Archive of Our Own

A Sauber. 

A freaking Sauber passed him.

Lewis thought he had the worst moments in his last seasons at Mercedes but today showed him a new low in his life. This is somehow worse than Imola 2022. Lewis feels utterly humiliated. Devastated. Hopeless.

His mind is blank as he begins to grasp the fact that the race is finally over. There are people moving around him, mechanics and stewards but Lewis doesn't give them any attention. It feels hard to breathe evenly, the heaviness in his chest weighing him down like a sinking ship. For God's sake he is on a sinking ship.

He just doesn't know what he's supposed to do in this situation. He knows he has to do something, anything. But what? He's not given the right tools to do his job. He can't do his job like this.

His race engineer is part time out of order, the strategy calls are more than often questionable and Lewis has to swallow them with a bitter taste as is expected of him but the worst thing is- He's slow. He's so so slow. And he doesn't have an explanation for it.

Next to Leclerc he's a freaking joke. Just like he was next to George. A clown. The old man who can't keep up.

That's what he's become. Again.

A good-for-nothing. Useless.

He knows that's what they're saying behind his back, laughing, pitying. Dismantling his hard built confidence with mere words, making it crumble like a house of cards. Because that's what it is at the end of the day. A measle construction to fool the public. 

A thin illusion serving to deceive everyone around him to elevate himself. To be something.

But he's not all that confident, is he? How can he be if there's nothing to be confident about? Who is he without success on the track?

Who are you, Lewis asks himself.

A loser, the answer comes back and with shaking hands he slips off his gloves to wipe away the stray tears that have already escaped. At least he's granted the security of his helmet because he doesn't need the whole world to see how ripped apart he is. How broken he has become.

He can't even be happy for Charles. It doesn't even cross his mind and yes, he's probably an asshole but at the moment that P3 is the last thing on his mind.

It's not about that place on the podium.

Today was about something completely else. It was a demonstration of weakness that was brought to light in front of thousands of people, fans and haters alike and Lewis was crowned the showman for it. Just like he had been the last several seasons.

Always the clown.

Always the victim.

Always the crier.

That are words people use when they talk about him, when he expresses his opinion in an interview, when he gives a comment. That are still nice words, though. He has heard much worse. And it doesn't hurt anymore. It stopped long ago, when he became used to it.

But he gets tired of it. It's why he barely comments during press conferences, only when he has to and even then he makes sure only to say the necessary stuff. Sometimes there's a little bit of fun and lightness when he's with the right people but he always has to mind his words. Always. Because people can take everything and twist and turn into something completely else. Something bad.

He already shudders at the thought of the post-race interview. He doesn't want to.

But he's enduring it. He has to. Because he loves this sport. 

It's his virtue, the thing he has sacrificed his whole childhood for. He's giving everything for it and this is what he gets in return?

What a toxic relationship.

Is he unthankful for thinking like this? Maybe he's too sensitive. He should pull himself together, stop this childishness. This is not who he is. He doesn't cry, doesn't whine, doesn't drown in self-pity. 

He's not weak. 

But he doesn't feel strong either.

He's still in his car. The steering wheel is already removed but Lewis doesn't want to get up. Not yet.

He doesn't want to face the world.

He wants to vanish, escape from everything. From this place, from the public, from everyone.

The moment he finally manages to get his bearings and exits his car he feels completely numb inside. The only thing he's aware of are cameras following him, the people looking at him, desperate to get a glance of his misery. To find delight in it.

Of the great Hamilton failing once again.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

He's embarassed of himself. He's angry at himself. He's disappointed in himself.

Because what else should he be when his teammate manages a podium while he couldn't even defend himself against a Sauber. Just thinking about it sets something off in his head and the alpha doesn't waste a second and walks staright to his hospitality.

The helmet stays on. Always.

His armor against the greedy gazes hooking into him like vile vipers, hungry to get a piece of him.

He freshens up, takes a quick shower, puts the Ferrari shirt on, fixes the red cap on his head and then he's already doing his rounds in the media-pen with the other drivers, Ella a steady presence at his side like always. Despite his inner turmoil the mask he has created for the public seamlessly slips on and he's ready to face the cameras. 

It's the usual questions he already foresaw. But then the journalist says something.

"We don't want to see you like this."

Pity.

It's a whisper in his mind, seeping through his thoughts like liquid poison, expanding like a fast growing disease. The mask cracks.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he scoffs, humorless smile on his face and he knows he's rude. He already regrets it but it just breaks out of him and deep down it feels good. Just for a little bit he allows himself this luxury and stops the farce, just to tell the world that the situation isn't all pink and roses. That it's shit and he doesn't know how to fix it. How to move forward. Mentally.

Well, he doubts anyone realizes what's going on inside him, how dark everything actually is. That he's desperate for guidance, a small light at the end. Anything.

But there's nothing and he knows he has to do it himself. Push himself forward and make his own light. He just doesn't know how to do it this time.

In front of the camera he blames it on having a bad day. Everybody has a bad day, right? It sounds plausible but deep down he knows it's an excuse. 

His consciousness doesn't let him get away with that lie.

"We hope they'll find answers for you."

Lewis is already shaking his head before she even finished the sentence, "I'm sure they won't. It's probably just me."

It's easier if it's just me.

With that he's released from his interview duties and his flight-mode sets in. He wants to get out of here. Quickly.

It helps that his scent is widely broadcasting his displeasure and it never fails in pathing a free way for him. But even in this moment of total defeat his luck is non-existent. There's always a brave soul in his way.

"Lewis."

Burnt honey

It welcomes him like a deadly kiss to his nose and Lewis instantly feels agitated. It's never easy to be in the presence of an unhappy omega but it's even less easier if you share a connection with said omega.

The biting scent slips into his system, easily, familar, and Lewis doesn't even fight it despite the unpleasentness. Max is boiling with fury and Lewis's instincts demand that it should be in the forefront of his mind. 

"Can we meet?" Max is mumbling, pale blues eyes flitting around them, all too aware of the numerous journalists and cameras surrounding them.

They have to be careful. Usually Max knows better than to be this obvious in public but the Dutch throws all that cautiosness to the wind the moment his anger is in control. Lewis guesses the omega's foul mood is connected to the race. He is wondering how the Dutch ended up with P10.

