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Max is eating dinner when he sees the photos, lounging on the couch with the place balanced on his lap as he scrolls through his Instagram feed with one hand.
It’s a suggested post, with a white cartoon hand pointing to one of Charles’ and where he’s holding a tiny dog in one of his hands.
Max’s throat goes dry, forcing him to swallow instead of tracing the flexed tendons of his tanned skin with his eyes.
Charles looks good. Very good.
Max almost wants to drool, looking at the fit of the black mock turtleneck Charles is wearing in the picture, the way it seems to stretch over his chest.
But what really gets him is the tender way Charles cradles the puppy in his hand, the low quality robbing him of seeing his face with any clarity. Max knows though that he’s got that soft look on his face, the same one as in the photos of him with that other dog in LA.
This one is so small, though. It’s going straight to his head, seeing Charles’ hand engulf the tiny thing.
He’s no stranger to wanting Charles, everyone can tell he’d had a massive crush on the other driver for just about forever. He’s never wanted to be held like a purse dog before, but Charles does weird things to his brain, like all his brain cells leak out as soon as those green eyes look his way.
Like the last time they hung out, and Max made a fool of himself by tripping over his own shoes in the entryway of his own apartment.
Charles had giggled then, after steadying Max with a hand on his arm, fingers burning through the shirt as they wrapped around his bicep, strong.
Max had almost melted into a puddle in embarrassment right there. Probably would have if Charles hadn’t hauled him closer into a weird half-hug before letting go, although that only made the blood in his cheeks rush south, leaving him lightheaded.
He kind of wants to text him abt it, the dog. The thought bounces around in his head, variations of whose puppy , why are you holding it like that , and worse can you hold me like that . He throws his phone off to the side with a sigh, there's no way he could send any of those. Charles would ask how he even knew about it, he's observant like that.
Max sets his plate on the coffee table, the half eaten chicken cold.
He could text Charles about something else, the sim maybe? Charles always likes to talk about the cars with him.
He sighs, slumping back on the couch, staring at the white paint of his ceiling like it has the answer to his texting dilemma. His phone pings from where it has somehow ended up between he armrest and couch cushion, begging Max to dig it out. The screen lights up with a text message when he frees it.
Charlie
1 Image Attached
Quickly followed by another.
Charlie
look how cute max ❤️❤️❤️
A smile involuntarily takes over his face as he clicks on the notifications.
Charles' face pops up in their message thread, dimples on full display as he kisses the puppy he’s holding next to his face for the picture. His hair is curly, messily falling in his face, over his golden skin lit by the light of a street lamp.
The dog is cute, it's got fuzzy floppy ears and cute begging eyes, Max will concede that; however it’s not what his eyes focus on as he types his response.
Max
yes very cute
Charles' contact image, a different selfie he forced Max to set it as, fills his screen as his call comes in. Max’s heart rate skyrockets as he hits accept, putting the call on speaker in time to hear Carles giggle.
“Max! Hello, you are doing good?” Charles’s excited voice asks, flooding Max’s chest with warmth.
“Hi, Charles, my day was good, just a light workout. Yours?”
Charles giggles as a tiny bark comes through the line, in the background Max can hear the sounds of traffic and people talking. He must be walking back to wherever he stays in Maranello.
“I met Mimi’s brother! And spent time in the sim, of course, but Max, he is so cute! He is so small, I can hold him with one hand.” Charles rambles. Max can't help but smile.
“I saw–” Max starts before thinking, cutting himself off quickly, but the damage is already done. Charles giggles again.
“You saw?” he asks, teasingly. Max can feel his face heat up as he sputters for a few agonizing seconds.
“Yeah…” he eventually gives in, agreeing quietly, embarrassed at being found out so easily.
Charles hums over the line, pleased if Max can read the light tone in his voice right. Then he makes some unhappy noise, huffing at something as the noise of people talking gets closer.
“I have to go,” He says, pout clear even though Max can’t see his face. “I will see you soon?”
Max hums his assent, “I will be back in Monaco Friday.”
