Work Text:
-Rosso Corsa-
Beyond his love for Max and Leo, Charles had another passion that resonated deeply with him, the piano. It wasn’t just any piano that held his heart, but the transparent one that Max had gifted him, a symbol of love and thoughtfulness. After the Monza 2024 podium, Max had orchestrated a surprise that took Charles’s breath away: an ethereal hanging garden, framed by elegant Greek pillars, nestled in the tranquillity of their home. At the heart of this serene paradise stood a glass-domed structure, glistening in the sunlight, with a gleaming white piano at its centre.
Whenever Charles found time amidst his demanding schedule, he would retreat to this hidden haven. There, he would play, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the keys, filling the air with melodies that seemed to echo the serenity of his soul. Alone, at peace, and lost in the beauty of his music, Charles found solace in these moments. Max, ever the admirer, often found himself secretly watching from behind the lush greenery, captivated by the sight of his Monegasque love. Despite being Charles’s husband, Max couldn’t help but marvel at the elegance and beauty that unfolded before his eyes, as if witnessing it for the first time.
Charles’s brilliance shone in those moments, the way he smiled, sometimes with a sigh of relief, reminiscent of the rare, unguarded emotions seen on a Formula One podium. There were times when the music would move him to tears, the notes striking chords deep within, causing an emotional outpour that felt raw and honest. And then there were times, after the melody had lulled his mind and body into relaxation, where he would simply drift to sleep. For those times, Max had carefully built a hammock nearby, covered in layers of silk, secured with golden lace that elegantly pooled to the floor, a space of comfort and warmth.
This garden was sacred. Max had made it clear that no one, not even the closest of friends or family, could enter the space. It was a view reserved for him alone. To Max, this sight of Charles, serenading the world with his music, smiling in bliss, or dozing softly, was a privilege he guarded fiercely. This was his Charles, and this moment belonged to him alone.
"You've been smiling a lot since Monza," Max said as he approached Charles from the stairs, his eyes soft with admiration. His gaze locked onto Charles, who sat poised at the piano, a look of quiet contentment on his face.
"And you've been bringing me flowers every day since," Charles replied, pausing the melody as his fingers rested on the piano keys. A teasing smile tugged at his lips.
"I like seeing you surrounded by my gifts," Max admitted, his voice warm and unguarded, his gaze lingering on the delicate flowers spread around the room. The ethereal garden they stood in already felt like a paradise, but adding the vibrancy of the blooms made it feel even more personal, like a reflection of their love.
"Max Emilian," Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "What a gentleman you are."
Max smirked but took a step back, almost as if realising he might be intruding. He dipped his head slightly in mock regret, though his eyes never left Charles. "Forgive my rudeness," he murmured, his tone gentle but sincere. "I should have stayed and watched you play from a distance instead of interrupting like this."
Charles’s smile deepened, his expression softening into something far more intimate. He picked up the bouquet of flowers Max had brought him earlier and carefully placed them atop the piano, the vibrant colours a beautiful contrast to the white keys beneath. "I don’t mind you being here," he said, his voice tender, almost a whisper, "in my personal space." He looked up, his gaze meeting Max’s with an intensity that made the air between them feel thick with unspoken emotions. "In fact," Charles added, his voice faltering for a second before softening even more, "I love it very much."
Max’s face lit up with affection, the ease between them palpable. "Then I’ll stay." Max said softly, stepping forward again, but this time with a gentleness that mirrored the atmosphere surrounding them.
Charles stood barefoot, the cool stone beneath his feet grounding him as he gazed at Max, who was dressed in his usual tailored black suit. The contrast between them was striking, Charles, so relaxed and natural, his bare skin bathed in the soft light of the garden, and Max, ever composed and sharp, his dark attire only making his blue eyes stand out even more. The height difference between them made Charles instinctively tip-toe, his bare toes curling slightly as he lifted himself, eager to close the small gap between their faces.
For a moment, neither of them moved, simply admiring each other with the kind of infatuation that felt almost unreal, like the kind of love only young hearts, newly struck by Cupid's arrow, could experience. But this wasn’t new; it happened every time they were together. No matter how many moments they shared, every glance still felt fresh, every touch still sent a spark through their veins. Charles, lost in the depth of Max’s gaze, felt his heart race. His lips curled into a soft, stupidly wide smile, the kind he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. In front of Max, he was always like this, bare, vulnerable, but completely at ease, as though his heart had found its home.