"Can we? After this?" the omega presses, impatiant as always, but there's a desperation in his eyes and Lewis meets them swiftly after hesitating.

The alpha covers his mouth subtly, clears his throat, "My room?" 

Max nods and then the Dutch just stalks past him without gifting him another glance. Before leaving the media-pen Lewis throws one last look over his shoulder but Max is already involved in his post-race interview.

Even with the distance between them Lewis notices the tightness in the Dutch's body. Those broad shoulders tense like solid iron, hands gripping the railing a bit too tight as he speaks to the journalist.

What are the odds they're both having bad races at the same time? Lewis thinks it's kind of ironic but on the other hand maybe this is the universe's way of making sure they're both suffering together. That they're supposed to share their pain.

Lewis doesn't want that. He wants to be alone with his pain. He wants to lick his wounds in peace, overcome this downfall and be done with it. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it.

Best case scenario, he finds a quick conlusion to this race, buries everything that's connected to it in the farthes corner of his mind and forget about it. Then just face forward.

That's the plan, which is at least something but moreover it's easier said than done.

Especially if you have someone like Max right at your throat who can barely if not at all contain his overflowing anger it's everything but easy.

Lewis probably had roundabout 15 minutes to himself in his driver room after Ella had left him before the door flies open and Max, enraged like in his early days, stroms in like a raging wildfire, unstoppable und destructive. It's truly a sight.

The door slams harder than necessary behind him but Max couldn't care less.

There's an intense fury rushing through him, pumping his blood in high gear that it roars in his ears. It must show on his face becaus no one dared to stop him on his way to the Ferrari hospitlaity.

He knows people were wondering when they saw him going there but that all doesn't matter to Max right now. The omega is desperate to get away from his team, lest he'll maul somebody.

This is not from adrenaline, not from racing. This is pure unfiltered rage, hot and boundless, something Max hasn't experienced for a long time. 

It's from the heat that's been coiling in his chest like a caged lion, and the moment George almost overtook him Max snapped.

He hadn't thought about braking, hadn't thought about slowing down. Instead his intrusive thoughts won and he hit George. Deliberatley. He doesn't make a mystery out of it. He wanted to. Not just a tap. Not a rubber kiss. He rammed him. 

He already got his fine. The severity didn't surprise him.

He would've flipped the stewards off if Christian wasn't already breathing down his neck like a rabbid dog.

Max doesn't care about it all though.

At the moment he only cared about finding Lewis.

In the Ferrari hospitality he manages to pick up a few bits of the alpha's bergamot scent. Lone citrus telling him the way even though Max already knows it.

Lewis's room smells of his perfume like scent but it's not right. There's no hint of the usual sweetness nor the refreshing citrus. It's sour and unpleasent. Bad.

It attacks Max as he stalks into the room but at the same time it's encouraging his anger, "Fucking asshole." he hisses and flings his RB cap to the side against the wall where it falls limply to the floor.

Lewis is sitting on his couch, head tilted back lazily. The alpha's movements seem almost sluggish as he moves his head to look at Max who's growing only more aggravated at the alpha's casualness.

"They're all so fucking stupid." Max spits, aggressiveness rolling off of him in violent waves.

"Bad race, too?" Lewis tilts his head unfazed.

"Don't." Max's gaze sharpens, his voice rough and ragged barely containing his anger, "Don't talk about it."

Lewis tilts his head slightly as he seizes the omega and Max looks right back, scanning Lewis's face. He didn't have a chance earlier at the media-pen so he's only now noticing the shadow under Lewis's eyes. 

Max pauses. 

Lewis looks... tired. Exhausted. Not just physically - soul-deep, like the weight of being who he is has caught up to him. It stumps Max for a second because it just doesn't fit the older.

Bad race, too?

Right. Max heard about Lewis's race results. About the anti-climatic race the Brit experienced. It seems today they're in the same boat and Max knows what they both need.

He crosses the room in a few strides and climbs on Lewis's lap grabs Lewis by the collar of his stupid Ferrari shirt, bracketing the alpha with his strong thighs. His chest is heaving with residual fury and he grabs Lewis by the collar of his stupid Ferrari shirt, gripping the red fabric tight. He pulls Lewis forward while leaning down and scrapes his teeth along the alpha's throat.

His other hand slips beneath the shirt, feeling the strong muscles of Lewis's six-pack beneath his fingers. Max's tongues laves over smooth warm skin, his gums aching for a bite to still this aggressiveness in his blood, anything to get this violence out of his system.

"Lewis- just, do something." he breathes, grabbing Lewis's bare hip hidden beneath red, "Touch me. Take it." he says blindly, kissing along Lewis's jaw. He's frantically despaired.

With his hand still curled around Lewis's collar he pushes against the alpha's chest, holding him steady, his mouth bruising, demanding. This is how they do it- fast, unattached, almost violent in the way it avoids being soft.

Max is feral. Furious. At George. His own team. At himself. At everything. He just needs something to overpower all that. To burn it out of him and wipe his mind blank.

But something's wrong.

There's the smell of ash in the air.

It's like someone set a bunch of lemons alight. Max almost recoils at the scent. Then he notices.

Lewis isn't responding the way he usually does. He's not pulling Max closer, hungrily digging nails into his skin or growling low in his throat it would make Max tremble. There's no touch of need or want that would leave a burning trail over Max's skin. There's no fire that sets him alive. No passionate pull towards each other.

Lewis is still. Unmoving.

Max pulls back, chest heaving, "What-" he's breathing heavily, "What's wrong?" he asks and then lifts his head to look at Lewis who's not even meeting his gaze.

"A whole freaking much." the older huffs staring straight past Max, unfocused.

The room falls silent.

The words sink in, slip like fine tendrils into Max's brain.

Max, who came here to burn everything away with Lewis's hands on his body, is suddenly still. He realizes now- actually realizes- that Lewis might not be okay. Not okay at all.

He blinks and slowly lets go of Lewis's shirt, the fabric now crumbled due to the force and he pulls away from Lewis all together. Something shifts inside the omega, just like what he had felt back in Miami. A tugging from his chest. It's not lust nor desire. It's not even the high Max came here chasing and that only Lewis could fill. It's something deeper he realizes when he looks at Lewis. How defeated and hopeless the older seems and it sets something off.

