Chapter Text
-Heart of Verstappen-
What could people truly understand about them, two of the fiercest rivals in Formula One? To the outside world, they were competitors, always pushing each other to the limit on the track. But what did anyone really know about the life they shared behind closed doors?
In their private sanctuary, tucked away in a house surrounded by breathtaking, ethereal scenery, there was no trace of their personal moments on social media. The only glimpses the world got were of Leo’s antics, simple, innocent snapshots of their little dog. Charles treasured this life, this quiet, unspoken reality that he and Max had built together. The weight of Verstappen’s name had shielded him, offering a level of security Charles never thought he’d have.
He never imagined mornings could feel like this, waking up to the warmth of peace and safety, an experience foreign to him before Max came into his life. He’d grown so used to sleepless nights and restless thoughts that it took him by surprise, this ability to drift into a deep, uninterrupted sleep and wake with the first light feeling... content. He could scarcely believe it. Their little family was perfect, more than he could have ever asked for, untouched by the eyes of the media, safely hidden from the public's glare. In their quiet world, away from the track and the cameras, they had found something neither of them knew they were missing. A home. A life together. And in that life, Charles found the peace he had longed for, a tranquillity that felt as surreal as it was real.
"No!" Charles's voice was firm, his eyes flashing as he faced the persistent man in front of him. The idea of turning his private life into public content, to let Formula One dig into his daily activities, was utterly repellent.
"Charles, you could at least consider it," the man began, his tone edging towards persuasive.
"I’m not interested in sharing anything about my family with the media," Charles cut him off sharply, the words laced with finality. "Now, if you’ll excuse me."
He turned, preparing to slam the door, frustration bubbling under his skin. Just as his hand gripped the handle, Max appeared beside him, his touch soft and familiar as it found its way to Charles's waist. Max's fingers gently brushed over him, a subtle yet calming gesture, reminding Charles to steady his emotions.
“They, ” Charles started again, his voice trembling with a mix of irritation and weariness, but his words faltered the moment he caught Max’s smile. It was soft, warm, and so effortlessly reassuring, a silent promise that everything would be alright.
"Maman is waiting for you," Max murmured, holding out the car keys with a gentle nod, steering Charles's focus back to what really mattered. "I’ll be up in the room," he added quietly, his eyes holding Charles’s gaze with a soothing calm.
Charles swallowed, feeling the tension ease away under Max’s care. He took the keys, his grip loosening as he glanced back at Max before finally turning to leave, the storm inside him quelled by the simple presence of the man who always knew just how to calm him.
Just as Max had said, Pascale waited in their sleek Benz with Leo curled up in her lap, his small tail wagging as soon as Charles approached.
"My heart," she greeted him warmly, pulling him into a kiss the moment he slid into the passenger seat. It was the Baku, Azerbaijan Grand Prix weekend, and Pascale had chosen to stay close to Charles after Monza, wanting to spend more time with her little family.
“Maman!” Charles beamed, closing the door behind him. “I can give you a tour of the paddock if you’d like. Have you eaten yet?” His words tumbled out quickly, eager to make sure she was comfortable.
Pascale smiled, her eyes crinkling with affection as she nodded appreciatively. But her motherly intuition was sharp, noticing the slight tension still lingering in her son's expression. “Did something happen?” she asked, her voice soft but probing.
Charles sighed, leaning back against the seat, letting the comfort of her presence wash over him. “Max handled them for us," he began, glancing out of the window before turning back to her. "F1 wanted more insight into our private life, and I told them no. Absolutely no.”
Pascale’s brow furrowed slightly, but her smile remained. “Hmm, I see,” she nodded, clearly pleased with his decision. “And then?”
Charles shrugged, his fingers tracing the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I just hope... he doesn’t do something reckless.”
“For you?" Pascale said with a chuckle, her voice filled with amusement. "Knowing Max, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went crazy enough to buy Formula One itself just to protect you.”
“Maman! Don’t even put that idea in his head!” Charles protested, half-laughing, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes.
