Chapter Text
Waking up was like trudging through quicksand—syrupy and dredged. Max could feel the pale winter sun shining onto his back through the uncovered window of the master bedroom, overlooking the top of Monte Carlo, out onto the glistening Mediterranean, even in the early morning light.
Without opening his eyes, he stretched across the messy nest, disturbed from their night’s sleep. The nest smelt faintly of Charles— warm caramel, a touch of sea salt, and the lingering hint of petrichor infused into it from Max’s own, coming about after they had finally mated. Searching for the body next to him, Max came up empty. He shuffled his hand around the rumpled sheets, over the soft blankets and old team kits, both his and Charles’ from their early years in Formula.
Sighing, he cracked open his eyes against the harsh early morning light, feeling crust around his lids. The digital clock on the nightstand next to the bed read 7:02 a.m.—far too early for Charles to be awake. While Max tended to be an early riser, eager to get the less-than-pleasant aspects of being a driver out of the way early in the morning (going for a run, a quick workout, and a reheated meal provided for him by his trainer), Charles would gladly sleep until noon, given the opportunity. He was serious about his sleep.
Where is he?
Then, he heard the running of the shower in the en-suite bathroom, his eyes catching the light coming from under the wooden door. What was Charles doing up?
Max hauled himself out of bed (a real effort), disturbing Sassy lying against his back, facing the windows. She huffed, stretching her legs, before curling up away from him again.
Max shuffled towards the bathroom in the dim light, the hardwood cold against his bare feet. The bathroom door was closed and Max stood before it, debating entering. In the end, he knocked gently.
“Schatje?” He called, rapping his knuckles against the pale wood.
The shower continued running, Charles oblivious to his mate outside the door.
Max knocked harder. “Schat?”
The water of the shower paused and Max could hear the sound of the glass door opening and the slap of wet feet on the tile floor.
“Mon amour? What are you doing up?” Charles opened the door, towel around his hips.
For a moment, Max was stunned into silence. Charles looked divine, as always, but especially now. His hair was curlier, the humidity of the shower causing the longer hairs on the back of his neck to curl up into little ringlets. His face was flushed—a brilliant pink that spread across his cheeks and ears, the warmth of the shower bringing the tone to his skin. His lithe body dripped with water, rivulets dripping between his pronounced chest, down his stomach, into the white towels fashioned around his wide hips, emphasizing the curve of his waist. Max tracked a droplet as it ran down one breast, peaking at the pebbled nipple. His mouth watered.
“Mon cheri, why are you up?” Charles fiddled with a loose string of the towel, his scent bright and pronounced in the steam of the bathroom. Max felt himself drinking in—sweet like luxury chocolate.
His mind processed the question. “Charlie, why are you up? It’s like…seven o’clock in the morning?” His tone was questioning.
Charles blushed further, the warmth from the shower and his own embarrassment peaking through his ruddied cheeks.
“Ah…well, I woke up this morning to a…surprise. It’s like this.”
Max was confused, his brows drawing together in a frown, mouth downturned. Charles tracked the mole on his lip as his mouth crinkled in confusion.
“A surprise? What surprise?”
Charles turned positively scarlet, his already warm cheeks taking on a flaming quality. “Ah, well…it is…that time of the month.” His response got quieter as he elaborated. His scent turned slightly sour, like burnt sugar and overly spiced coffee.
It clicked for Max then. Charles had woken up to his period. Usually, his birth control was effective in preventing his cycle. After all, no racing driver wanted to be careening at 300kph while their uterus was cramping up inside them. But during the off-season, summer and winter break, Andrea usually recommended that Charles experience one or two natural cycles, to ensure his strict dieting and exercise were not negatively impacting him. Losing a period would be a serious sign.
Max sniffed, “Okay, schatje. Is there anything you want me to do?”
He took stock of the state of the bathroom now. Charles’ clothes were shed across the floor, a pair of panties with a bright red stain lying on top. A pack of tampons lay haphazardly next to the double vanity.
Charles sighed. “Well…there was a bit of a mess this morning. It took me by surprise. Can you run a load of laundry?” His lips were downturned as he gazed back at the ruined clothing.
Max reached out, brushing a hand along Charles’ damp forearm.
“Of course, let me feed the zoo, and then I’ll throw everything in the wash. How about you finish up in here, and I’ll take the dogs for a walk?”
Charles turned towards his mate, his eyes crinkling in relief. He reached up, nuzzling his cheek against the morning stubble of Max’s jaw, imprinting his sweet scent, turning Max’s petrichor flowery.
“Thank you, bebe! I promise I’ll be right out!”
Needless to say, Max skipped his workout that day (he was secretly glad for that) to watch reality television and eat whatever (limited) junk food they had lying around the house, while Charles lounged on the couch on a heating pad, Leo snuggled on his chest.