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“Âllo? …Calamar? C’est quoi?”
“Pear,” he whimpers down the line, his phone burning up in his hand where it presses against his cheek. “I made a mistake.”
--
The two little pink lines stand out innocently against the white porcelain of his toilet.
There’s a weird tension hanging in the air. His entire bathroom is stifled with it. Just because he was feeling nauseous this morning. Just because he went into heat early.
“Putain,” Charles curses, the word feeling too used in his mouth at this point in time. It slipped from his lips a few too many times this morning, as he was pulling pregnancy test after pregnancy test from the plastic bag Arthur had reluctantly gotten for him at the pharmacy. “Bordel de merde!”
Another timer goes off on his phone - a reminder to check the other test.
There’s a tiny plus sign on the display, blinking up at him innocently.
“Fucking hell,” Arthur finally speaks up from beside him. There’s the stench of worried alpha hanging all around the room, ever since his brother stepped in beside him to check the tests. “Maybe you should try to pee again? Maybe then one of them will be negative?”
With a sweeping hand gesture, Charles throws the - by now sixth - pregnancy test to the ground. There’s a weird swooping sensation in his stomach that threatens to make him throw up once again.
“Maman is going to kill you,” his little brother pipes up once more, his voice annoyingly caring. “Do you know who is the-”
“No,” Charles cuts him off. “Most likely whoever I spent my heat with.”
Arthur’s phone chimes with the end of the set timer. When Charles picks up the seventh test, hoping against all hope that he might have bought some faulty tests, the display reads pregnant :). The damn smiley is definitely mocking him.
Because his brother has never known when to shut up, there are still words flowing from the alpha’s mouth: “But you don’t remember?”
--
“Pregnant?!” Pierre shrieks down the phone. “What do you mean you are pregnant?”
A hiccuping breath leaves his throat. For just a moment, he asks himself when he turned into something that can make the sound of a dying animal. Maybe it was twenty minutes ago when Arthur left him with a pitying look in his eyes, a worried frown on his face. That was at least when the tears started flowing freely from his eyes, down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt.
“All the tests were positive,” the omega whispers, questioning whether his voice can get any quieter. With the way his throat closes up, the lump in it physically choking him, maybe it can. Still, he has to confide in somebody, anybody that he can trust at this point. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Donc,” the Frenchman sounds more calm now, maybe in response to Charles’ display of emotions. It doesn’t really help him, Charles’ breath is still coming fast, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. “What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
There’s a long pause over the line. Almost as if Pierre is looking for the words. Or maybe he is just trying to figure out whether he’ll hurt Charles’ feelings by being honest.
“Pear?”
“I’m still here, Calamar.”
“What do you mean?” the omega repeats himself, fighting to unclench his jaw and speak the words clearly.
“Do you want to keep it?”
--
“It might have been Carlos, actually,” Charles wonders aloud, the spatula held high in his hand. The kitchen is empty except for the sound of bubbling water, and his own voice echoing off the tiled wall behind the stove. “I doubt it would have been Alessandro. He would have said something to me sooner, non?”
Leo only throws him an unimpressed look from where the puppy is sat in front of his empty food bowl.
“No, bébé, it’s still another hour until food time,” the omega announces with a quick glance at his watch. Before him, the pasta bubbles happily. His eyes stay locked on the boiling pot, as his thoughts stray to his dilemma once more.
“Do you think Oscar would-?” Then he shakes his head violently, dissolving the thought as quickly as it entered his mind. “No, no, he wouldn’t. No way. He’s too young. I’m sure he’d use protection.”
Which leaves-
The entire rest of the grid, and everybody else he has ever interacted with in the paddock.
“Putain.”
--
“Fred? There’s something you should know.”
--
He remembers the day his heat hit.
Everything afterwards is a blur in his mind.
--
The thing about being an omega is that there’s always people interested. And Charles knows that he is pretty.
“Why should I apologize for it?” he snarks, as another full glass is pressed into his hand. He hasn’t paid for a single drink all night, and he won’t start now. “If people want to treat me right, then they’re absolutely right to do so.”
