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Beside him is Daniel, whooping and hollering over his first race win since the Belgian Grand Prix. Max, looking boyish, brandishes his champagne bottle, spraying Daniel right in the face and catching Rosberg on the nape. Both drivers retaliate, aiming their bottles at Max, and the older duo high-five when the fizz dies down. Max is left drenched and beaming, his victorious smile rivaled the glaring sun.

When the coverage shifts to sweeping shots of the colorful fans in the stands, George grabs his phone and quickly fires off a string of texts to Max. He knows not to expect a response anytime soon — Max has the FIA conference now, as George’s notifications remind him, then media duties, and finally the debrief and everything that follows.

Princess G 👑
>>> saw the whole thing and we’re so proud of you, papa 😝
>>> get back fast!!!
>>> [ A low-angled picture of topless George with his whole belly out in the bed, giving Max a thumb up with a straight face]

He doesn’t expect the answer to be immediate.

madmax (baby daddy)🏎️
>>> You need your phone confiscated
>>> Daniel almost peeked into our text schat
>>> So beautiful and sexy
>>> Should I ditch media and get back to you now?

George feels warm all over, blushing like he’s been caught sneaking the last bit of pizza from their fridge or something. He hadn’t meant for the photo to look like a thirst trap; he’d just finished some light exercises with his inflatable birthing ball while watching the race — his doctor had recommended building flexibility and pelvic comfort now that he’s 27 weeks along and entering the third trimester.

But as George zooms in on his selfie and inspects it more closely, he can see why Max might think it was sent with mischievous (and maybe horny) intent. George isn’t usually insecure; he generally thinks he looks fine, but pregnancy has been tough on his self-esteem — especially once he realized he could no longer fit into his favorite shirts or pants. Like most guys, he sometimes enjoyed posing at the gym to track his progress or taking photos with friends and family, but that’s become rare now that his body seems to have tripled in size, practically shouting PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT. In fact, he hardly takes proper photos of himself anymore, except for the occasional silly selfie for close friends or his mama.

Still, this selfie is kinda hot though, George could give it that. His face is flushed from the exertion, his blue eyes droopy beneath his long lashes, and there are miles of glistening and damp exposed skin reflecting the sunbeam from the windows. Okay, why are the effortless selfies always hits? George is lowkey feeling himself now, good, good.

Deciding to goon a little, George gets up and sits himself back on his ball, taking another selfie from above-angle that showcases his metallic yoga ball and his protruding stomach, left hand cradling the swell of it, and he’s sticking his tongue out as a cherry on top. Now this one — this looks positively flirty but not like he’s trying too hard.

Without thinking, he sends it to Max.

Princess G 👑
>>> im gonna make a slutty workout tiktok while waiting for u mate

On the TV, George can see that Max is on the tail end of answering a question about being voted Driver of the Day. As soon as he finishes, Max flips his phone upright again and opens their chat. George didn’t expect that Max would actually choke — hacking out his lungs almost painfully, drawing surprised stares from everyone in the room. One of the FIA staff members rushes into the view, offering a bottle of water to poor Max, who is still fighting for his life right there on the live broadcast.

“What happened? Are you alright now, Max?” Tom Clarkson, the moderator, inquires after Max, who downs his water like his life depends on it. Max’s face is flushed, as if he’s just leapt out of his car, and there’s a faint tremble in his hand as he lifts the microphone again.

“Super peachy,” Max rasps, voice hoarse but forcing a tight smile. The lisp in his answer draws an affectionate laugh from Daniel, who reaches over to pat Max’s back.

“Let’s move on to the next question so that Max can rest as soon as possible,” Daniel teases, a knowing smirk on his face.

Oh. Daniel definitely saw that.

Max is distracted the whole debrief, chewing on his bottom lip and fidgeting in his seat — restless and buzzing with excitement. His legs bounce unconsciously until Daniel, grinning cheekily, reaches over to steady Max’s right knee and stop him from shaking the meeting table. At this point, Max can’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed. So what if everyone knows he gets giddy over his boyfriend’s tantalizing, and slightly scandalous selfies? That’s perfectly normal, thank you very much!

When the debrief is finally over, Max shoots out of his seat faster than his RB12 off the line. He grabs his backpack and all but sprints out of the motorhome toward his rental car, Jake hurrying after him.

“See you in Suzuka, lover boy!” Daniel bellows, a wide grin on his face. “Tell George to post the workout video, I’m making a TikTok account right now just for that!”