“Ah, I will come by then, we cannot have Jimmy and Sassy thinking I do not love them anymore,” Charles adds, tone so sincere Max is helpless against the ache that washes over him as he hums.
“Goodnight, Charlie.”
“ Bonne soirée , Max.”
The dog gives one more yap in the background before Charles ends the call, leaving Max in the silence of his Milton Keynes apartment. He scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh, painstakingly dragging himself off the couch, grabbing the abandoned plate to take to the kitchen.
By the time he gets ready for bed, there’s another message on his phone.
It's another selfie of Charles, in bed this time, his curls spread out around his head, smiling brightly at the camera, pretty lips curled at the corners. The puppy, nosing at one of his dimples and curled into the space next to his neck on the pillow, licks at Charles’ cheek.
Max’s breath stutters in his chest, face heating up again. Charles is so pretty, so handsome. He could wear the ugliest potato sack and Max would find him beautiful. Like this he looks ethereal, sleepy and cute, with one of his big hands wrapped lovingly around the puppy’s butt.
Charlie
i think i should keep him 🥰
Max goes to sleep with a smile on his face, thinking about Charles calling him to talk, even for the shortest time.
Charles shoves his way into Max’s apartment on Friday night with a pout, immediately rushing over to where Jimmy was lounging on the back of the couch peacefully to bundle the poor cat up in his arms, smothering him in so many kisses that Max feels terribly jealous of his cat for a second.
Max closes the door, wandering over to the couch, pulling up some show Charles has been insisting they watch together for weeks.
Eventually, Jimmy wriggles his way out of the Monégasque’s arms and Charles joins him on the couch after rooting through Max’s fridge for a drink that isn’t a red bull, settling for a glass of juice. They make idle chatter for a while before the show recaptures Charles’ attention.
Max couldn't tell you anything that happened on screen that episode, too busy looking at Charles from the corner of his eye, sneaking glances the other man was too focused to notice.
His tan hasn’t started to fade at all, but his facial hair has been left to grow out more, thick and coarse along his chin and jaw. In the fading sunlight coming through the windows, he looks golden, radiant as he gasps at something on screen.
When the episode ends, Charles returns his full attention to Max, green eyes imploring him to comment about it.
Max has nothing to say because he cannot start waxing poetic about Charles to the man himself so he just raises an eyebrow questioningly at the other. This, of course, sets Charles off into a rant about the main character and how cute her dog was. Max will admit, he zones out. He’s pretty sure that can be excused, he’s had a long day and a plane ride home. He could listen to Charles talk forever though, the way he loses his contraction when he gets heated over something, the pretty way his lips curl around his accented words, the excitement shown by the dimples in his cheeks.
He doesn't even realize he’s nodded along to whatever question he’s been asked until Charles’s face lights up impossibly more.
“Great! I will bring him by tomorrow then.”
What?
Who???
Max is mortified, how could he just agree to something like that? Without even remembering what it was. Victoria would never let him live this down if she ever found out.
Charles smiles, turning his attention back to the television to hit play on the next episode, somehow having gotten the remote from Max. That seems to be the end of the conversation though so Max is left to stew in his internal embarrassment with hot cheeks.
Max really wants to hit himself right now. It’s Charles; there's no telling what or who he's going to be bringing over tomorrow. His only saving grace is that be has nothing planned at least.
As Charles gets reabsorbed in the show, Max tries to wrack his brain for any clues.
He comes up blank. All he remembers is Charles' pretty face and beautiful pink lips, glistening with whatever lip balm he uses. The cuteness of his pout makes Max want to pinch his cheeks to see how red he can make them. Fuck . He needs to stop thinking about that when Charles is less than 3 ft away from him.
Max may be horrendously down bad, but he trusts Charles to at least not bring in a serial killer or something.
He hopes at least.
A puppy— the puppy. That's who Charles brings to his apartment just after noon.
He’s still holding it in one hand as he makes his way into the living room, Max following just behind.
Charles is rattling off at the mouth about something or other; but Max is not listening. Hes too busy starting at the puppy, in his apartment, in Charles’ big hand like some kind of clutch purse.