“Mate,” Lando laughs, pulling his credit card once again from his wallet to hand to the bartender. “What does that even mean?”
“What I mean,” Charles grins, leaning forward, his elbow hitting the countertop before them. “is that I have needs. And there are enough people that are down for it as soon as I bat my eyelashes at them.”
“Ew,” Carlos throws in from the side, grabbing his own drink out of Lando’s hand before the Brit can take a sip. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“As if you weren’t down to fuck me,” the Monegasque omega teases, “You could get a taste of my pussy, Carlito. Just imagine how good I could be for you.”
“No, thank you,” Lando interrupts, his hand flying out to wrap around the Spanish alpha’s elbow. It’s almost funny how easily the young omega can be riled up. Charles has to suppress his chuckle at the red spreading all over the Brit’s face and neck. “Get your claws off my friend, please.”
“Aye, cabron,” the Spaniard laughs simply, one of his eyes closing in a suave wink thrown Charles’ way, “I would always help out a friend, you know this, Charlito. Just say the word, principessa. I’ll show you a good time.”
Again, Charles knows that he is pretty, and even for an omega, he is a step above the rest. He has turned alpha’s heads ever since he presented - and learned how to use it to his advantage. There are enough knotheads out there that just want to get their dicks wet, and who is Charles to deny himself pleasure?
“I’ll take you up on it,” the Monegasque omega finally answers, closing one of his eyes in an endearing wink sent the Spaniard’s way. “Well, one day for sure.”
--
Leo’s big brown eyes bore into his soul, Charles can feel it. The spoon full of dog food is frozen in mid-air, halfway towards the bowl.
Something inside his brain has just decided to dislodge, a memory surfacing that seemed lost up until now. A voice, in the back of his mind, whispering his name, over and over again. Not “Charles”, not like Carlos says it. Not “Cha” or “Calamar” like Pierre does. No “Sharl” like Esteban. No.
“Charlie.”
So simple, yet so effective. The one nickname used only by a select few people. Daniel. Sebastian.
Max.
“Putain.”
Behind him, Leo whimpers slightly, not-so-patiently waiting for his food.
--
“Let’s look at it logically.”
“Lorenzo,” Charles sighs for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half an hour. “We don’t have to-”
His older brother sends him a single, scathing glare. “I’m not Arthur, I’m not letting you run away from this.”
The air between them crackles with energy, static charging between them, yet neither of them speak for a moment. Lorenzo’s scent is stronger than usual, protective in a way it hasn’t been since Charles has been a teenager. He remembers cuddling into hoodies with that exact smell right after his father had died. It still comforts him to this day.
“I’m pregnant,” the brunet omega whispers, once more, for what also feels like the hundredth time in this conversation. “I’m not running away from this.”
“Then why are you so adamant that you don’t want him to know?”
“I-” There’s a heavy lump sitting at the back of his throat, cutting off any words that might have slipped from his lips. It is hard to swallow around. Charles has to clear his throat multiple times, all while his brother’s heavy gaze rests on him, before he can find his voice again. “I don’t know if it was him.”
Another short silence hangs in the air, and for just a moment, Charles wonders if there’s a huge neon sign pointing to his head, declaring him a “huge fucking idiot” or something. It would explain the look on Lorenzo’s face at least.
“Charles.” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that are lingering on his waterline. Damn pregnancy hormones. “Why don’t you just ask him?”
“And say what?”
“That you don’t remember. That you think it might have been him.” Fingers brush against his arm, as the scent around him picks up again, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. “You’ve known Max since you were both children - and if there’s one thing he appreciates, it is honesty, no? You know that he wouldn’t leave you alone, even if it wasn’t him.”
There’s nothing he can add to that. He does know.
“But you know it’s him, right?”
--
The trophy gets set down slowly on his nightstand, right beside the lit up lamp - it reflects the light perfectly, the metal glittering innocently. Charles can’t take his eyes off of it. He’s won today. Something that didn’t seem possible at the start of the weekend, but now, here he is. The first place trophy shines golden in his driver’s room - as it should.
It’s warm - too warm to be normal, even in summer. There’s a perpetual heat cooking under his skin, settling into his bones. Every cell of his body is alight with fire. And there’s only one way to douse those insistent flames.