Pascale only laughed softly, shaking her head. “I can’t help it, mon chouchou. He loves you. So much. I’m blessed to see it.”
Charles sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Maman, you have no idea how annoying Max can be sometimes,” he muttered, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.
“Oh, I think I do,” Pascale teased, giving Leo a gentle scratch behind the ears. "But he’s yours. That’s what matters."
Maybe Pascale didn’t know the exact details of how Max endlessly teased Charles about his purple sectors during their simulator sessions, always turning even the smallest victory into playful jabs. But she did know that every night, when Charles inevitably dozed off on the sofa, Max was always there, quietly lifting him and carrying him to bed, careful not to wake him.
Perhaps Pascale wasn’t privy to the way Max constantly made fun of Charles’s parking skills, laughing each time he angled the car slightly off in their driveway. But she did know that after Charles played with Leo in their hanging garden, it was Max who would kneel, without a second thought, to gently wash Charles's feet, a tender act of devotion that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
Maybe Pascale didn’t hear how Max would tease Charles about their height difference, always making light of the few centimetres that separated them. But she knew, because she saw it in the smallest gestures, that Max always cut his own food first and passed the plate to Charles before taking a single bite himself, a quiet, unspoken offering of care and love. For all the teasing, all the banter and playfulness that marked their relationship, Pascale knew one thing for certain, Max adored Charles. And every subtle act of love only deepened that truth.
“Tell me, my heart,” Pascale teased, her eyes sparkling with joy as she looked at her only son, the affection between them radiating in the warmth of her voice.
Charles let out a soft groan, his cheeks already reddening as he recalled the incident. “You see, we have matching laptops, right? So, Max, being Max, took mine by mistake to work. And when he opened it for a screen share, guess what popped up? Our wedding photos!” His face flushed deeper with embarrassment. “Now he teases me about it all the time. It’s so embarrassing!”
Pascale, ever patient, nodded along appreciatively, a small smile playing on her lips as she listened to her son’s mini-tantrum. His indignation only seemed to amuse her more.
“And yet,” she began softly, her voice laced with warmth, “he loves you. Very much.”
Charles’s bravado faltered as the colour on his face deepened. “W-well, th-that’s true,” he stuttered, clearly flustered, though a shy smile tugged at his lips.
Pascale reclined in her seat with a satisfied sigh. “Then I see no problems,” she said with a gentle chuckle, watching her son with all the pride and love of a mother who knew that, teasing aside, her boy was deeply cherished.
What made it all the more endearing was how deeply invested Max was in Charles, always following him, always there, even as a three-time Formula One world champion. It was hard to believe that someone of Max's stature was standing in the kitchen of their temporary stay in Azerbaijan, cooking dinner, while Charles, with his mischievous grin, kept teasing him with spoons and various utensils.
“I’m going to win this,” Charles announced, tip-toeing behind Max and slipping his arms around him in a playful hug. He didn’t even care that Pascale was there, comfortably seated on the sofa, watching TV with Leo curled up beside her. His focus was entirely on Max, as it often was.
“Hmmm, you sure about that?” Max replied with a smirk, turning off the stove and plating the food with ease.
“Yes!” Charles popped up beside him, bouncing beside him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And if I win again, you have to give me something in return,” he challenged, leaning in as though they were still competing for more than just the meal.
Pascale, overhearing their exchange, couldn’t help but join in. “You could always help him with the dishes, chouchou,” she suggested lightly. “And it’s your podium, why does Max have to give you something?”
“It’s called appreciation, Maman,” Max interjected with a playful grin, clearly enjoying the exchange. Charles pouted, undeterred.
“You spoil him far too much, dear,” Pascale teased, her gaze flitting between the two of them with a knowing smile. Max smirked, handing Charles a plate to set on the table. “She’s right, you know. You’re spoilt, Charles.” Max teased back.
“Max appreciates me,” Charles shot back, trying to sound serious but unable to hide his growing grin.