"Tell me about it." he says sitting back, his whole weight on Lewis's lap as he tries to catch Lewis's gaze, "Say something, Lewis." 

Lewis doesn't move.

"For fuck's sake." Max's jaw tightens and he gets up from his perching place, "Scream. Punch something. Fucking do anything!" he leans down to be on eye level, hands on his knees, "Tell your team to go fuck themselves." he gestures blindly without looking away but the older still doesn't fucking react, "You drove like shit, Lewis, why aren't you angry."

That hits.

Lewis moves his head and finally meets Max's gaze, "That's rich coming from someone who pushes people off the track to feel better." he sneers and Max is caught off guard by the backlash, "You're not doing much better either." Lewis says somberly and averts his eyes.

"Yeah?" Max raises an eyebrow and his blind fury swallows him again, "Tell me, how should I when my own team says 'fuck you' and gives me fresh hards for the last six laps. That's what happened." he goes through his hair, tugging at it, "You'd think someone stole their fucking brains." he abruptly turns away, "I couldn't believe it when they said they gave me hard tyres. What the actual fuck!" he throws his hands up in pure frustration and Lewis sits up a bit, fixing his pants.

"Of course I almost lost control of the car. Did they forget it takes a few laps until those shit tyres are warmed up? I almost crashed into Charles!" he bellows, hair unruly from all the tugging, "Then that blue-eyed crybaby comes along, we almost crash and then I have to give the position back to him even though it's total bullshit but I still had to." he crosses his arms, "Now they're all crying because I rammed him."

Lewis looks up from his folded hands, "You rammed George?"

Max turns his head to meet his eyes, "Yeah." he shrugs, "He deserved it." Max waves it off, "They're all making a theatre of it. Nothing happened."

"Max, still. It's not a sim racing lobby here. This is real life."

Max's frown deepens as he focuses on Lewis and walks towards him, "I know that." he says a bit more composed, irritated by Lewis's words, "I'm not fucking mental. My own team just fucked me over for no reason. It would've all been avoidable, this whole shit show, but no. Instead I got Ferrari 2.0 now on my back and I'm already taking care of the racing. Should I do the pit stops and the startegies, too?"

"Calm down." Lewis sighs and rubs his eyes, one arm resting on the back of the couch "What did that get you now? Colliding with George on purpose?"

Max's gaze flickers to the side for a second, as if trying to escape Lewis's eyes. Then the omega grits his teeth, "Three penalty points."

"Three?" Lewis's eyes widen and he leans forward.

"So what?" Max replies quickly, snapping, "I don't fucking care. I'll go on vactaion when they ban me." he shrugs again.

Lewis chuckles humorlessly, "Why am I actually not surprised? Still as reckless as always."

"Oh yeah?" Max's eyes narrow, "At least I'm not scared of expressing myself or open my mouth when there's a problem."

Suddenly Lewis stands up, "I told you it's not your business." he looks at Max pointedly, "Quit bringing it up."

Their eye contact is burning, straining as neither refuse to back down. Max's hands clench into fists.

"Fine."

Max grabs Lewis's wrist and tugs him along. Lewis almost stumbles into him but Max turns them and shoves Lewis back against the nearest wall, mouth back at the older's throat. He slams their bodies together, desperate to feel Lewis's heat, to feel anything. 

He doesn't touch Lewis's face, doesn't try to kiss him - they don't do that. It would mean too much.

Instead Max's buries his face against Lewis's neck while his hands tug at the older's pants. There are hands on his hips, keeping him close but without any desire. They're just holding on and Max could actually slip out of the hold.

The usual desire Lewis meets him with is completely missing.

He claws his hands into Lewis's waistband and looks at the older, "Lewis. What's your problem?" 

He feels Lewis's fingers twitching.

"I-" Lewis clears his throat and it seems he's desperate for words but they don't assemble, "I can't- I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you don't want to fuck about it either obviously." Max replies drily and he immediately regrets his words when Lewis's hands fall away, "I just- sorry, that was stupid." he averts his eyes, "I just think maybe it'll be good for you to talk. Just let everything out, you know?" he regains eye contact, "This is a pure aggression zone. Just let it out." he sent the older the ghost of a smile but Lewis doesn't return it, "Lewis, I promise I won't-"

"Max, just leave it." Lewis cuts him off cooly and turns away, "I don't need to talk. I'm fine." he moves to get the water bottle from the table at the wall.

"Yeah, right. Tell that to a blind man." Max snorts.

"It doesn't matter, alright." Lewis suddenly turns around and levels Max with an intense look, "And even if for some reason I would need to talk, it won't be with you. It's not your bussiness."

There's that sentence again and it never hurt Max more than right now. He feels like he needs to punch something.

"I'm just trying to help you."

"But I don't want you to." Lewis is quick to reply, cutting smile on his face, "The funny thing is I didn't ask for it. I don't need your help." he abandons the water bottle on the table and steps closer to Max, "There's nothing more between us than what we agreed to. You're in no position to offer this kind of help, much less actually help me."

And that hurts. It cuts deep and Max isn't prepared for that pain, heavily hitting on his heart like a sledgehammer. He never felt more stupid in his life than right now. What was he thinking, trying to help Lewis sorting out this emotional chaos going on behind his eyes? 

"Right." he nods and he watches Lewis deflate a bit, obviously expecting a more brutal response from Max, "You know what? You're absolutely right. I don't know shit." he concedes and made a cutting motion with his hands, "This was wrong. I don't think it's good we continue this. I'm not-" he swallows, throat tight, "I can't be like your escorts or whoever the fuck you go out with."

"Max-"

"I'm not a faceless body. Okay?"

Lewis blinks, stunned for a second. The air in the room feels frigid, static with both their scents fighting, mirroring their world of feelings and Max tries with all his might to ignore the devastation he feels. 

"I'm not what you need right now. I get that."

I'm trying. I don't want to but I'm trying.

It feels wrong to say these things, as if he subconsciously refuses to say them but forces himself to. He wants to keep fighting but that also feels wrong in the face of Lewis's pure aversion towards him.

But Lewis staying silent actually answers and confirms everything. It feels like a betrayal.

"One problem less, huh?" Max smiles joylessly, something hollow and shallow. Then he turns on his heel, opens the door of Lewis's room and leaves the alpha.

