Chapter Text
Max prided himself on many things. He was one of the best racing drivers in the world. He was an ice-cold competitor, on and off track. He could name the capital city of every country on the map. He was funny without trying to be.
But most of all, he had friends he would die for, and who would die for him. And he knew his friends — the ones who meant the most to him — like the back of his hand. He was observant. Discerning. Always had been.
And that’s why he spotted it right away. At the post-race driver’s briefing in Canada, Lando had walked in, late as usual, and awkwardly shuffled into the last seat available between Oscar and Hulk. Halfway through the briefing, Fernando made a sarcastic comment about ground hogs, and laughter rippled through the room. Even Max let out a small chuckle.
But that’s when he saw it. Oscar, who’d been silent the whole meeting, was smiling softly at Fernando’s comment, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he looked down at his hands. But Lando wasn’t laughing. Instead his eyes were trained on his teammate, following his every movement. More emotions flickered across his face in that one moment than Max had ever seen – confusion, awe, fear… but Max recognized another. It was the same emotion he used to see in Charles’ eyes whenever his boyfriend would steal a soft, secret glance in his direction. Back when they were still dancing around each-other, still figuring things out. Falling in love.
Max smirked.
Yeah, he was sure of it. His best friend had a crush on Oscar Piastri.
Unfortunately, Lando’s crush was not as glaringly obvious to Charles, who, as much as Max loved him, would probably take home the award for Most Oblivious Individual even on a good day.
“He’s not in love with him. No way,” Charles said when Max proudly announced his newfound discovery when they were back home in Monaco.
At Charles’ instant disagreement, Max let out a soft but appropriately disagreeable huff, not looking up from his phone.
“You’re blind,” Max shot back, immediately ducking to avoid Charles’ playful swat.
Max could tell his boyfriend was pouting, and after another minute of languidly scrolling through his phone, he finally looked up and met his eyes with a small smirk. Yeah, definitely pouting.
“You know I hate it when you ignore me,” Charles whined, stretching out alongside the Dutchman on their sun bed — well, Max’s sun bed, technically, but the apartment nested on the edge of the Monaco harbor, with a wraparound balcony that doubled as a gym, had become just as much Charles’ over the past two years. And Max liked it, liked the sound of it. Their sun bed, their home, theirs.
“I’m texting Lando,” Max said, shifting so Charles could rest his head on his shoulder.
“What’s he saying?”
“He’s at the grocery store.”
“What?”
“Yeah, right. I asked him if he was lost.”
They both knew that Lando couldn’t cook. Shouldn’t cook. They had memories of the last time Lando had hosted them at his apartment — the night started with him attempting to bake a frozen pizza and ended with a building-wide fire alarm, a very disgruntled fire chief, and Max ordering takeout at 2am.
“He’s looking for Tim Tams.”
“What?”
“Those Australian chocolate biscuits. The ones Dan used to bring?” Max said. “Oscar just ran out of his stash from Melbourne and they’re his favorite. And, as I’ve already explained, the boy is in love with him.”
Charles giggled instinctively — the sort of shy giggle he let out when he was thinking No, what? No way — and a small smile played on Max’s lips despite himself at the sight of it. He finally gave in and pressed a soft kiss into the Monegasque’s hair.
“He’s just trying to be a good teammate,” Charles argued, cuddling into Max’s side. Usually it was Max who was the little spoon, but the sun always brought out a cat-like laziness in Charles.
Max sighed and gave his boyfriend a pointed look.
“You are literally oblivious,” Max groaned.
“No I’m not.”
“You never realized I was in love with you,” Max said, not missing a beat. “Took you fucking forever.”
Charles jabbed playfully at Max’s side.
“Fine, I was stupid,” Charles conceded. “To be fair, I already loved you back. You just always looked like you were going to murder me.”
“Yeah, well, I was getting tired of waiting,” Max said.
Charles twisted around to look at Max, his gaze sobering into a small smile.
“I’m glad you did, cheri.”
Max rolled his eyes, though his heart fluttered in that way only Charles could prompt.
“Okay, you sap,” Max said, though he let Charles shift their positions so the Monegasque was now on top, looking down at him.
“Love you,” Charles whispered, leaning down to press their lips together. His boyfriend tasted warm, familiar, like the sun.
Max melted into the kiss, letting Charles’ hands explore his chest. His head fell back to give Charles access to his neck, biting back a moan when the younger man’s teeth dragged across his pulse point. Only Charles could render him like this.
Max prided himself on many things. Loving Charles – being loved by him – was one of them.
The atmosphere in Austria would never get old for Max. It wasn’t just the sea of orange, of people chanting his name. It was the energy he felt from the team, the confidence, the fierce sense of belonging. This was their home. It was the freedom he felt looking up at the sky, at the rolling mountains. Like he was unstoppable. No matter how many times he returned, no matter how many times he won here, it would always be special.
After his post-FP1 debrief with GP and his head engineer, Max slipped out of the garage inconspicuously and beelined it to the Ferrari garage. He knew the paddock like the back of his hand by now, and he also knew how to get around unnoticed.
He’d only made it halfway there when he was yanked sideways.
“What the fu—”
“Hi, cheri.”
Relief shot through him when he saw it was just Charles, wearing a devilish smirk on his face.
“Thought we were meeting in your driver room,” Max said with a raised eyebrow.
“Lando and Carlos are playing video games in the room next door,” Charles said, a note of impatience in his voice. “It’s loud.”