“And Max is busy, chouchou,” Pascale said, handing Charles the plates, giving him something productive to do while Max finished up. Charles took them obediently, pouting as he carried them over to the table. Despite her words, there was warmth in her tone, and a quiet acceptance of the dynamic between her son and Max. Max gave Charles a small nudge as they passed each other, leaning into whisper, “I’m still winning this,” his voice low and teasing.
Charles took the plate, his eyes still glinting with defiance and affection. “Busy or not, I’m still winning this,” he muttered, determined to keep the playful competition alive as he placed the dishes on the table.
-
Charles had known Max for what felt like his entire life. He knew everything there was to know about him, his relentless dedication to his career in Formula One, his background, the prestige that came with the Verstappen name, even the fact that Max was part of the Dutch nobility. Yet, despite the grandeur surrounding him, Max had a habit of showering Charles with lavish gifts, constantly. To Max, it was the bare minimum, his way of showing care. But for Charles, true happiness came from something far simpler: the subtle gestures, the quiet moments that spoke louder than any material gift ever could.
"What do you think?" Max asked, his voice breaking the stillness of their hanging garden, the soft evening light casting long shadows around them.
Charles, already knowing where Max’s mind was heading, rolled his eyes playfully as he stepped further inside. “I know exactly what your silly brain is thinking,” he teased, his lips curving into a smirk.
Max grinned, an almost boyish charm lighting up his face. “Come on, Charles, it’s not my fault you’re so irresistible,” he replied, trying to snake his arms around Charles’s waist, his touch playful yet undeniably affectionate.
Charles laughed softly, slipping out of Max’s hold with ease but not without brushing against him, leaving just enough distance to keep the teasing alive. “Always an excuse,” he muttered under his breath, though the warmth in his tone betrayed how much he enjoyed these moments.
In truth, it wasn’t the gifts that made Charles feel cherished, it was this. The lighthearted exchanges, the way Max always found a reason to pull him closer, to touch him as if it were second nature. The fact that despite everything, despite the fame, the titles, and the world that saw them as rivals, Max made him feel like the centre of his universe, simply by being there.
“Charles?” Max’s voice was filled with concern as he noticed the sudden stop in Charles’s steps. The Monegasque had turned around, facing him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears that Max wasn’t prepared to see.
“Schatje, did you hate the whole garden? I, I’m sorry,” Max stammered, his confusion genuine as he worried he might have done something wrong. He was already thinking of ways to fix it, ready to call Linda and issue changes, but before he could take another step, Charles reached for him. With a swift motion, he gently pulled Max’s chin down and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft but intense, his hands finding their way around Max’s neck, holding him tightly, closely.
Max froze for a moment, feeling Charles’s need for him, his vulnerability radiating through the closeness of their embrace. His shirt quickly dampened from the tears that spilled over as Charles held him.
“You will live with me forever, right?” Charles whispered, his voice trembling, but full of a desperate kind of love.
Max’s heart clenched as he held him even tighter. “Forever,” he whispered back, his arms encircling Charles’s waist, pulling him closer, as if trying to shield him from whatever fear was running through his mind.
“You will come back alive and whole after every weekend,” Charles said, his voice breaking slightly, each word carrying the weight of his deepest fears.
“Yes, Charles. Always.” Max's response was soft but steady, his voice unwavering as he made the promise, his hand gently rubbing circles on Charles’s back, hoping to ease the ache he felt radiating from him.
Charles’s grip on him tightened, the intensity of his emotions spilling into his next words. “And you’ll listen to my song forever?” he asked, his gaze flickering to the white piano that stood elegantly in the middle of the garden. Max followed his gaze, understanding dawning on him. That was it, the piano, the music, the moments they’d shared around it. He cupped Charles’s face in his hands, wiping the remaining tears away gently with his thumb. “I promise, Charles,” he whispered, his forehead resting against his. “Always. Forever.”
Everyone wanted him, that was Max’s crime. The world saw Charles as an object of desire, a star that shone too brightly to belong to just one person. But Max, against all odds, had him. The price he paid for these stolen, sacred moments, holding Charles in his arms, feeling his breath against his skin, was a small one. The noise, the pressure, the constant demand from the world outside, it all paled in comparison to what he had.