Behind him, another body steps closer. Their chest presses right against his back, fitting perfectly, as a mouth latches onto the side of his throat, teeth sinking in slightly to leave bruises.
“Are you ready, baby?” the accented voice breathes into his ear, warm air washing against his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. The inferno in his stomach roars to life again, curling around his muscles and urging him to get to it. There’s already slick gathering between his thighs, dripping into his underwear.
“Yes, alpha,” Charles purrs, his voice intentionally lower than normal, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure pulsing through his veins. Unsubtly, he leans to the side, revealing his neck to the other man pressed against his back. “Whatever you want.”
“Mhhh, don’t give me that kind of power,” the voice hums, audibly amused, “You know I would abuse it.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Charles laughs, as the other man’s beard tickles his neck. “I trust you.”
“Sweet,” another kiss pressed into his skin, fingers wrapping around his hips hungrily. “Get on the bed, let me make you feel good.”
The heat swallows Charles alive, pulling him under and drowning him in fire. His brain shuts off shortly after his alpha manhandles him onto the bed, his racesuit and his trophy forgotten on the side.
--
There’s no recollection of the sex, besides that it was good enough to leave him sore and satisfied afterwards.
But there is one particular moment - one moment that stands out in his brain: piercing blue eyes catching his gaze, not letting Charles pull away, or hide his feelings.
There is only intense eye contact, as Max finally pushes inside.
It feels like coming home.
--
“Yuki said that he heard from Pierre who heard from you-,” an overly excited voice chatters as soon as Charles open the door to his apartment. There’s a huge bouquet of roses blocking his view of Daniel, alongside a very cute teddy bear dressed in a hideous Red Bull polo and hat with the number 3 on it. “-that you’re pregnant?!”
“Hello, Daniel,” the Monegasque omega smiles, as always being infected by the Australian’s enthusiasm. “I should have known you’d get all the gossip, even when you’re no longer on the grid.”
The roses vanish from his sight, revealing the bright grin, pearly whites shining in the morning light, as Daniel sets the bouquet down on his kitchen counter. Immediately, Charles is pulled into a warm hug, his ribs being squeezed tightly, as the scent of scorching sun and ocean waves surrounds him.
“That wasn’t a no, Charlie.”
He heaves a sigh, already weary to have this conversation once more. But if Pierre actually spilled the beans-
“Because there’s no no to that question.” Even Charles cringes at the way he phrases it, clearing his throat to try once more, “I am pregnant.”
The Australian beta steps back slightly, yet his scent stays wrapped around the Monegasque like a comforting blanket. “And I’m not the father? I’m disappointed, really. Especially after all the fun we had in Vegas!”
“You promised,” Charles chuckles, laughter bubbling out of him without his consent at the petulant note to Daniel’s voice, “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”
“And now I don’t even get a compliment for that night!” the beta laments. “Well, I hope your baby daddy is worth it!”
His cheeks immediately fill with heat, a blush creeping over his face at the unsubtle reminder. Logically, Charles already knew that Daniel couldn’t have been with him during his heat - it had definitely been an alpha, and the Australian hadn’t even been in the same city as him. However, there’s still a big question mark in his mind as to who his mysterious alpha was, and for just a moment he was hoping that Daniel might know more.
“Oh,” the older man breathes out, those brown cow eyes growing wide with surprise and realization. “Do you… not know?”
“I-”
“I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t!” Daniel interrupts him immediately again, his voice growing frantic. “I’m not slut-shaming you or anything! I just meant that whatever you need, I’m here for you, Charlie. You know that I promised Jules-”
“Dan!” the omega finally brings himself to speak up, interrupting the older man. “I don’t know for sure who it is, but I have an inkling. It was definitely the person I spent my heat with.”
An incredulous look crosses over the beta’s face, confusion coating his voice: “...and you just don’t want to say who it is?”
“It’s not that.”
“Charles Leclerc,” Daniel finally murmurs, his voice taking on a stern note, not unlike how Jules would talk to him when he was still a kid and did something wrong.