“Piss off!” Max shouts back, flipping both birds at the Australian but grinning just as widely. “See ya!” With that, he slips into the backseat beside Jake.

“Your flight is at ten tonight, with a layover in Abu Dhabi, then straight on to Nice. The next flight to Japan is in three days,” Jake drones, scrolling through Max’s schedule on his phone as their car pulls away from the circuit.

“Okay, copy,” Max replies absently, checking his phone for any notifications from George — nothing. George has gone quiet since sending that cursed selfie that short-circuited Max during the conference. He doesn’t upload anything new to TikTok, either — courtesy of his Twitter fanbase, Max should’ve known the threat was empty. It’s a little disappointing, but at least George isn’t out there giving him another heart attack. If he actually started posting those thirst traps, Max would be a goner for sure.

The drive to the hotel feels endless, but at last the car pulls up to the lobby, with Jake promising to knock on his door promptly at 7:45. Max resists the urge to sprint up the emergency stairs to the 26th floor and waits impatiently for the elevator, his whole body humming with anticipation. Luckily, he’s alone — no one waiting beside him, no one inside — so he taps his access card and triple-presses the close button, silently willing the metal box to move faster.

When the elevator dings on his floor and the doors slide open, Max takes long strides down the carpeted corridor, heart jack-rabbiting inside the cavity of his chest. He nearly walks past their room, his mind and soul already filled with nothing but George, George, and more George.

Max feels like an over-eager prepubescent virgin, palms so sweaty he nearly drops the access card as he fumbles to unlock their hotel room. Before he can even get the card to the sensor, the door swings open — revealing George, already dressed up.

“Huh?” Max breathes, taking in the sight of his boyfriend, already dressed — what he assumes is George’s airport outfit.

“What?” George asks in return, eyebrows stitched together in confusion.

“Why are you dressed?” Max asks again, still a bit dazed.

George stifles a laugh. “What do you mean? Why are you dressed? We’re flying home in a few hours.”

“You weren’t dressed in the pictures…”

“That was almost two hours ago, Max. I was exercising,” George says, barely containing his amusement at Max’s expression. “I’ve showered and gotten ready since then. I’m all set to go.”

“Mate, I can’t believe I missed it!” Max groans, half-joking as he steps into the room, his face flushed, while George follows, laughing loudly. “You sent me all those photos just to tease me, and now you’re already dressed when I get back? That’s evil, schat,” he grumbles, moving further into the hotel room. He still hasn’t showered — his skin is sticky from the humidity, with traces of champagne and sweat lingering in places he hadn’t even noticed.

“I wasn’t teasing!” George protests, laughing bashfully as he takes a seat on the neatly made bed — of course, he’d tidied up, clean freak that he is. Max wants to tease him about it, but instead, something else slips out of his mouth way too easily:

“So… no sexy time?”

George’s mouth falls open in surprise, eyes wide and bright. “Shut up! Where is your decorum?” He hurls a pillow from the bed, just missing Max’s face thanks to his quick reflexes.

“But, Princess, that’s ridiculous! I deserve a sexy time, don’t I? Podium today and everything,” Max grins, “Don’t you want to woo-hoo?”

That sends George into a full-bodied laugh, scarlet blooming from his face down to the skin visible at the neckline of his cream-colored V-neck. Max has the sudden urge to bite him — would George even mind? George doubles over, clutching his growing belly and slapping the bed twice in the middle of his laughter. It isn’t even that funny, but Max mentally congratulates himself for making George laugh so hard. Happiness looks so good on him; Max can’t help but grin at the sight.

When the laughter finally fades, George wipes a tear from his lashes and groans, “What are you, five? Goodness gracious, you’re impossible, Max.” The younger man only shakes his head, still beaming. The joy radiating from George makes Max want to do something cheesy, like wax a poem about him — ridiculous, but the thought lingers.

“Blimey, my stomach hurts. All that laughing must have woken up Bean,” George sighs, stretching a bit in his seat. He flips up his V-neck sweater, revealing his rounded stomach, and gently rubs it. “Good afternoon, my love. Your papa’s here — come say congratulations, won’t you?”

Right on cue, the bump stirs. Max steps closer to the bed and crouches down, bringing his face level with George’s moving belly. He leans in and presses a kiss to the taut skin. “Hello, Bean. Did you enjoy watching the race with Daddy today?” he murmurs, nuzzling against the soft skin and scattering more kisses across it. Under his lips, the bump shifts in response. “You did? That’s wonderful, liefje. Second place isn’t so bad, is it? I promise the next one will be even better.”