Max had won in more ways than the world could ever measure. He didn’t just win on the track; he had won at life. In the quiet of their shared spaces, when it was just the two of them, the world melted away. The ache of every race, every rivalry, dissolved in Charles’s embrace, in his presence. Max knew that while the world may have wanted him, it was he who had earned the right to hold Charles close, to share in these intimate, tender moments.
He had won more than any championship, he had won Charles’s heart. And in those stolen seconds, where the world couldn’t reach them, Max knew he had already won everything that mattered.
-
Max and Charles’s relationship is built on an intense connection, forged in the crucible of their high-profile careers and the pressures that come with them. Their love for each other is a refuge, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world. However, this very intensity can also breed a profound fear of losing what they hold so dear. The fear starts subtly, often in quiet moments when the noise of their careers fades away. Max might find himself lying awake in their shared space, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with worries. He’s constantly aware of the allure Charles holds for others, and the thought that someone else could catch his eye, whether a fan, a colleague, or someone from his social circle, can be unsettling. Max’s reserved nature means he internalises these fears, leading to occasional outbursts or unexpected silences.
Charles, on the other hand, is deeply aware of the sacrifices Max has made for their relationship. He sees how Max’s career demands pull him away, and the pressure of maintaining their bond in the face of relentless public scrutiny. This creates an undercurrent of tension where Charles worries that Max might feel trapped or overwhelmed by their relationship. Charles’s sensitivity to these issues makes him prone to overthinking, leading to emotional vulnerability that Max might struggle to address effectively.
“Maxy, stop!!” Charles’s voice rang out, slicing through the tension in the dimly lit hall. The air, thick with dread and the metallic scent of blood, seemed to still as the guards standing watch backed off, recognising the second command in the manor had just entered, uninvited but unquestioned.
Max paused, his fist hovering inches from the man tied to the chair, the knuckles already bruised and stained with the man’s blood. His chest heaved, the rage that had driven him here now momentarily flickering at the sound of Charles’s voice. Slowly, his eyes, once dark with anger, flashed towards the group of his men standing silent, each knowing glance exchanged between them speaking volumes. How had they let Charles in? Who allowed him to see this side of him? It was an unspoken rule that this world, the one that Max controlled with an iron fist, was never meant for Charles.
The air around them seemed to hum with the weight of the scene. Max withdrew his fist, straightening up, trying to regain control, but the look in Charles’s eyes, the horror, the disbelief, was unmistakable. It was a look Max had sworn he’d never see. Not from Charles.
Max instinctively reached for him, wanting to reassure, to explain, but the tremor in Charles’s body, the way he flinched at the sight of the blood staining Max’s hand, was too obvious to ignore. Max's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He had promised Charles that he’d never let him see this side of him, the one capable of such violence, the one who ruled with fear when necessary. It had been the silent cost of their marriage, the one part of his world Charles was never supposed to witness.
Yet here they were. Max, fists bloodied, standing in front of the man he loved more than anything, and Charles, twitching, visibly shaken, his eyes fixated on the crimson dripping from Max’s knuckles. It was as if everything Max had worked so hard to protect had shattered in that moment.
"Charles..." Max's voice was low, almost pleading, but he couldn’t take back what had already been seen. The space between them felt like a chasm, the weight of Max’s hidden world now laid bare. He had always known the cost of his life, but seeing the fear in Charles’s eyes made it feel far steeper than he had ever imagined.
“My heart,” Max whispered, his voice strained, as he reached out to touch Charles again. But this time, Charles moved back swiftly, his eyes wide and frantic. Without a word, he grabbed the knife from one of the guards, his hands shaking as he gripped it tightly. The scene had shifted from shocking to surreal in an instant.“You… you’re not my husband,” Charles stammered, his voice cracking. His gaze darted towards the unconscious man slumped in the chair, blood staining the floor beneath him. “My Max… he, he can’t be you,” Charles continued, though the truth was slowly dawning on him, the painful realisation sinking in like ice in his veins. His eyes found Max’s once more, searching, pleading, until the full weight of reality crashed down. It was Max. His Max. The heir to the Verstappen empire, the Red Bull driver, his husband, and the man he loved.