Those two really would have been perfect for each other, he thinks dejectedly. But before he can voice his thoughts, the Australian continues: “Tell me, Charlie. I know it was never official, but I always thought I was- no, actually, we don’t have to talk about that. But you can trust me and whatever is going on, I am here for you.”
There’s a short moment where Charles simply stares at Daniel’s big brown eyes that are boring holes into him, before he lets his gaze wander to the bouquet of roses screaming for water on his kitchen counter. That’s when the little teddy bear catches his attention - with its little Red Bull polo and the big numer 3 printed onto it.
“You should have gotten a lion plushie,” he simply states, feeling his lips pull into an involuntary smile. “Do you want some coffee? …Or maybe tea? I don’t think I’m allowed to have caffeine while pregnant.”
For a moment, the Australian’s shoulders tense up, before a relieved sigh runs through the older beta. Daniel grins at him cheekily, before clapping a hand on his shoulder: “For old time’s sake, we could also make some hot chocolate?”
--
“I shouldn’t have told Pierre first,” Charles laments loudly, even though Lewis is fully engrossed in his phone. “At least, then half of the grid wouldn’t know already!”
“What do you mean half of the grid?” the Brit asks, genuine curiosity tainting his voice, yet his eyes never leave the screen, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he furiously texts and texts and texts. “All of them know by now. You’re lucky Ferrari hasn’t made a weird Instagram post about it yet. Or sent you a bunch of baby gifts.”
“Ugh,” the omega groans, pulling his hat further over his face to shield himself from the sun, and the media, if he is being honest. “I’ve known for a week, how does everyone else already know?”
This actually gets a reaction out of Lewis - his eyes lift, as do the corners of his lips as they pull into a small smile. “You shouldn’t have told Pierre first.”
The omega huffs out a small laugh. There’s some irony to be found in all of this, he guesses. But then again, Pierre is one of the only people that Charles actually has on speed dial. So it was either the Frenchman, or his maman. There wasn’t much choice.
With a heavy sigh, the Monegasque smooths his shirt over his still flat stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s a queasy feeling that makes him wonder whether people can pick up on it - the pregnancy. Does he smell different? Is there anything that the media might photograph? Will there be questions about his heat at the press conference?
“You’re stinking up the place,” George enters their conversation, sidling up beside Lewis, but sending a scathing glare Charles’ way.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Lewis admonishes, effectively stepping between the two omegas as they keep walking. “You could be a little bit nicer. Obviously, he’s worried.”
The younger Brit’s nose twitches once as he averts his eyes. “Sorry,” George whispers, before swallowing heavily. “I’m actually here to congratulate you. And to tell you, that as representative of the GPDA, I can tell you about your rights as a pregnant omega driver-”
George’s voice fades into the background, becoming just another sound in the paddock, as Charles’ attention slips away from him. He lets his eyes follow the activity in between the motorhomes and garages, hundreds of people mingling around, conversations ebbing and flowing all around him. There’s still the swirl of anxiety in his gut that just won’t settle down, no matter how much he tries to regulate his breathing and fidget with his hands.
It almost feels like destiny, as the world slows down around him, focus shifting away from everything towards the blond alpha currently walking down the paddock.
“Max,” he mumbles out, as his eyes immediately lock onto the Dutchman. The Dutchman who is wearing a dark shirt, not his usual Red Bull polo. No, in fact, the shirt has big white letters on it, spelling out-
His brain short circuits as the word sinks into his consciousness. His eyes travel to Max’s face to take in the blinding smile on the Dutchman’s lips, pulling the damned freckle to the side. The alpha looks almost smug with it.
No, it can’t be. Is this- Is he- He surely would have-
“-it’s honestly impossible to talk to you,” George snarks, effectively cutting into Charles’ train of thoughts. “You never listen to me and it’s always just-”
“Because you’re a bitch,” the Monegasque breathes out, his thoughts and eyes still stuck on the Dutch alpha. Him and his Red Bull posse are walking right towards Charles, with that stupid shirt screaming at him. “Excuse me.”
“Does that actually say daddy on it?” he hears Lewis’ bewildered voice behind him, but he can’t really focus on it, too mesmerized by the huge white letters spelling out what he already knows. It is only natural for him to hurry up his steps right into the alpha’s path.