He doesn't look back, refusing to let Lewis get a glance of his indifference morphing into something soft. Something like hurt and Lewis doesn't deserve to see this vulnerability. He doesn't deserve it.

Head thrown back, Max downs his third shot of this evening and the burning liquid just goes down a bit more smoother than the first one. He doesn't even pull a face this time, burning eyes the only thing he can't surpress.

"God, Max, don't you want to slow down?" Charles looks at him unsure, "We just want to warm up here and not immediately get wasted." There's that velvety tint of roses weaving through the Monegasque's forest scent and Max finds it a great comfort. 

For an alpha Charles's scent is invitingly pleasent and appealing and Max had immediately taken a liking to its softness the moment he had met the Ferrari driver. It's not oppressing nor aggressive nor overly dominating and it had never caused Max a headache. It's such a reduction of tension in comparison to smelling Lewis's distraught scent earlier.

"I'm fine." Max sniffs and puts the shot glass back down on the bar counter, the small glass landing with a loud 'clack', "I'm only starting to get warm now. You should take another, too."

"Please don't encourage him. Last time I had to drag him out of the club. He couldn't even remember his own name." A pained frown formed on Alex's face as he looked pleadingly at Max.

Charles frowns, "I don't remember that." 

Alex rolls his eyes, "Of course you don't. I just said you didn't remember your own name. You think you'd remember what happened that night?"

Charles narrows his eyes at the almond smelling beta, "Maybe."

"We could print a shirt that says 'I'm Charles' and whenever we go out you'll have to wear it." Lando pipes in with a grin while nursing a gin tonic next to Alex.

"That's good!" Max points, "He doesn't even need to introduce himself anymore. Kind of like an immediate ice breaker."

"Come on guys." Charles sighs, ducking his head in embarrassment as his scent turns even softer.

Max laughs, clasping his shoulder, "And we can add 'if lost return to-" 

There's a buzzing sound that interrupts him and it's not loud enough to be disturbing among the low mumbling rippling through the hotelbar from the other attendants. The fact though that it's his own phone that's lying face down on the marble counter of the bar makes him stop in his tracks. It's vibrating rhythmically. A call.

Thoughtlessly he picks it up and almost wants to slap it back down on the marble stone at seeing the caller ID. That would garner too much attention from the others though so, he pulls himself together, schools his expression and smoothly swipes to the decline button. Then he sets his phone back down and completely ignores how sweaty his palm is.

"Who was that? Christian?"

Max barks out a laugh that's probably a bit too loud but no one seems bothered, "Hah no. He knows not to bother me today. It wouldn't be good for either of us."

Charles shrugs, "I can't complain. At least we made some progress with the car."

"About that." Oscar points at him, pensive crease between his brows as he leans against the counter, "I was wondering why there was such a big speed difference between you and Lewis."

Why. Why does this person have to be the conversation topic now. For fuck's sake, Max is just about to forget about their falling out but even when Lewis isn't here he's the topic in Max's life. What the fuck. It's bad enough he knows they're sharing the same hotel as half the grid chose it. He even knows the room number for fuck's sake.

"I mean, maybe it's just me but a Sauber overtaking a Ferrari is probably the eigth wonder of the world."

"Mm it's not just you. Lewis was really slow. Maybe it's the age." 

Lando chuckles as if he had just made a joke but Max feels everything else but laughing. Instead, he catches himself glaring at his fellow omega. He quickly cools his expression but the spiking irritation is already coiling in his chest, poised, ready to snap like a rattlesnake.

"Ah no. There's actually something wrong with the underfloor. It was damaged somewhere during the first or so stint of the race. Lewis couldn't have driven better." Charles replies impassively.

Max just stares at him. Those are news. Max isn't even sure if the public knows about that. 

"They found out about it a few hours later." The Ferrari racer shrugs and takes a sip from his drink through a straw.

"So... does Lewis know?" Max can't help but ask, feeling his heart flutter as he pushes his empty shot glass around.

Charles shakes his head, "He vanished after the interviews. There was actually a meeting scheduled but he didn't show up."

Why, Max wants to know, too, but he reigns in the questioning lest it'll become to suspicious. What Charles told him was enough anyway. It douses him in complete coldness.

There's an unignorable lump sitting in Max's throat as his heart speads up. All this time there's actually something wrong with the car and over here Max tells Lewis with his full signatory asshole confidence that he drove like shit. Without batting an eyelash.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So much for helping the Brit. More like helping him lose hope.

What a fucking dumbass is he? 

Maybe it's just really better that they ended this. Obviously, Max is only harming Lewis and can't even land a healing hand if his useless life depended on it. He just isn't built to comfort others. Nevertheless, he wanted to do nothing more than that for Lewis. Deep down his heart is still yearning for it and it takes everything in him to not just pick his phone up and call Lewis back to tell him it's the car's fault. He feels desperate to give the Brit that little gleam of light.

"He'll come around." Is what he says instead, with a shrug as if someone just told him the sky is blue, "So, where do we want to go?" He asks and picks up his phone, ready to check out some locations nearby.

"We thought about that one club right down the streat. Studio 51 or something?" 

Max hears the others chatter next to him but it's all in the background as he finds a few unread messages. Sent recently. He received the last one five minutes ago. 

Lewis:

Are you up?

Sorry, I should've asked that before calling.

Max hesitates. His lips twitch and then he opens the chat fully. His heart skips a beat when he sees Lewis is still online. One minute later three dots appear, signaling Lewis is typing.

Lewis:

I won't spam you. Don't worry. 

I just wanted to tell you, you're wrong.

Max frowns at that but doesn't do anything as he stares, hypnotized by the three dots appearing once again. It lasts quite a bit and Max feels himself nervous at how long the Brit types.

When a single line appears Max almost wants to scoff at the disappointing length but his heart says otherwise about the impact of that message.

"What do you think, Max?"

Almost choking on his own spit, Max's head snaps and he finds all four pairs of eyes on him, "Uh what?"

Charles frowns, "Weren't you listening? We're talking about which club to go to."

"Oh uh- well, anything is fine." he clears his throat, hand clutching his phone tightly, "Really, as long as there's drinks I'm down."

All four drivers stare at him silently and Max's eyes meet all of them one after the other. He really needs to tread carefully now.

"Do you need to call someone back?" Lando nods at him but his gaze is focused on Max's phone that's still tight in Max's hand, "Or was it a scam?"