Charles’s grip on the knife slackened, and the blade fell from his hand with a hollow clatter. Max, moving slowly and carefully, bent down to retrieve it. His movements were calm, measured, as if handling something fragile. He held the knife out to Charles, his expression softer than Charles had ever seen it in moments like these, where violence and power usually reigned.
“My heart,” Max repeated, his eyes incredibly tender, the same softness that Charles recognised from their quiet moments, from the nights when Max whispered sweet words of love into his ear, from the way Max looked at him when they lay in each other’s arms, seeking comfort and pleasure. “Take it, if you’re afraid.”
Charles’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Max like this, vulnerable, offering him a way out, offering him control. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he began to cry, his whole body trembling with the weight of it all. The knife, the blood, the terror, it was too much. And yet, the man before him was still the same Max who held him every night, who cherished him in a way no one else ever could. Charles threw the knife aside, his body shaking with sobs as he stood frozen, torn between the instinct to run and the deeper pull that kept him there. Who could escape Max Verstappen? He wanted to flee from the nightmare of what he had just witnessed, but there was no escaping Max, not the man who had shown him love in its most intense, all-encompassing form.
Suddenly, everything collapsed within Charles. A suffocating tightness gripped his throat, his stomach twisted painfully. It struck him with terrifying clarity, Max could control him, Max owned him. He was Max’s in every possible way. But the Dutchman had never… never once used that power to bind him. Max had never locked him away, never forced his hand, never abused the influence he so clearly had. And that kindness, that restraint, frightened Charles more than anything.
“I... who…” Charles’s voice faltered as his eyes flickered to Verstappen’s men, ten of them standing in silent obedience, waiting for their next command. His mind raced with the chilling realisation. With just a word from Max, he could meet the same fate as the man slumped in the chair. Max could kill him if he wanted to. It would be so easy for him, with this unseen power lurking beneath the surface, to end it all in an instant.
The oppressive weight of those thoughts nearly consumed him. But beyond the cloud of fear and doubt that filled his mind, Charles was faced with something far more unexpected.
“My heart,” Max’s voice broke through, and Charles’s breath caught as he watched Max kneel before him, followed by all of his men, their heads bowed as if pledging their allegiance not just to Max, but to him as well.
It was almost surreal, the sight of Max, powerful and feared, kneeling in submission before him. His eyes were filled with regret, with pain, with a desperate need to make this right. “Is there anything you need from me?” Max asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, raw with emotion. It was the only thing Max could think to say, the only way he knew to show Charles that he still mattered more than anything in this twisted world they found themselves in. Because Max couldn’t explain it all in this moment. He couldn’t undo what Charles had seen, nor the darkness that surrounded them. And for the first time, Max felt like he had failed the one person he swore to protect above all else.
Charles’s mind whirled, torn between fear, love, and confusion. He had seen a side of Max that frightened him, a side that reminded him just how dangerous his husband could be. But now, watching Max kneel before him, offering himself so completely, he realised something else. Max could have used that power to control him, but he never had. Even now, Max was offering himself, vulnerable and at Charles’s mercy.
“You… will I someday end up like him?” The question lingered in the heavy air, a tremor in Charles's voice betraying the overwhelming fear and disappointment that gripped him. His tears flowed unchecked, and his eyes pleaded for answers. How could you, Max? You love me, but at what cost? Is this truly the man I married?
Max’s response came cold and swift, though his voice trembled with restraint. “You are my wife. That would never happen.”
But Charles wasn’t convinced. The image of the bloodied man tied to the chair burned in his mind, making it impossible to trust the calm assurance Max was trying to offer. He took a step back, instinctively moving away, only to feel the cold hardness of the door against his spine. “What if I betray you?” His voice wavered, a desperate question. “Will you do the same to me?”Max’s gaze softened as he regarded Charles, his answer a quiet, steady shock that rippled through the room. “I’ll protect you,” he said, as if the very notion of harming Charles was unfathomable. Then, with a sudden shift, his voice took on an almost reckless edge, “Let’s run away.”
