles blinked, bewildered, with a flush that slowly crept up on his face. Such outrageous and specific compliments could belong on social media, where he had read even worse, but he never expected them to be directly coming out of Max's mouth.
Charles wrestled with himself, he wanted to say something, he needed to. He could plead Max to end their relentless argument, to give up on waiting for Charles to admit things he preferred buried. Yet, another part, craved Max to keep egging him on, to never cease the teasing. He needed the sting of accusations and their heated back-and-forth that left him reeling and, undeniably, a little aroused.
He was still pent up from when he ran off the court and after coming out of his own storm of conflicting desires, he wished for his oversized t-shirt to be long enough to hide what was happening under his shorts.
“Do you need me to admit worse things, Charles?”
He barely registered Max's question, his attention taken over by a need that clawed at him, demanding a way out.
“Can we get this over with? Hand me my towel or I'm leaving.” Charles insisted, for the last time.
Max retrieved the towel from his bag and as if he hadn't had enough, he plopped down on the bed once again, sporting the same disappointed look from earlier. When Charles reached out for the towel, a sudden pull sent him reeling. With a surprised yelp, he tumbled right on top of Max’s lap.
Charles braced himself against Max's shoulders, with both knees sinking on the bed. A hand flew out, snaking around his waist with a perfect grip. The direct touch on his skin felt like it could make him sing melodies.
He would have loved to indulge the blissed out part of his brain that craved for the intimacy but his voice of reason chimed in, worried about the position they ended up in, which was not too promising on hiding the tent in his shorts.
It felt like Charles had been running away long enough, from Max, from a truth that burned through him. He had tried to outrun his simmering attraction for Max many times. But his body, a traitor, ached for surrender.
Before he contemplated escape and pulled himself away, another hand slithered his way over the side of his hip, pulling him down onto Max's thighs. The contact under him sent a jolt straight to his core, it seared between them and made heat bloom all over Charles’ features, staining his ears red.
The sensation sent a tremor through him, he was completely losing his composure and every thought he had of running faded away.
Max leaned, his hot breath brushed against the blush that painted his ear. Charles knew there was no turning back now, realizing he already had sealed his fate the moment he knocked on the door. “I could see your shorts getting tighter, you know?”
Charles buried his face on the other's shoulders, a silent surrender. His clothes weren’t enough, offering little to no protection on hiding the truth his body so blatantly displayed. Desperation rose up, not a need to flee, because that was the last thing he wanted. With a clenched jaw, he felt himself holding back, focused on Max's voice rather than on his shameless wish for friction and release.
As if he was aware of Charles' internal turmoil, Max gave him an ultimatum.
“You can get out of here with your towel…” Max drawled the words out, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Charles’ spine. All thoughts of the towel had evaporated, a piece of cloth that laid on the floor the moment he landed squarely on top of Max, “...or you can stay and rub yourself all over my lap.”
The words hung in the air, an invitation that made Charles's breath hitch. Each beat of the silence echoed Charles’ frantic heart. He wouldn’t run. Not again. He made his choice the moment he felt Max's blazing touch on his skin. A thrill of anticipation surges through him.
Testing his bravery, Charles granted his own wish, rocking his hips slowly, back and forth, not wanting to get ahead of himself. The strong grip on his hips tightened and that was the sign he needed to keep moving, seeking that friction that made him let out the first one of many moans right on Max's ear.