George’s fingers weave through Max’s now-longer hair, mussing it gently. He lets Max chatter and coo at the bump, savoring the calm after the excitement of the race.

“You should shower,” George says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the peaceful moment. He brushes Max’s hair back from his forehead, massaging his scalp lightly before tucking a strand behind his ear. The sight makes George’s chest tighten — Max looks so young like this. Max glances up with his best puppy-dog eyes, lips pursed in a hopeful pout.

“Will you help me wash up?”

George laughs, running his fingers through Max’s hair with playful affection before pulling him up for a kiss. Max, caught a bit off guard, nearly loses his balance but quickly melts into the embrace, kissing back. The kiss ends all too soon, leaving Max to whine softly, one hand rubbing George’s hip and the other bracing himself so he doesn’t crush George onto the mattress. He leans in for another, hungry for the familiar softness of George’s mouth, goosebumps prickling across his sweat-damp skin. The kiss is sloppy and desperate, as if they’ve been apart for ages, the sound of lips meeting and smacking echoing in the quiet hotel room.

George eventually leans back, pressing one last lingering kiss to Max’s lips before finding his voice. “Alright, champ, let’s get you into the shower,” he teases, cheeks bunching with a smile as Max exhales a shaky breath and licks his damp lower lip. George kind of wants to trace it again with his tongue, to forget about showers and flights and just stay here tangled up together. But he reassures himself — there will be plenty more moments like this when they’re back home, in their own bed, without long-haul flights or travel.

“You’re such a tease, don’t deny it,” Max mutters, though he still straightens up. His hair is a tousled mess, his face flushed and blotchy, his eyes hooded and a little glassy, his lips damp and pulled into a sulk. George can’t help the surge of smug satisfaction — they’ve hardly done anything, yet Max is worked up and looks ready to melt right into the carpet.

“Whatever you say, Maxie,” George sing-songs, heading into the ensuite. He slips out of his pants and perches on the edge of the bathtub. “Now get in, before I change my mind.”

“Stop splashing me!” George yelps, narrowly dodging a wave of soapy water. His knitted V-neck is hitched up over his stomach, legs dangling in the warm bath. Inside the tub, Max sways side to side like a gleeful toddler, sporting a huge grin.

“The water is nice, are you sure you don’t want to jump in?” Max teases.

“We’re not at the beach, Max,” George replies, rolling his eyes affectionately. He gestures for Max to scoot closer. “Come here so I can shampoo your hair properly.” Max obediently shifts over, letting George work his fancy hair products through his hair. He closes his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch. “Feels really good, mama.”

“Now I’m mama?” George laughs, gently massaging Max’s scalp as his fingers work through the hair. When he was little, his own mother would bathe him and his brother together — saving time and keeping things easy. She’d hand them water toys, let them soak, then bundle them up in fluffy towels afterward. George was always the fussy one, refusing to get out of the bath until he felt squeaky clean and thoroughly washed.

“You’re going to be a mama soon,” Max hums, his hands wandering back to George’s stomach like a child reaching for a favorite bath toy. “What should we have Bean call you — daddy or mama? I think ‘daddy’ might be trickier for Bean to pronounce when they start talking.”

George shrugs, realizing he hasn’t really given it much thought. “I’m not sure — ‘mama’ is definitely easier to say. Honestly, I think I’d be fine with either.”

“You should run a poll on Instagram, let your massive fanbase decide,” Max teases, waggling his eyebrows. He doesn’t fully get the whole influencer thing George has going on — maybe he never will — but it’s always entertaining to watch George squirm whenever it comes up.

“Oh, shut up. You’ve got more followers than I do, asshole,” George fires back, deliberately scrubbing Max’s head a bit harder. Max’s laughter turns to a playful groan, though amusement still dances across his sudsy face.

“I’m kidding, schatje. But seriously, it’s actually proven that talking to your kids like you would with adults helps their speech and language development. We’ll have Bean calling you ‘Daddy George William Russell’ in no time, if that’s what you want,” Max reassures, fingers tracing the curve of George’s stomach tenderly. George chuckles at that, carefully aiming the gentle stream of the showerhead so he doesn’t accidentally waterboard Max’s face.

“I think I’ll go see my doctor this week — with the third trimester starting and all,” George says, excitement coloring his voice. “We should start looking at names, buy baby things, set up the nursery — what else?”