Max’s own expression softened as he watched Charles. His hand slid gently around Charles’s waist, pulling him closer in one swift, effortless motion. The world around them faded; it was just the two of them now, wrapped up in the quiet intensity of their love. Max leaned down, their foreheads touching for a split second before he closed the distance completely, planting a soft, feather-light kiss on Charles’s lips.
That one kiss quickly became many, Max’s lips brushing against Charles’s in a series of tender, affectionate touches. Each one lingered just long enough to make Charles’s breath hitch. Max's grip tightened slightly, his other hand sliding up to cradle the back of Charles's neck, fingers threading through his hair. There was something unhurried about it, as if Max was savouring every second, pouring all the love he could into these small, gentle gestures.
Charles melted into Max’s embrace, his chest pressing against the fabric of Max's suit, feeling the warmth radiating between them. His hands clutched softly at the lapels of Max’s jacket as though anchoring himself, his heart thudding in his chest, completely lost in the moment. The kisses kept coming, gentle, insistent, each one leaving Charles more breathless than the last. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, feeling drunk on love, on Max’s touch, as though nothing else mattered.
“What’s this?” Charles asked, his eyes narrowing playfully as he noticed the paper bag in Max’s hand.
“A gift, alongside the flowers,” Max replied, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he extended the bag.
Charles took it with a chuckle, glancing at the logo embossed on the bag. “That’s Dior,” he laughed softly, shaking his head in amusement.
“Is that so?” Max's voice was casual, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. He handed over the luxury item with the same nonchalance, though the moment held a quiet significance between them.
Charles opened the bag and reached inside, pulling out a sleek, beautifully packaged lipstick. His brow furrowed for a moment, but then his lips parted in a soft gasp when he saw the colour, red. A deep, striking red. Rossa. The exact shade that mirrored the iconic Ferrari, the car that so often became a part of their lives. Max’s gaze flickered, the corners of his mouth twitching as his eyes settled on Charles again, the realisation dawning between them.
“They thought you were buying it for a girlfriend,” Charles mused as he twisted the lipstick open, inspecting the vibrant colour. His smile was coy, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked back up at Max.
“I did tell them it was for my husband,” Max said evenly, his voice steady but laced with a certain intensity that never failed to send a shiver down Charles’s spine. His gaze darkened slightly as he stared at the man in front of him. Charles stood barefoot in his silk pyjamas, the soft light catching on his pale skin, highlighting the delicate veins visible along his feet and ankles. Those green veins, faint but ever-present, seemed to pulse under the sun’s warm glow. Max’s eyes lingered there for a moment, captivated by the simplicity of it, the quiet elegance of Charles’s bare feet, the rawness of his skin, so exposed and unguarded in these intimate moments.
But then Max’s thoughts drifted, darkening in the most familiar way. His mind wandered back to the way Charles always bared his neck when they were lost in the throes of passion, the way those very veins, now so innocent, would pulse with life, with want, every time Max took him. That spot, the one just beneath Charles’s ear, where his pulse would quicken as Max kissed him there, slowly, relentlessly, before claiming him completely.
Max swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to shake the vivid image from his mind. But Charles, standing there so casually, barefoot and beautiful, made it impossible to forget.
Max, are you listening?" Charles’s voice broke through the haze in Max’s mind. He had already made himself comfortable, sitting casually on top of the piano, his legs dangling playfully over the edge.
Max blinked, his thoughts still swirling, but he nodded. "Shall we head back inside?" he offered, though the words came out flat, his mind clearly elsewhere.
Charles raised an eyebrow, amused at Max’s half-hearted response. "Oh, really?" he teased, thinking for a moment that Max was about to whisk him off to bed instead, given the intensity brewing behind those blue eyes.
Charles let out a soft, endearing sigh, his voice lilting with affection as he whispered, "Oh, Maxy…" His tone was laced with a knowing tease, as though he were fully aware of the effect he was having on Max. "You’re not listening, are you?"
As Charles shifted slightly, crossing his legs, Max’s gaze followed the movement, almost helpless to the pull. His eyes traced the delicate curve of Charles’s ankle, travelling up his bare legs to where his silk pyjamas clung loosely to his thighs. Max swallowed hard as his eyes moved upwards, following the line of Charles’s chest, before they finally settled on his lips, those soft, kissable lips, now smeared with the vivid red of the lipstick.
"Do you think they know it’s me?" Charles asked, his curiosity peaking as he gazed at the lipstick in his hand. He twirled it between his fingers, admiring the shade. "This is Ferrari’s red. Rosso Corsa," he added, almost absentmindedly, but with a hint of pride in his voice.