The puppy looks happy, content, like there’s nowhere else it would rather be than held in the palm of Charles’ hand. It doesn’t even bark once, lazily sticking its tongue out to lick at Charles’ fingers occasionally.
Max gets it. He too would be grateful to be held by such loving hands.
“Where are the cats?” Charles asks, bringing the puppy up to his chest, turning to face him. Max can feel the blush starting to warm up the tips of his ears as he struggles to remember.
“Uh…” he drawls, stuck watching as Charles gives the puppy an affectionate kiss on its head. “the sim room, maybe?”
“Ah! Well what are we standing here for then?” Charles exclaims, starting towards the hallway. Max follows faintly as he continues with, “I have to introduce them to Leo!”
Huh?
Max’s steps halt so quickly he almost trips, face lighting up pink so quickly he's infinitely glad Charles doesn’t turn around, continuing his path as Max tries to restart his brain.
Leo—like, lion ??
Max saw the comments of course. Charles telling interviewers once again that they have a great relationship, saying that he’ll give Max the flavor of ice cream he likes. Max had almost had a heart attack, hopelessly endeared by the small ways Charles points out how close they are.
Max’s favorite flavor would be whichever one he could taste from Charles lips, even pistachio if it came down to it.
He never imagined that Charles would want anything to do with him, in their past, but...Max hopes he’s not reading this wrong.
Charles ducks into the sim room, cutely calling for the cats, cooing when they come out from wherever they were hiding. He's the only one they come to like that. He crouches down, letting them sniff at Leo curiously, letting the puppy do the same from the safety of his hands. Max leans against the door frame, stunned, thinking about the lion images that line nearly every helmet he has displayed in the room.
“Max! They are so cute together, nos petits bébés.”
Charles grins up at him. He's beautiful, stunning—cheeks dimpled and rosy. Max loves him so much.
He crosses the room in a few quick steps, bending down at the waist to cup one side of Charles’ face, ducking in to press their lips together softly.
Charles makes a soft, surprised sound into Max’s mouth. His hand shoots up to hold Max’s in place when Max goes to pull back, chasing after his lips with a hum.
Max melts into the kiss, into the vanilla taste that lingers on Charles’ soft lips. It’s everything he hoped for, that he dreamed about. The hand over his is warm, soft but calloused from working on countless karts, a matching set to his own.
They pull back slowly, Max aches, having to part because of something so stupid as needing to breathe. Why would he need to breathe if he has Charles’s lips against his? That must be a flaw of human biology, but Max is willing to push the limit, like he does in the car, to keep the feel of Charles in his hold for even a fraction of a second longer.
Charles blinks up at him, lips parted in a starry gaze. His fingers grip tightly to Max’s, his face rosy pink all the way up his cheek bones.
Then, he smiles, blindingly—turned mischievous as he tugs Max down so that Max is on his knees next to him, nearly in his lap.
“Charlie,” Max whispers, lost for words—there’s too much he wants to say, to confess. It all gets jumbled under his tongue. How do you say a lifetime’s worth of feelings?
Charles leans in to peck at Max’s nose, giggling when it involuntarily scrunches up.
“You will go to the Masters Finals with me tomorrow, yes?” He asks, cutely twining their hands together.
And how is he supposed to say no to that? Maybe he doesn’t need to explain, Charles already knows.
He’s never been able to deny Charles anything, he’s not about to learn how to now—maybe in the future when he wants to get another dog, but, for now all Max can do is nod.
Charles nearly busts Max’s lip, tossing himself forward to link his arms around Max’s neck and pepper his face in kisses.
“It’s a date, then, mon cheri, ” he whispers into Max’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine as his hands fall to rest at Charles’ waist.
Max smiles back softly, “Mhm, it is.”
A tiny yap interrupts them, Charles gasping as they both turn their heads towards the sound.
Jimmy and Sassy curl around the small puppy, nudging him with their noses and kitten licks. They seem to have taken a quick liking to the little guy.
Charles leans into his side, once again cooing at the sight. He holds Max’s hand tightly, takes photos and videos with his free hand.
He feels warm inside and out as he watches three—now four—of the things he loves the most.
He is so lucky to have them love him back.