The words stunned not just Charles, but everyone in the hall. The mighty Max Verstappen, a man who could control the world around him, offering to leave it all behind for him. The hall, once filled with dread, now held a fragile, aching tenderness.
Charles closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he tried to stabilise the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He didn’t want to run, not now, not like this. “I… I just want to go back to our room,” he whispered, the exhaustion evident in his voice.
Max turned, his jaw tightening, as he quickly ordered, “Escort him.” His voice was laced with command, but the subtle displeasure from Charles was unmistakable. Max hesitated, his gaze locking onto Charles with a mixture of guilt and longing.
“I’m sorry, my heart,” Max said, softer now, his arms outstretched in an unspoken plea for forgiveness, for connection. He waited, his breath caught, unsure if Charles would accept his touch.
For a moment, Charles hesitated, eyes flickering with uncertainty. But then, with a deep breath, he finally took Max’s arms, the warmth of the embrace offering a brief but much-needed solace. The tension between them lingered, but in that moment, Charles chose to trust again, if only to find peace within Max’s hold.
As they arrived at the main hall, Linda's sharp eyes immediately widened in shock. She rushed toward them, her voice tinged with urgency. “Who attacked you? Do you need a unit? Sir, is madam hurt somewhere?” Her gaze flicked rapidly over Charles, scanning him with a practised, almost military-like precision, searching for any signs of injury. Charles stood there, still caught between the safety of Max’s arms and the chilling revelations that had been unfolding before him. For a moment, Linda’s words blurred in his mind, unit? Madam?, but then, slowly, it began to sink in. The way she referred to him with such careful deference. Madam.
It wasn’t just an affectionate term. It was a codename, a designation. Charles, for all his life in the spotlight, had never fully understood what being married to Max Verstappen meant. The power, the protection, the invisible systems in place, all orbiting around him, designed to shield him from the world. Max’s world.
The beauty and grace with which Linda moved, her calm authority in a crisis, she wasn’t just an assistant or a trusted confidante. She was part of something far more complex, more dangerous. She was skilled, trained, and prepared for scenarios that Charles had never imagined. And she was speaking in codes, communicating on a level Charles had never needed to access before. A unit? That wasn’t just backup. It was protection, reinforcement. For him.
Charles slowly nodded, feeling the gravity of it all weigh down on him. “I’m fine, Linda,” he finally managed to say, his voice a little steadier than before. But he wasn’t fine. Not really. He was beginning to understand that the man he loved, his Max, was not just a husband. He was something far more powerful, something that operated in a world filled with shadows, codes, and unspoken dangers.
“I assigned her to you for protection,” Max said softly, his voice laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “She is trustworthy. Ask me anything, my love, you shall have your answer. If not now, it can be tomorrow. Let me fix this.” Max Emilian Verstappen, the man who was feared by many and commanded power effortlessly, was pleading. And Linda, ever quick-witted, knelt immediately, understanding that something unspoken had finally been revealed.
Charles blinked, his mind still spinning from everything he’d witnessed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His heart ached, unsure of how to reconcile the man before him with the one who had just been engaged in such violence. “Are you… hurt somewhere?” Charles’s voice trembled slightly as he asked, his hesitation clear. “You fought, and... I don’t know... you… are you okay?”
Max stared at him, stunned. Of all the things Charles could have asked in this moment, fear, anger, accusations of betrayal or even divorce, he simply wanted to know if he was okay? Max, the heir to the powerful Verstappen family, the man who commanded respect and fear, now found himself fighting back tears. He had expected rage, or perhaps the coldness of rejection. But instead, Charles, the man he adored, was still concerned about him.
“No, my love,” Max replied, his voice thick with emotion, unable to hide the vulnerability that bled through. “I’m not hurt. I simply love you.” The words slipped out, raw and honest, and even Max recognised how foolish they sounded in the gravity of the moment.