Max’s breath hitched, his eyes jolting in panic as he watched Charles’s lips, now painted with that bold, striking red. Fuck. The sight was enough to drive him mad. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell.
His mind raced, his pulse quickening. The red on Charles’s lips felt like a challenge, a provocation, one that Max wasn’t sure he could resist. His usual cool composure was slipping, and with every passing second, his gaze grew darker, more intense, filled with a desire that was rapidly spiralling out of control.
Charles, perched so innocently on top of the piano, was blissfully unaware of just how deeply he was testing Max's restraint. The red lipstick, Ferrari’s red, his red, had ignited something primal in Max, something that Charles, whether knowingly or not, had awakened with a single teasing smirk.
Max’s jaw tightened, his body tensing as he took a step closer, unable to tear his eyes away from Charles. The playful curiosity in Charles’s question hung in the air, but Max wasn’t listening anymore. All he could think about was wiping that lipstick from Charles’s lips in the only way he knew how, with a kiss so deep and consuming, it would leave them both breathless.
"Come here, love," Charles called softly, his voice like a siren’s song, irresistible and beckoning. Max felt his body respond instinctively, drawn to the sound as though Charles had cast a spell. The words melted in his ears, soft and intoxicating, a whisper that seemed to brush against his skin, setting his nerves alight. He moved closer, and before he even realised it, Charles was leaning in, pressing a kiss, one, then another, against his right cheek, each one slow and deliberate, the warmth of Charles's lips lingering like a gentle burn.
Charles pulled back just enough to grin mischievously, his eyes dancing with delight. "Can you work with these stains?" he teased, noticing the faint smudge of lipstick now marking Max's cheek, a bold red against his pale skin.
"Anything," Max replied, his voice a low murmur as his hands slid to Charles’s waist, pulling him closer. "Name it."
For a moment, Charles said nothing, just letting his eyes roam over Max’s face. His fingers grazed Max’s jaw, gently brushing the edge of the red mark he had left. "You are so beautiful, Max," he whispered, his tone suddenly softer, almost reverent, as if he were seeing Max in a different light. The sunlight caught Max’s cerulean blue eyes, making them glisten like the transparent depths of an ocean, inviting Charles to dive in, to sail endlessly through the waters of Max’s gaze.
Max’s breath caught in his throat, his heart stuttering at the unexpected tenderness in Charles’s words. Oh, Charles, he thought, his mind swirling with unspoken emotion, you’re the beautiful one here. But he didn’t say it aloud. Instead, his eyes remained locked on Charles, tracing the delicate lines of his face, the flush of his lips, the way the red lipstick contrasted with his pale skin and playful grin.
In this moment, Charles looked like everything Max had ever dreamed of, ethereal, untouched by the world, as if he belonged solely in this hidden sanctuary they had created together. Max felt his grip on Charles tighten, his need to be closer, to feel that beauty against him, more urgent than ever.
"You’re thinking of how to coax me to bed, aren’t you?" Charles teased, his voice light but laced with playful knowing. He had seen that look in Max’s eyes before, the subtle shift in his gaze, the way his fingers gripped a little tighter. Charles knew how to read Max like a book, and more than that, he knew exactly how to push him.
Max pulled back slightly, a faint flush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "I’m that obvious, huh?" He exhaled a soft chuckle, though there was a trace of shame in his tone. He hated that he couldn’t hide how much he wanted Charles, how easily his desire showed.
"Don’t worry," Charles replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he let his fingers trail down Max’s chest. "You can have me as much as you desire me." The words were a whispered promise, almost too easy, but they hung in the air between them like a temptation.
Max’s breath hitched at that, his control wavering. He inhaled deeply, trying to ground himself, but Charles’s proximity made it impossible to think clearly. "Charles," he began, his voice rough with restraint, "that’s a dangerous offer."
And it was. Here Max was, trying to rein in his lust, to remind himself that their love wasn’t just about the physical, but Charles? Charles wasn’t making it easy. He had always been good at tempting him, at pushing him right to the edge, making it impossible for Max to resist. It was maddening, how easily Charles could unravel him with just a few well-placed words, a single look.
Max could feel it now, the heat between them intensifying, the air thick with the unspoken tension that Charles had created with that innocent little smile. Charles, you little whore, Max thought, a possessive hunger swirling in his gut, knowing all too well that Charles was playing with fire. But it wasn’t just lust, it was the way Charles could make him feel so utterly consumed, like the world outside didn’t exist, like all that mattered was this moment, here, now.