Max glances down at his open chat with Lewis.

Lewis:

You're not a problem.

It leaves Max's mouth dry, his tongue thick and he shuts his phone, "Uh it was Kimi. I'll just call him back real quick. It's about the race I think."

Alex snorts, "You're such a mother."

"Shut the fuck up." Max replies and makes sure to give the back of Alex's head a slap when he leaves the bar.

One of the hotel employees opens the entrance door of the hotel for him and then he's outside, cool nightair welcoming him like dead embrace. A few people go in and out, some eyeing him curiously and he already feels the tell-tale prickle on his body, telling him a camera is pointed at him.

He steps to the side, making sure his back is against the wall of the hotel and scrolls through his contact list. 

Select. Call.

It only takes three rings.

"Evening. This is the Ricciardo residence. What can I do you for?"

"If your name isn't Lewis you have great chances." Max replies, a smile tugging at his lips despite the dryness in his voice.

"Ouch. Trouble in paradise?"

Max scoffs, "What paradise? It's hell, Dan."

"What do you mean?" the Australian asks and Max can practically picture the Australian's frowning face, "I thought you were getting each other off just fine."

"Well, we were." Max conceides reluctantly, "But it just doesn't fit anymore. I broke it off."

"You broke it off?" Daniel asks and it sounds like that revelation made him fall from a chair, "How- I mean, when? Why?"

"I just- I realized something." Max says slowly and licks his lips, "This arrangement doesn't help him. I noticed."

"What do you mean it's not helping? When is sex unhelpful?"

"When it doesn't happen, Dan."

"Ooh."

"Yeah, I just felt that I couldn't help him so, I thought I'd end it for both of us. I know he can get someone immediately and I think it's better like that."

There's some shuffling on the other end as if Daniel is standing up, "That sounds very mature of you." he says calmly, "But I thought your thing was bulletproof. Like, you put each other through the worst stress once. You know each other's highest highs and lowest lows."

"Dan, I tried to help him after this fuck up of a race today.  Not through sex. Just talking. He didn't want to and that's that." Max shrugs watching the people pass by in front of him, "I can't force him to tell me what's bothering him." he crosses his arms as he feels a chill going down his spine.

"He's got a lot to juggle on his plate I heard. I think it's best if you just let things calm down. If it'd be him I'd throw my phone out the window for the next two weeks."

The media, Max thinks and nods, "You're right."

Daniel hums gently, "You should get your mind off of this. Go out or something."

"Yeah, I was actually about to go out with the guys."

"Then what are you doing here talking to me?" Daniel chuckles.

Max bites his lip. He's really fighting the urge to tell Daniel about Lewis's messages. Something was really nagging at him to call Lewis back, to answer his texts but Max isn't sure if it's such a good idea. He isn't sure if it won't set him back if he'd do it now. If it won't set him two steps back when he just did one step in a different direction.

If he'll text back now it'll feel like falling right back into Lewis's orbit. He'll get sucked in right away because that always happens, always with Lewis. He's the kind of person that just captures you completely with his personality. He's charismatic but also not too out-going, a bit reserved and it leaves you craving for more. Once you're trapped in that gravitational pull and Lewis is alright with it you get to see a different side, with a lot more physicality and a lot more emotion.

At first, before their fuck buddy thing started, Max hadn't actively wondered about the Brit's private side and much less how it'd be to be in a relationship with him. After the 2021 season he had completely different fantasies he's not proud of. But then things calmed down and they kind of grew together again on the track.

Max doesn't rule out that the 2021 season still played a major factor in their attraction because it showed Max what an actual ruthless rival is. Not a friend or someone who laughs with you after a hard race but a scarred and battle-hardened racer that has a considerable amount of achievements backing him up. A true enemy, capable of crushing you without hesitation.

Each and every race was a lesson for Max, the moments where he learned the most and ultimately that prepared him for everything. It steeled him and raised him to be able to meet everyone head-on. Becuase there was no stronger rival than Lewis. Not for Max.

Somehow, in a twisted way, Max thought that's his very own version of Lewis. That's what their rivalry gave him. Their own personal intimacy which is only theirs to claim. Theirs to possess.

It's a bit scaring, and to Max it sounds like an obsession. But isn't that what it is? What else is it called when you can't possibly stop thinking about someone and even if you try and almost manage it, they somehow wreck their way right back into your life. And you let them.

Just like Max is doing right now.

"I- I just wanted to talk. The race wasn't that good and I just- I needed to vent."

"Well, okay. You didn't vent that much about the race though."

"It's alright. That stuff was also weighing me down." Max smiles, feeling his heart beating faster impatiently, "I better ge back and join the guys."

"You should." Daniel says apporvingly, "Have fun but don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Max raises an eyebrow, "You think your doing worse stuff than me?"

"Mhm just don't overdo it, alright?"

"Just enough to get me close to it." Max smiles at hearing Daniel sigh on the other hand.

"You're despicable. Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you."

They say their goodbyes and Max stills for a second after hanging up before he sends a quick text to Alex, saying he's not tagging along to the club. Then he's scrolling through his contact list again. This time though he hesitates before selecting the contact, and he waits even longer before pressing the call button.

His heart is thumping so loudly, not even the ringing of his phone neutralizes it as he waits with baited breath. There's a split second where he thinks this is an absolutely stupid move but it's too late because the ringing stopped.

"Max?"

Max stays silent, breathing shallow as his pulse pounds, "Hi." he swallows, "You called earlier."

There's a second of silence, "Yeah, I wasn't sure if you're still up."

"I wasn't sleeping yet." Max replies soberly, "Did you need something?"

"You didn't read my messages?"

Max stills, lips slightly parted as he gazed down the street, "What messages?" he wonders and stuffs his hand into the pocket of his jeans, "I'm at the bar. Guess I missed it." he tilts his head back, "Was it important?"

"Yes." Lewis replies, voice gentle but direct, "Kind of."

"Tell me." Max says unbothered, voice blank with indifference while his mind's running a marathon, "I got time."

There's a moment of silence, "Just that you're wrong. That's what I wanted you to know."

"I'm wrong?" Max's eyebrows shoot up, "About what?"

"What you said. Earlier before leaving my room at the track." Lewis explains tentatively, "You said it's one problem less." he continues, "You're wrong about that." the alpha clears his throat, "You're not a problem, Max. Never were."