“Max!” he half-yells over the persistent noise of the paddock, waving his hand to catch the Dutchman’s attention, not a single care in the world spent on any of the people around them. “Hello!”
“Hi there, Charlie,” Max grins at him, smug like the cat that got the cream. Something inside Charles squirms at the intense gaze, setting every cell in his limbs on fire. He can’t wait to jump the alpha. “How are you? How was your summer break?”
“Good, good,” he is quick to answer, letting his eyes wander over the Red Bull employees gathered behind the blond. It barely takes a second for his mouth to break into a bright smile, and he lets his eyes soften, effectively putting on his most innocent omega look, as he turns back to Max. “Listen, can we talk? It’ll just take a moment.”
“Of course,” the Dutchman agrees, waving his hand to send his posse away. Those ocean blue eyes follow the movement of the people clad in navy, waiting for a few moments before he turns back to Charles, the alpha’s hand making its way onto the omega’s lower back and leading him towards the Ferrari hospitality. “You’re smelling delicious today, did you change your perfume?”
Charles has to huff out a laugh at the fake innocence in Max’s voice. “Don’t even, Maxie. You’ve heard the news, I assume?”
“Mhhhh,” the alpha hums, that smug smirk still playing around his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners with obvious glee. His usual stormy scent has calmed down to a refreshing spring shower, wrapping around Charles in the enclosed space of the hospitality suite. “I’ve gotten a few calls, addressing a few things, if I remember correctly. Which news are you referring to, again?”
“Max,” the omega finds himself whining, “Don’t tease me. It’s bad enough you’re wearing the shirt, smug bastard.”
The alpha’s hand moves slowly, fingers wrapping around Charles’ waist in a possessive grip. However, there’s a softness in that blue gaze that is only reserved for the Monegasque - he’s seen it thousands of times over the years, from his karting days to every moment today. “Daniel congratulated me, said he was on his way to your place. He called me afterwards as well.”
There’s a small silence between them as the words sink in, creating a small space around their bodies. If Daniel congratulated Max when he first found out, even before he went to see Charles, when none of them even knew yet-
Something clicks inside his brain, the puzzle piece slipping into place easily. He might not have known who was in his bed during his heat. But his bed partner would easily know when the rumors started spreading, when Pierre’s mouth would have been too loose. Or maybe all of the current and former Red Bull drivers just have a group chat. That would explain why Sebastian called him right after Daniel left his apartment.
“You told him that you spent my heat with me?” Charles asks, just to be sure.
“He’s my best friend,” Max allows, shrugging his shoulders as his fingers tighten on the Monegasque’s waist. “I tell him almost everything. I didn’t upset you with that, right? I didn’t mean to - I honestly didn’t know that you’d stopped taking your birth control.”
“I didn’t,” Charles interrupts, as the words wash over him, the cadence of the alpha’s voice soothing the anxious swirl inside his chest. “Stop, I mean. I was taking it religiously. Obviously, I stopped only after I found out that I’m pregnant.”
There’s a shudder running through the alpha, his fingers tightening on Charles’ waist once more. “Oh,” the blond man breathes out, an awkward chuckle following, “that’s the first time I heard you say it. That you’re pregnant. It just became real to me. That’s… a weird feeling, to say the least.”
The clump of anxiety starts swirling like a whirpool once more, stretching and growing. “Oh, is that- are you- that’s okay, right?”
The air smells strongly of rain, as Max’s scent washes over Charles, enough to soothe him back into a calm headspace. “Yes, of course.” A small kiss is pressed against the crown of Charles’ head, as the alpha leans closer, tucking the brunet into his chest. “Of course, it is okay. If you want me, I will be there for you. I can’t promise that I will be the best dad on the planet, but I can tell you that I will always do my best to be worthy of you being by my side.”
“I love you,” Charles blurts out, entirely ungraceful, smushed against Max’s chest and neck as he is. But the warmth spreads through his limbs nonetheless, filling his chest with so much overwhelming love that it is hard to swallow around it, hard to breathe properly without spewing love confessions for the alpha before him. “I mean… is it weird to start dating after you’ve already gotten me pregnant?”
