Work Text:
VERSTAPPEN RADIO 1
“I’m constantly jumping, not only bouncing”
It was going to be one of those weekends, clearly. Not that Charles seemed to have any other type of weekend recently. He walked to the national anthem with his head low, mindless to the hubbub around him. That car deserved a word stronger than shitbox. He could walk around Qatar and probably qualify better. P10, and behind an Alpine. An Alpine.
Seb said something about not wasting it, didn’t he?
A camera was instantly stuck in his face as he walked on the track, but it quickly got distracted by something else more exciting than him and buzzed away. Half the grid was already waiting, with their grid kids anxiously rocking back and forth in front of them.
Alex and George were chatting away together quietly. Lando was standing next to George, his face twisted. He didn’t acknowledge Charles as he walked past him, but he didn’t take anything from it. Oscar looked milky pale, his brow furrowed. The ice cold grip on their nerves, sneaking down their throat and choking their lungs, swimming in their intestines and weakening their knees. A championship within reach, so close, hanging within reach. For Lando, a comfortable well-worn jacket he could shrug into, Oscar, a pair of shoes that are too tight, pinching his toes. Max- no, Max is Max. He doesn’t do metaphors.
God, Charles would love to know what that felt like. A championship that close.
Pathetic.
P10.
Pierre clapped him on the shoulder as he passed him. Charles smiled back. P10! He walked across the track and stopped to stand in his place next to Max.
“Hi” Max greeted him politely.
“Hello” He replied, stepping onto the platform next to him. Max’s arms slotted behind his back as he straightened up, and Charles’ eyes drifted south unconsciously, okay, it wasn’t a habit, it was just a stupid human instinct, completely-
Charles nearly choked on his own tongue.
-normal.
There was a curved cup line underneath Max’s tight fireproofs. A little ‘U’, starting from next to his armpit and going round. The clinging white fabric was a little bunched up, but it was visible, it was there. Another matching ‘U’ on the other side, straps poking around his shoulders, another dent around his ribs.
No fucking way.
Max was wearing a bra.
A sports bra, it had to be, because it looked thicker and bigger than any normal bra would. He almost could have been wearing a vest underneath his fireproofs, if there wasn’t a visible cut off point across his ribs. There was no hiding it, the fabric was clingy enough usually, compact around Max’s narrow waist and over his tits- over his chest, so Charles could normally see shit anyway, could usually see his entire fucking nipples poking through stretched fireproofs, but not now, no, because he was wearing a bra.
He was wearing a bra!
“Charles”
His eyes snapped back up to Max’s face.
Putain.
The Dutchman was glaring at him, the tops of his cheeks a dusty pink. Charles blinked rapidly, his heart thudding hard in his chest. Max pursed his lips. He tugged at the hem of his fireproofs, crossing his arms over his body.
“What are you looking at?”
“N-nothing” He stuttered. Charles rubbed his eyebrow, firmly staring at a spot behind Max’s ear, not at his- not at his anything. “Nothing, I just thought-”
“Thought what?”
Charles’ eyes flicked back down for only a millisecond, but Max definitely caught it anyway. His face was burning.
“That- I saw something. But. . . I didn’t” Charles said lamely.
Had no one else noticed? Surely the entire internet must be on fire, running around screaming, torches and pitchforks and claws out, explosions and nuclear warfare, because Max Verstappen, reigning World Champion, had turned up to the latest F1 race in a goddamn bra.
“You didn’t?” Max’s eyes twitched.
“No” He stared at the ground, yes, the ground was definitely better than staring at Max’s tits.
There was a long, painful, stretch of silence.
“You’re a shit liar, Charles” Max muttered, turning back around to face the front.
Charles swallowed the lump in his throat.The opening notes of the Qatari national anthem began playing. It was a pretty good one, and he listens to a lot of national anthems. As he tried to hum along to the music, Charles chanced just one last little look down.
Huh. Somehow, wearing a bra actually made his tits look smaller than usual. It must be the compression, keeping it tight to his body. That must be it, keeping them compact and secure while in the car. If Charles had a chest like Max’s, surely it must sometimes hurt to drive. Did he wear sports bras while exercising too?
Max stamped down hard on his foot.
“Stop fucking staring” He hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
Charles must look purple by now. He forced his eyes back up, wincing painfully.
“Sorry”
The grid kid in front of Charles craned his neck around and looked at them both oddly. Charles smiled through gritted teeth and gave him a little wave, urging him to turn back around.