Max stays silent, letting the words sink into his greedy mind that's immediately clawing for it like a hungry beast. Hearing Lewis say it to him floors the younger completely and he has to sort his thoughts anew.

"Really?" there's a slight crack in the word, his voice betraying him, "I was starting to feel like one though." he says and makes his way back into the hotel.

The wall of warmth in the lobby welcomes him openly as he makes his way over to the elevators.

"We don't need to talk about this now." Max says as he waits for the elevator and a reply, "Aren't you going out or something?" he asks casually and gets in.

"No. I don't feel like it right now. Too many thoughts in my head." Lewis sighs on the other end and at hearing the words Max pushes the button for the 4th floor, "If you're busy though we can talk some other day."

"I told you I got time. It's alright." he says and spares a glance at himself in the mirror. His black shirt was a bit tight around his chest but it looks alright. His usual go-to outfit for parties.

"Great." Lewis voice sounds soft and Max likes to imagine a small smile on the Brit's face, "I don't think I could've slept without getting this out of the world."

"Lewis, it's not that dramatic. I'm not hurt. It's alright."

"No, it's not." Lewis disagrees, "You're wrong. You're not a problem, okay?" he says again and there's a little bit of distraught coloring his voice, "It's me. I was starting to make  you one."

Okay, not what Max would've expected but he stays silent, intrigued by the Brit's words as he makes his way out of the elevator. 

"It's not fair you're thinking that when I'm the problem. I can't let you do that." Lewis sounds weak as Max makes his way down the floor past several hotelrooms, "Not when you're one of the very few things that almost never gave me trouble in the last three seasons."

"Almost?" Max can't help but ask, a small smirk forming on his lips.

There's a soft chuckle, "I'm being very generous here."

Max lets a second of contemplation slip, "Alright, I guess I can accept that." he stops in front of a door with the number he's searching for, "But only if you say all this to my face again."

He ends the call swiftly and knocks on the door.

Lewis freezes when he hears the knocks echoing through his suite. His black ribbed tank top suddenly feels way too tight. He shoots one fleeting glance at the cart holding a red wine bottle and two glasses before he brushes past it, heart thrumming with anticipation and excitement.

In a few strides he reaches the door and unlocks it. Then he freezes.

"You came." he looks at Max with wide eyes.

Max's lips twitch, "Don't get used to it." the omega crosses his arms and Lewis can't help but let his eyes trace the younger's forearms. His attention gets momentarily stuck on Max's chest that is unfairly nice outlined. Max really looked good in that plain black shirt, "I'm just curious if you also have balls off the track."

Lewis's eyes shoot up to meet Max's blue ones again and he takes a moment to let the omega's honey scent say hello to him. The little ache weighing down his heart disappearing tells him he's missed it. There's also a little touch of alcohol.

"Do you want a photo?" Max says but the bite in his voice is half-hearted, "You're staring." the younger tilts his head a bit and then his eyes move, leaving Lewis's gaze to flick past the alpha's shoulder. Max pauses, and that hint of a sarcastic smirk on his face freezes.

Lewis turns his head, following the line of sight and his eyes fall on the small serving cart holding the wine bottle, two glasses and an arrangement of delicate looking desserts, sinfully expensive not even the devil would understand ordering it. 

"I fucking knew it."

Lewis's attention snaps back to Max at hearing the younger's scorn and he's surprised by the sudden closeness. But just as fast Max has leaned in he steps back and Lewis is completely lost as to what's happening. The speed of Max's mood deteriorating was lightning fast, from one second to the other.

"And you're stupid enough to open the door." Max shakes his head with a scornful smile and steps back, "Sorry for interrupting. Didn't know you're having a fuck date."

"Wait, what? I-"

And then the two key synposes in his brain connect and he finally catches on. It's like lightning hitting him.

"Oh God, no. Hey, Max wait!" he grabs the younger's arm, "Seriously?" he asks with a raised eyebrow as a smile forms on his face, "It's just room service. There's no one."

Max's steely eyes level him with a glare, so cold and scathing, before his eyes dart back to the fancy cart. Then he shakes Lewis's grip off.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Max growls and Lewis's smile drops, "You're not that fucking shameless, are you?"

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? I can fucking smell there's someone else, Lewis." 

Lewis blinks, "You mean the strawberry candle that came with the desserts?" he gestures behind himself, "Calm down, Max." Lewis takes a step closer, "Can we take this inside?"

"I don't know." Max shrugs, crossing his arms again, "Maybe ask whoever you already got in there."

"Wh- What's even going on?" a pained frown forms on Lewis's face and he reaches out.

Max makes a disgusted face and slaps the older's hand away, "Mate, do you need me to explain your own plans to you? Should I write you your sex schedule? Is this getting you off?" 

"The hell? No!" Lewis replies and he's actually getting worried people are getting wind of their conversation here in the hallway, "Max, I told you. I ordered room service." Lewis starts slowly, calmly trying to explain, "Someone has to bring that to my room. Someone has to enter my suite and bring it and they have a scent like every other person on this planet. You think they'll beam it up in here?"

Max pauses for a bit and his eyes flicker to the side, "Maybe." he replies indifferently.

God, this thick-headed Dutch. Lewis feels a tingling warmth snaking through his body and it tells him something devilishly intriguing.

"Are you jealous?"

The way Max's head snaps up to look at him directly, eyes widening almost comically, mirroring the shock cursing through the omega, "What did you say?"

This time Lewis crosses his arms, expression collected and voice smooth, "Are you jealous."

Max shouldn't be. If he remembers their arrangement he should wave Lewis's accusation right off without a single ounce of hesitation. It's the reaction Lewis expects of him but internally the alpha is thrilled at the omega's outburst. 

Max narrows his eyes, "No." he replies clipped, the answer like a bullet, "I just don't want to be used." he partly recovers from his surprise and Lewis gulps, "I came here to talk. You called me to talk." he points at Lewis, "But then you have two glasses there." he nods at what's behind the Brit, "I don't know how you do things- maybe this is part of the rotation."

That shuts Lewis down because there's hurt somewhere hidden there, deep under those layers of anger and sarcasm and curses. He can see it in Max's eyes that under all these layers of steely blue and grey there's a softness and it clenches his heart.