“Oh, schatje,” Max simply laughs, his fingers tangling in Charles’ brunet locks and pulling him even closer, “this was always going to happen. You and me, we are inevitable and predestined, as far as I’ve heard.”
--
The first place trophy is lighter in his hand than he would have imagined it. It looks like solid gold, but it feels like it is floating in mid-air, just like he is floating right now.
There’s still adrenaline rushing through his veins. His race suit sticks to his limbs awkwardly, with the remaints of champagne dripping onto his skin. It’s all kind of gross, he will need a shower, but that is not what is on his mind at the moment.
No, there’s a single-minded determination inside him, his heart pulling him closer and closer to where he wants to- no, needs to go. He physically can’t stop his feet from moving, even as his brain runs wild with a thousand thoughts at once that don’t stick in his brain. They float by like clouds, not really being perceived as anything.
“Hi, Charlie,” Max grins as the alpha comes into view, his ocean blue eyes trained on the omega already. “Great race, you really deserved that win. But it was a fun battle for it.”
“Salut, chéri,” the omega grins, purposfully letting his scent sweep between them - the smell of cherries intensifying, so much more sweet than usual. The hand not currently clutching his trophy flies onto Max’s chest, his fingers digging into the navy race suit, grabbing as much fabric as he can. “You’re coming with me.”
Without listening to any complaints, he pushes and pulls the Dutch alpha towards his driver’s room.
He can feel the sweat on his lower back, the heat mingling under his skin. He knew it would come to this - his pre-heat has been plaguing him for days now. And something deep down in his chest yearns.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Max chuckles from behind him, “but would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Time to come home,” he simply answers, turning around to press his lips against the Dutchman’s. “I’ve missed you.”
“Is it my birthday? Did I miss something?”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You did choose me, mate, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Charles huffs, half-amused and half-annoyed, but mostly just waiting for his heat to hit as hard as he expects it to be. “Max,” he whispers, leaning into the alpha’s chest. “Spend my heat with me, yes? It’s been too long.”
He catches the Dutchman’s blue gaze, filled only with absolute devotion. “I thought you’d never come home to me.”
There aren’t a lot of words being exchanged for the next few hours. Not that Charles really remembers any of that time. His heat does hit hard.
--
They are both 15 when they present.
First, it’s Max. One week, he’s just an awkward teenager following his dad around with his head hung low, so he doesn’t attract any unwanted attention. The next, he smells like a storm, electricity sparking off his skin. His teeth are white and sharp when he smugly grins at the other boys in their karts.
It shouldn’t have surprised Charles that it would affect him as well.
Two weeks later, he wakes up to a blazing fire overtaking every inch of his skin, feeling like it burns him alive. He cries for his mother, who holds him close, whispering with her face pressed into his hair, soothing him as much as she can.
When he comes back to the next race, he smells like cherries, sweet like wine and pastries, and heads keep turning in his direction wherever he passes.
“You pushed me!” Max exclaims, only half-angry, but the side of his race suit is drenched in rain water from where he just fell into the puddle.
“I didn’t even touch you,” Charles grins. He has learned to play coy rather quickly - being an omega has its advantages, he has found. Apparently, he is irresistible, and people will never tell him no. “You’re imagining things.”
“I won and you couldn’t take it,” the alpha challenges, as they’re striding towards the Leclerc’s motorhome. “At least admit it, Charlie.”
“Mhhh,” the Monegasque hums teasingly. “No, I don’t think I will.”
They’re just passing behind the motorhome, hidden easily from sight - but they don’t have to worry. Charles’ parents are still at the track, watching Arthur practice some more. It’s almost as if Charles can watch that exact same realization set into Max’s brain, just as the alpha lunges for him with a playful growl.
“Oof,” the air escapes from his lungs with a hard gasp, as his back hits the side of the motorhome, the alpha’s hands having found their way onto his hips and holding him tight. His own hands are holding onto Max’s upper arms, fingers flexing over the soft definition of bicep muscles. “What are you-?”