“There’s definitely a lot of homework for us,” Max hums. Time really is flying. George is already 27 weeks along, and the season’s almost over — just five races left. There’s so much to figure out, especially with the baby arriving so soon, hopefully by year’s end. Max is thrilled, but beneath the excitement, he can’t help feeling a little scared, too. He finds himself hoping every day that everything will turn out all right.

“I also think maybe it’d be better if I didn’t fly every week,” George sighs. “But I’d miss you terribly, then.”

Max glances up, catching the sadness in George’s expression. It’s rare for George to be clingy or needy — he’s always been fiercely independent, even now, with a baby on the way. But on the rare occasion George lets his guard down and admits his more tender emotions, it truly makes Max’s heart swell with affection.

“Schatje, I’ll miss you a lot too,” Max says, resting a damp hand reassuringly on George’s knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We should also think about our living arrangement. I’m not comfortable with you being by yourself in Monaco. Your mum actually messaged me a few days ago — she thinks it might be best if you come back to London.”

George bites his bottom lip. “Yeah, she made some good points. London has better hospitals and doctors, especially for male-carrier births.”

“We can move back to London — it’ll be easier for me, too,” Max replies with a smile. “Everything is going to be okay, Georgie. It’s just hilarious that we’re having this discussion in the bathtub, don’t you think?”

George’s eyes go wide, as if just realizing it, before a cackle escapes his rosy lips. “Why do we always pick the most random places for these conversations? This is a very unserious-serious matter, Verstappen!” His mood lifts, and a small, genuine smile returns to his face. Max exhales in relief. He couldn’t bear to see George spiral into worry again, not when they’d been doing so well — working things out and talking things through like actual adults, not clueless teenagers stumbling through mistakes.

“I think I’m done here — my fingers are all pruny,” Max says, holding up his hands for George to see. “Look, all crinkly.”

George shakes his head, then pulls the bathtub plug and hands Max a clean towel. “Come on, big baby, let mama dry you off.”

Max smirks as he climbs out of the tub. “Ooh, that’s kind of hot. Come here, mama — let me give you a kiss.”

Blushing, George averts his gaze to give Max a moment of modesty as he wraps the towel around his torso. But Max gently tips George’s face back to him, that triumphant smirk still firmly in place.

“Hello, mama,” Max teases, bending down until he’s eye level with George — close enough to admire the flutter of his lashes and the faint smatter of freckles across his nose. “Why are you being all shy, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” George grumbles, though the blush on his cheeks deepens and creeps down his neck. He lets Max’s gentle hand cradle the hinges of his jaw, Max’s warm breath brushing over his lips as he licks them in anticipation. It tastes sweet, even before their lips collide.

Max leans in slowly, but it’s George who closes the distance, their lips meeting in a tender, lingering kiss. This one is sweeter, unhurried — softer than before — with Max carefully supporting George, making sure he doesn’t tip off the edge of the tub.

Heat pools low in George’s stomach as he slides a hand to the back of Max’s head, angling him closer so Max can suck gently on his bottom lip.

The kiss doesn’t last long — George eventually pulls away, lips red and slick, making a face as droplets of water bead on his forehead and trickle down the slope of his pointed nose. “Hey, you’re dripping all over me!”

Max snaps out of his daze, cupping George’s face and laughing as he wipes away the stray droplets. Then, with a mischievous glint, he shakes his head like a wet dog — just to annoy George further, earning a squeal of protest and George’s peal of laughter.

They’re on the plane to Abu Dhabi when Max suddenly remembers.

“Pssst,” Max whispers under his breath, tiny finger poking at George’s clothed elbow. “You should show me that workout TikTok you made today.”

George leans his head closer, though he doesn’t make any move to lift up his sleep mask. “Posted that bad boy already, you should create an account if you want to see it.”

“Shit — when did you post it?”

“While you were frantically packing before we left. Now don’t bother me, I’m sleeping.” With that, George turns his head back to the other side and wriggles into his seat, snuggles comfortably under the fuzzy airplane blanket.

Max pulls out his phone from his pocket and, using the onboard wifi, quickly downloads the app. He picks the most unrecognizable username from a handful of AI suggestions, then types George’s name into the search bar. George’s account pops up before Max even finishes typing.

And there George is — topless, pregnant, smiling, sweaty, effortlessly nailing all those prenatal yoga poses. Max has to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. Because, what the hell. There’s nothing inappropriate about the video; it’s genuinely informative and educational. Still, the sheer number of comments underneath is downright overwhelming.

Max can’t help but notice the pinned comment, though. It’s from user @dannyric003 — “thanks for blessing us with this routine mamacita!”

“That absolute dickhead!”