Lewis smiles, "You think I light candles and order overpriced wine for random people?"

Max shrugs one shoulder, healf-heartedly, and Lewis feels relief flooding him as that honey scent finally calms down, spicy thorns retracting from the air. 

"This is for you." Amused Lewis watches Max's cheeks redden softly, "I called you to talk."

"About what?" Max reluctantly meets his eyes, gaze calm without the fire.

"First, we're having a glass. Then I'll tell you." Lewis nods, motioning for Max to enter his suite.

At first Max doesn't move, hesitates and eyes Lewis like a scared deer afraid of getting too close. It's unusual for the Dutch but the fiery glare screams anything but scared so, after a short staring contest the younger brushes past him and Lewis closes the doors behind them, satisfied.

"You really picked that one?" Max grabs the bottle to examine it closer while Lewis steps up behind him.

"It's the one you had with that steak in Monaco and pretended not to like. Then you finished almost the whole bottle."

Turned away like this, the way Max's lips twitch almost into a smile is completely hidden to Lewis.

"Still don't like it." he sniffs and places the bottle back on the table.

Lewis smirks, "Right. That's why you're eyeing my glass."

Max turns around to face him and in the confines of this private space it finally feels like they're actually looking at each other. There's the leftover anger Max is soaking in, the hurt he's suffering, the affection he's trying to hide, the jealousy he doesn't want to admit. Lewis sees it all.

"Why do you have to make everything always so fucking difficult?"

He looks at Max with childish mirth in his eyes, "Deep down you know you're doing the same."

Max chuckles the sound a mix of bitterness and relief, "Shut up and pour."

Lewis comes up behind Max who moves subtly to the side when the older grabs the bottle and the silver opener. With practiced ease he uncorks it and when he feels eyes on him he lifts his head to lock gazes with Max who's watching him. They both make a point of not looking away while Lewis grabs a glass.

"These look good." Max says, looking at the various desserts, "Do you often cheat on your diet?"

"I was wondering what you would like."

Max looks up, "So, you ordered the whole menu?"

A smirk tugs at Lewis's lips, "I somehow have to get my dopamine shots. This is one of many ways if racing doesn't do it."

He is a sinful man. Not the picture perfect role model people think he is. When he needs it he indulges, fully and greedily until he's satisfied. Of course he loves discipline, is very strict about his health and body but when you're wandering through such lows, discipline doesn't do much in keeping you sane.

"You know it takes a bit more than that and overpriced wine. I'm here to talk not to drink."

"I understand." Lewis hums and watches the deep red liquid pour into the glass, "Just... humor me for a bit." he looks back up and holds the glass out to Max. Then he picks up the strawberry candle, still flickering, "This bothering you?" 

Max pauses short before taking a sip and stares at Lewis. Then his gaze sharpens, "Very funny." he huffs and leans in, swiftly blowing the candle out, "I'd be suprised if you'd fuck someone smelling like that."

Lewis chuckles, "Didn't look like it a few minutes ago. You seemed pretty sure."

"I said I would've been surprised. Not that I wouldn't have believed it. You have quite the history so, don't blame me."

"I'm not." Lewis gently shakes his head and puts the candle down to pour himself a glass of wine, "I didn't realize you're comparing yourself to those people when you couldn't be more different."

Max narrows his eyes, honey scent spiking and overpowering the lost strawberry fragrance in the room, "Don't start with that. I know my self-worth."

"I'm sure." Lewis agrees quietly and moves to the balcony, "I didn't." he says and opens the door to let some fresh air in and to give the smoky remnants of the candle a way out, "I wanted a pretty distraction."

The honey scent is souring and Lewis feels himself becoming more restless under the omega's unhappiness.

"Nothing more or less. Just that." he turns to look at Max who's been awfully quiet, "At first I thougt it's a bad idea, something like this between colleagues. That's screaming trouble." he scoffs and looks to the side, rolling the glass stem between his fingers. 

In the beginning he had been convinced that it was a bad idea, this thing between Max and him. He's sure it's partly stemming from their turbulent season, a twisted attraction bordering on obssession born from a year-long rivalry. 

"But the idea doesn't leave and before you know it the pros outweight the cons. And in the end it doesn't matter anyway."

He remembers when he caved, when he couldn't resist that ambrosial honey anymore and let himself get pulled from rationality by beckoning blue eyes, sharp tongue and endearing thick-headedness. The frist time they fucked felt like pure salvation and Lewis couldn't forget it. It was the direct opposite he had wanted. Instead of getting Max out of his head, he's even further woven into Lewis's mind now.

He had been stupid to believe it would've just stayed at that one time.

"So, you regret this." Max's voice is sharp, cutting right in as if slicing a paper.

"No." Lewis shakes his head, "Not this. But the way I treated you."

Max takes a small sip, "I told you it's alright, Lewis. We don't have to talk about this a thousand times."

"If you'd let me finish, we won't." Lewis looks pointedly at Max, "You read my messages."

"I did."

"Do you believe me?"

Max snorts, but the sharp edges have dulled. He takes another sip and Lewis watches him walking slowly to the couch and sinks down it. He tilts his head, catching Lewis with his blue eyes and the Brit feels it- tension still simmering, but not boiling anymore.

"How should I when you always change your mind." he leans against the armrest, "Earlier today you tell me I don't know you good enough to care and now you tell me it's not like it." he takes a lazy sip and licks his lips, "Kind of borderline, no?"

Lewis is silent at first because there's really nothing he can say against that. Max is completely right and Lewis has no idea why he's this indecisive. Usually he knows what he wants or what has to be done but right now it feels like every next step could be a trap, making him crash through the floor and making him lose everything.

"I'm sorry." he sighs and comes closer, "I know it's not easy right now. I just-" he cuts himself, scrambling thoughts a whirlwind in his head, "It's- I'm sorry I talked to you like that earlier. You just wanted to help and I was a complete asshole." he looks at the ceiling and than at Max, "You're not a problem. I'm the problem. Because I don't know how to handle all this." he approaches Max and joins him on the couch, keeping a few inches between them.

He doesn't dare look at Max, afraid of what he might see. He doesn't even know how to tell Max what's making all this so difficult because Lewis himself isn't that sure about it. There's just so much.

"I hated today."

Max stays silent, listening.