He doesn’t get to finish his question as Max’s lips collide with his own in a desperate kiss. It makes him want to squirm, to push against the Dutchman, or maybe to pull him even closer. It’s a strange feeling for a first kiss, but then the older boy’s tongue swipes gently over his lower lip and Charles’ brain stops taking in any other sensation.
There’s only heat and lust thrumming through his veins, as Max presses closer and closer, his lips and tongue and teeth growing more insistent as a thigh nudges against Charles’ crotch. It always makes him feel dizzy, as their scents intermingle, rain and cherries coming together in something that is undeniably delicious to him.
He can’t help but moan into Max’s mouth, letting his head drop back with a soft exhale. But the alpha isn’t done yet, as it seems, as the blond’s lips simply slide over his jaw, pressing soft kisses and little nips of teeth where he can reach. Max simply follows the line of his neck, making his way lower and lower towards the edge of Charles’ race suit.
The Monegasque omega pulls in harsh breath after harsh breath, his eyes fluttering closed, as his hips push forward, rubbing gently against Max’s thigh, sending sparks of pleasure through his limbs.
“Max,” he moans, once more, as a small bite is placed against the side of his neck. Electricity sparks audibly between them, sending shockwaves through his system, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. “Maxie, what-”
The alpha doesn’t answer, his fingers only tighten, pulling Charles even closer, pressing his thigh against him more insistently. Another short kiss is pressed against his adam’s apple, as Max’s short blond hair tickles him along his jaw.
His heartbeat rings in his ears, picking up more and more, galloping in his chest like a wild horse. It is almost without his assent that his fingers find their way over Max’s skin, dipping into the blond hair and pulling on the strands. There’s a low growl pressed into his skin to cover up a small whine, Max’s teeth entirely bared against his skin.
And suddenly, it is like the skies have opened up for a divine intervention. The knowledge settles into chest, sinking into his heart and spreading into every cell of his body.
“Yours,” he moans, pressing the alpha’s face even closer into his bared neck. For just a second, his back arches to press even further into the heat of Max’s body. “My mate, yes?”
“Yes,” the Dutchman growls, pressing more kisses into the skin before him. Charles can feel the way the older boy’s peach fuzz presses against his skin. “Mine. My perfect mate.”
“Do it,” Charles whines, trying to tug the Dutchman into him. If he could, he’d crawl into the alpha’s chest and stay there for the rest of his life. “Mate me now. Yours forever. Your perfect mate.”
He doesn’t even have to beg any more. It seems Max doesn’t even question his decision, taking him at his word. Charles simply feels the way the alpha’s nose presses into his throat, breathing in the scent of cherries and the way it mixes with his own stormy smell.
Suddenly, the grip around his waist loosens. Instead, Max’s fingers fly to the zipper of Charles’ race suit, tugging and pulling to get rid of the fabric. “Whatever you want, Charlie.”
There’s no hesitation as the alpha’s teeth sink into the skin right above Charles’ collarbone. A short burst of pain sparks through him, yet it is overshadowed by the pleasure spreading through him at the certainty of having found his mate. He can feel the blood pooling under his skin, dripping gently into Max’s mouth.
He can’t wait to stroke his fingers over the scar that marks him as mated.
--
“We’re so young,” he later whispers, “what if we grow bored of each other?”
“That won’t happen.”
“But you’ll be in F3 next year, and then you’re off to F1, I can feel it in my bones. What if I don’t make it?”
“You will.”
“But how can you be so sure?” the omega huffs, growing tired of the alpha’s nonchalant answers. “What if you meet someone else? What if one of the drivers on the grid wants to mate with you, what then? I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Then we don’t,” Max suggests, his voice oddly calm, even though Charles can’t see his face from where he has his own buried in the crook of the alpha’s neck and shoulder, right beside the mark he left on his mate just a few hours before. “I don’t want to hold you back, either. We’ll find our way back to each other, yes? And we are mated now, we can’t just break that bond, of course. But we can let each other live out our lifes until the time is right.”
“How do I know when the time is right?”
“I don’t know, but I think we will find out,” Max sighs, pressing a kiss to the crown of Charles’ head, “There’ll be a point when we will want to come home.”