But before he could fumble further, Charles stepped closer, his hand gently brushing Max’s cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. His touch was soft, tender, and it broke something in Max. “Charles,” Max whispered, his voice almost fragile, “do you truly still want to be with me? After all of this?”
Charles’s gaze held his firmly, unwavering despite the tears that shimmered in his own eyes. “You promised me,” he said softly, his voice steady with a kind of quiet resolve, “at the hanging garden, to be with me forever. Are you… breaking your promises too?”
“No,” Max answered without a moment’s hesitation, his voice sharp and certain. “Never.”
Charles had always known how powerful Max Verstappen was. The influence, the command, the ability to shape the world around him, it was all part of the allure, part of the man he loved. But this, killing people, was something far more terrifying, something that made Charles see Max in a new, chilling light. The reality of it hit him hard, rattling the foundations of his feelings. Now, as they bathed in the warm, soothing water of the jacuzzi, the weight of the world seemed to hang between them. The warmth enveloped them both, easing the tension from their bodies, yet the silence carried an undercurrent of unspoken thoughts. Charles leaned his back against Max, feeling the familiar comfort of his husband's body pressed against his, their breaths synchronising as they settled into this quiet intimacy. They didn’t speak. There were no questions, no reassurances. Just the sound of water gently lapping against the sides of the tub. For a moment, the stillness felt fragile, like it could shatter at any second.
Charles, his mind a storm of emotions, slowly turned to face Max. His eyes, usually filled with mischief or warmth, now searched Max's face for something, some kind of reassurance or understanding. His fingers traced the contours of Max’s lips, brushing lightly, as if memorising the feel of them all over again. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to Max's in a slow, almost tentative kiss. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, but filled with an undeniable hunger.
Charles needed to know, to make sure that despite everything, the violence, the power, the fear, he still wanted Max. And as their kiss deepened, something clicked inside him. The warmth of Max's mouth, the familiar taste, the way their bodies moulded together, it was undeniable. His heart, once filled with doubt, now beat with clarity. He wanted Max. Entirely. Fully.
Breaking the kiss for a moment, Charles rested his forehead against Max’s, his breath heavy but steady. In that closeness, with the steam rising around them and the weight of the outside world melting away, Charles knew one thing for certain: despite the darkness that came with loving a man like Max, he wanted him. All of him.
"You're mine," Charles whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion, as if the words were as much a reminder to himself as they were to Max.
Max’s hands slid down Charles's back, pulling him closer, grounding him in the moment. "Always, Schatje," Max murmured, his voice low and sincere. "Always yours."
“Please don’t keep it as if I don’t care. I care,” Charles whispered, his voice carrying the weight of all the emotions swirling within him. He planted one last kiss on Max's lips, soft and lingering, before leaning his head into the curve of Max's neck. The warmth and steady pulse beneath Max's skin brought a sense of calm to the turmoil he had been grappling with.
Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around Charles, holding him close, their bodies submerged in the soothing water. He pressed his cheek to the top of Charles’s head, inhaling the familiar scent of him. “I promised, Charles,” Max murmured, his voice tender yet filled with the certainty of the vow he had made.
There was an unspoken understanding between them now. Max knew that Charles had seen a side of him no one else was meant to witness, a side that carried the weight of his power and responsibility. And yet, Charles still chose to be here, in his arms, despite the fear, despite the complexity of their lives. Max’s heart swelled with gratitude, with love, this was more than any victory on the track, more than any trophy he had ever won.
Charles sighed softly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles on Max's chest. “I just don’t want you to ever think I don’t care,” he whispered again, his voice gentler this time, almost vulnerable.
“I know, Schatz,” Max replied, his tone soft as he kissed the top of Charles's head, his lips brushing against his damp hair. “And I care about you more than anything. That’s why I’ll always protect you. No matter what.”
Charles closed his eyes, letting Max's words sink in. He didn’t need to say more. Wrapped in Max's embrace, the water rippling gently around them, the world outside their private cocoon seemed distant and irrelevant.