"I hated feeling like that again. Like I'm not good enough because nothing's going forward no matter what I do. The car felt like shit. The team fed me empty words. I kept thinking, if I was ten years younger it'd be different. Maybe they'd care more."

He pauses when his throat feels too tight to continue. Absentmindly, he stares at his untouched glass in his hand.

"I'm so sick of it. I'm so sick of working so hard and still underperforming. I'm sick of everyone talking about it, about me as if they know me." Lewis chuckles to himself and it sounds a bit manic as he rubs his eyes, broad grin on his face, "I can't hear it anymore. They're all specualting about my retirement, that I'll leave soon. I just can't listen to it anymore. I can't." 

It's the worst of it all because it reminds Lewis time and time again that there's something he can't prevent from happening. It's something he can't fight against.

There's some shifting next to him and then he feels the wine glass getting plucked from his hand and he burries his whole face in his hands. That's when he feels the wetness, the tears breaking free and in that moment he can't hold it back anymore.

"I'm trying to ignore it." he says blindly, hand covering his eyes, "But the next day it's everywhere and I tell them again and again I'm not leaving but they're not hearing it. They're not listening to me." his voice wavers towards the end, dying in a whisper, "Even though I just signed the contract it's still a topic." he clears his throat to get rid of the rasp in his voice, "Next to Charles I look like a complete joke." his hand falls away when growing irritation dries out the flow of tears, "He got a podium and I get passed by a Sauber. Isn't that fucking funny?" he asks with a grin, looking straight ahead, "The worst thing is I don't even know what I should've done better."

"Nothing, Lewis."

Lewis doesn't move, letting the words reach him before he faces Max against his better judgement, showing the omega his probably disheveled face. It must be tear striken and something only a hand full of people had seen. There's a worried gleam in the younger's eyes and Lewis hates to see it becuase it's directe at him.

The omega shuffles closer, having placed the wine glasses on the small table, "You couldn't do anything better. The underfloor of your car was damaged. Charles told me."

Huh.

Well, that is something Lewis guesses but it hardly improves his mood, let alone let him feel any kind of the relief it was supposed to bring him. At least he knows now why he's so much slower.

Lewis looks away, "Doesn't matter now. They'll still say I'm too old."

"That's bullshit, Lewis, and you know it." Max says and Lewis feels the omega's warmth close to him, "They're talking out of their asses because they're unhappy and decide you're their victim."

"Yeah, but they're unhappy because of me."

"Fuck them!" Max replies heatedly, "They don't know you. They have no idea how strong you are. Their little brains don't have the capacities to imagine that. They only see what's out there."

Lewis chuckles humorlessly and folds his hands, "And that's the only thing that counts. I'm not good enough. A deadweight." he shrugs, his mouth feeling ashen, "You said it yourself."

He didn't want to bring it up but the words of the younger had hit like a punch.

You drove like shit.

"That's because I'm fucking stupid. I wasn't thinking. You hear me?" The Dutch suddenly straightens up on his knees and takes Lewis's face in his hands to make Lewis look at him, "I'm sorry I said that shit to you. I wasn't thinking, alright? I was really fucked up because of the race and I wanted you to be fucked up, too."

Max's hands frame his face gently, as if holding a fragile diamond and Lewis can't remember the last time someone touched him with this kind of affection. He wanted to lean into that touch.

"And I couldn't match you. You showed up furious and all and I..." he wants to look away but he doesn't want to leave Max's hands, "I couldn't give you anything."

There's a soft frown on Max's face, showing the Dutch's worrisome side, "I didn't want you to match me. I wanted you to be there. Just- present. With me." he says gently and tilts his face so their foreheads are almost touching, "I was a bit overwhelmed at first but I actually just wanted to beef with you together."

"That's as relieving as sex?"

Max lets go of him and leans back, honey scent caressing Lewis like a pair of ghostly lips, "Sometimes, yes. I recommend it actually."

Lewis huffs a single laugh and leans back into the couch. His throat bobs when he swallows, heart heavy and tired from carrying a million secrets and hopes and for the second time tonight, his facade cracks further. He knows the lines on his face probably seem deeper, more human but Max still looks at him the same.

"I know I said that you're not in the position to worry about me. That this thing between us doesn't mean anything. That it's just comfort." he murmurs and looks down at his lap, examining the rings on his finger, "But when you left today... it felt so wrong. Not because of what we do but because I didn't stop you. Didn't get to say-" he licks his lips anxiously, "I never wanted you to feel like this."

A faceless body Max had called himself and Lewis never wants to hear the younger talk like that about himself again. Just knowing he brought this on makes Lewis feel horrible. He's undeserving of this warmth. 

Next to him Max's face softens and then Lewis feels a soft brush against his wrist. He looks down, turns his hand up in invitation and lets Max lace their fingers together. The touch feels incredibly gentle and fragile, cautious and Lewis wants to keep ahold of it.

"Then let me care, Lewis." Max's voice is soft, the last of his temper faded into something more vulnerable, "I don't want to pretend I don't. You care, too."

"I do." Lewis replies and the swiftness of his reply says everything about what he wants deep down.

Max's honey scent is incredibly comforting around him, like a lover's embrace, protective and affectionate and ready to catch his mind every time. It feels even stronger now somehow and he lets himself be cradled by it.

"I know." Max suqeezes Lewis's hand and the alpha shifts closer, moves careful and reverently. This time he leans his forehead against Max's. His hand grabs Max's a bit tighter, "Let me stay tonight?" Max whisper against his lips and Lewis's eyes flutter shut, pale blue the last thing he sees, "Just to be. Like this."

"Stay."

He begs blindly and hears Max exhale slowly and it feels like with it the last few fractions of tension fly away. Max's scent curls in the air, thick and sweet, heady like honey warmed by sunlight. It's unmistakeably omega, but not fragile or docile. It's anchoring, a force that doesn't just invite comfort. It commands it.

It makes Lewis's head swim in warmth as his mouth goes dry. He feels his shoulders drop, his heartrate slows down to a steady sleepy beat and something primal in him finally quiets.

This is what peace feels like, Lewis thinks sluggishly as his soul bathes in this harmonious balance. It's cathartic and for now he lets it put his mind to rest. Like this he is no longer afraid of falling again, knowing a soft cloud of warm honey will catch him. Max will catch him.