Max’s fingers gripped Charles’s waist tighter, his control slipping with every passing second. "You always do this," Max muttered, his lips brushing against Charles’s ear, his voice low and dark, "push me to the edge, make it impossible for me to say no."
Charles just smiled, leaning in, pressing himself closer to Max, as though daring him to give in. And Max knew he would. He always did.
Charles’s fingers were light, almost playful, as they reached for the earphone in Max’s ear, the one connected to the house security system. He held Max’s gaze, mischief dancing in his eyes as he pulled the device free, knowing full well what his next move would be.
"Linda," Max began, his voice steady, though Charles's touch already had him on edge. "Clear the hanging garden area. If I’m not back in the meeting room, handle the rest." His tone was curt, his focus shifting entirely to the man in front of him.
"Christian and your precious Red Bull are going to be furious," Charles teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he expertly unbuttoned Max’s shirt, his fingers quick and deft. "And your sister too."
Despite his words, there was no urgency or real concern in Charles’s tone. If anything, there was an almost wicked delight in the way he peeled Max’s shirt open, exposing the smooth skin beneath. His hands brushed over Max’s chest, and he felt the way Max’s breath hitched at the contact.
"They can wait," Max growled, his patience already worn thin as Charles continued to work him up. The shirt hung loosely on his shoulders now, barely clinging on, but Max wasn’t going to wait for it to fall. With a swift motion, he shrugged it off entirely, the fabric falling to the floor in a careless heap as he dived in, lips crashing against Charles’s with a hunger that couldn’t be denied any longer.
The kiss was fierce, possessive, as though Max were claiming what was already his, but Charles responded eagerly, meeting Max's intensity with his own. His fingers wound into Max’s hair, tugging lightly as their bodies pressed together, the heat between them building rapidly.
Max’s mind raced for a split second, thoughts of his meeting with Christian Horner, the race preparations, his sister’s upcoming event, everything seemed to blur and fade into the background. None of it mattered. Not when Charles was in his arms, unbuttoning his clothes like he owned him, as if the world outside their garden could wait.
And maybe it could, because right now, Max had only one focus, Charles.
Later that afternoon, the soft golden light of the sun filtered through the wide windows of the main house as Max finally returned, a slight flush still lingering on his cheeks. Charles had already slipped away to the bath, leaving Max alone to change in the living room. He had just pulled off his crumpled shirt when the soft, familiar sound of footsteps alerted him, Pascale, Charles's mother, followed closely by Linda.
Max froze for a moment, cursing inwardly as he realised the lipstick stains still clung to his skin, smudges of Ferrari red smeared across his cheeks, neck, and even his forehead. Fuck, he thought, I’m so fucked.
Pascale’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. She glanced at Max, then at Linda, her brow arching in that way only a mother could manage. "You didn’t tell me they were busy," she said to Linda with a nod, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with amusement.
Linda, ever the professional, couldn’t resist throwing a playful, knowing smile in Max’s direction, though the house staff around them lowered their gazes, pretending not to notice the obvious evidence of Max’s earlier distraction. Max, however, was beyond mortified. His face grew impossibly red, the heat radiating from his cheeks as he fumbled with the clean shirt in his hands, wishing he could disappear.
"Please, mother," Max managed, gesturing helplessly with his arms, hoping Pascale would drop the subject.
Pascale, however, wasn’t one to be easily deterred. She crossed her arms, fixing Max with a look that made him feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You didn’t answer my call, dear," she pointed out, her voice gentle but carrying that unmistakable edge of disappointment.
"There was a meeting with Red Bull, maman," Max explained, trying to keep his composure. His words were steady, but the situation was far from it. The lipstick stains were everywhere, cheeks, neck, even his forehead. He could feel them like burning marks, and each one seemed to scream of his earlier indulgence with Charles.
Pascale’s lips twitched into a small smile as she studied Max for a moment, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Or a meeting with my son?" she suggested, her tone teasing, but her eyes sparkling with motherly affection.
Max exhaled sharply, knowing there was no getting out of this one. "Maman, please," he groaned, holding his breath as he tried to hide his embarrassment, but it was no use. He could practically hear Pascale’s soft laughter as she finally shook her head, leaving Max standing there, shirtless, stained with Charles’s lipstick, and blushing like a guilty schoolboy.