“Okay, then let’s go to mine.”
Charles made no move to go anywhere.
“Or…” he said, voice lowering into a whisper.
Charles looked around. They were wedged between two motorhomes, with no one in sight. Fuck, Max could feel Charles’ impatience. The Monegasque ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyelashes fluttering in that way that always drove Max insane. He leaned in and nosed Max’s neck.
“You look really good today,” Charles whispered against his skin, and Max let his head fall back with a soft clang against the hot metal. “With all your adoring fans. Everyone wants a piece of you.”
“You jealous?” Max teased, though his words came out a bit strangled.
Charles pulled Max in by his fireproofs, surprisingly gentle for his impatience, and pressed a hot, open kiss on his jaw. And fuck, Max didn’t have more restraint left. He leaned himself against Charles, capturing his mouth in a messy kiss. The younger man moaned softly against his lips, hands coming up to tangle in Max’s hair. It was hot, it was frantic, anyone could walk by and see them.
Max muffled a decidedly undignified sound when Charles snuck a hand between them and palmed Max through his too-tight fireproofs.
“Fuck,” he gasped, scrambling for purchase on the slippery surface of the motorhome behind him. “Fuck, fuck.”
“Language, cheri,” Charles smirked. “Behave.”
Max looked at Charles with daggers in his eyes, but in truth he loved when Charles got like this. Possessive, snarky. Loved how Charles always made him feel safe enough to be this vulnerable.
Charles was maneuvering his hand in between the waistband of Max’s briefs when they heard footsteps coming in hard and fast.
They froze.
Max took a shaky breath to compose himself before peeking over the side of the motorhome. It was Lando and his press officer, Charlotte, who looked less than pleased. Oscar and his press officer were following them, a few paces behind.
“Did you have to go play video games with Carlos immediately after practice?” Charlotte asked. “Did you even read the PR schedule I sent you yesterday?”
“I mean, no, but—”
Charlotte shut him up with a withering glare.
Another bout of noise sounded from the other side of the paddock as a group of Alpine engineers walked back from what looked like their lunch break, and Charles chose that exact moment to peak out from behind the motorhome beside him, stubbing his toe on a tire in the process.
“PUTAIN!”
Max hissed, pulling Charles back behind the motorhome as he heard Lando say, “what the fuck was that?” and Charlotte respond with, “I think it was a bird.”
Max glared at his boyfriend, who looked equal parts apologetic and in pain.
“Sorry,” Charles mouthed, hopping about on one foot. Max took pity on him and held him in tight as they both peeked over the motorhome again.
It was just in time to see the group of Alpine boys cross paths with the McLaren contingent. As they passed, one of the Alpine engineers cleared his throat in Oscar’s direction.
“Hey, look, it’s the traitor again.”
Oscar, to his credit, didn’t flinch. If the comment had affected him at all, he didn’t show it. He just kept walking. But Max didn’t have time to be impressed by the younger man’s restraint, because two paces behind the Aussie, Lando looked furious.
“Hey, what did you say, man?” he asked the engineer, taking a few steps in his direction. Max had never heard Lando’s voice that hard. That mean. All his usual laidback demeanor was gone. If looks could kill, the engineer would be six feet under.
“Lando!” Charlotte hissed. But Lando ignored her, still glaring at the engineer in question.
“I asked you a question, yeah?” Lando continued, raising his voice. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing, man, he said nothing,” another engineer mumbled, clearly trying to diffuse the tension.
“Keep Oscar’s name out of your fucking mouth,” Lando shot back.
“Did he seriously just quote Will Smith?” Charlotte squeaked at her colleague.
“What’s it to you, mate?” the Alpine engineer finally spoke up. “We spent years training him. Investing in him. Then he turned around and joined McLaren. He was a waste of our fucking time.”
The silence that followed was deadly. Max could see Lando’s jaw tense, his fist curl by his side. He shared a panicked look with Charles. Okay, maybe it was time for them to intervene, and—
“Lando,” Oscar whispered. “Lando, it’s fine.”
Max saw the tension leave Lando’s face at the sound of Oscar’s voice – and if he weren’t trying to stay hidden, he would have screamed I told you so in Charles’ face – but the Brit still didn’t back off entirely.
“Lando?” Oscar said, placing a tentative hand on Lando’s waist from behind. “Let’s go. They’re not worth it.”
Lando visibly relaxed at the touch, though Oscar pulled his hand back a bit too quickly, like he was worried he’d done something wrong. Stepped too far. Fuck, Max thought, maybe Piastri’s got it just as bad.
“Talk about him again and you won’t like what happens,” Lando said, throwing another glare at the engineer, who didn’t look the slightest bit sorry. “I happen to be best friends with a certain Max Verstappen, and have you looked around? He’d get away with murder here. Heck, the Orange Army would help us hide the body.”
Charles smothered a snort, and from his vantage point Max could see Oscar hiding a small smile behind his hand.
“For fuck’s sake, before the paparazzi get here and I lose my job, let’s leave,” Charlotte said, practically pulling Lando along.
This time Lando went more willingly, and Max saw Oscar’s eyes trailing after him as they left.
“You can’t just start fights like that, Lando,” Charlotte sighed, their voices trailing as they fell out of earshot.
“They can’t talk about him like that,” Lando countered.
When the coast was clear, Max and Charles finally stepped out from between the two motorhomes.
“Well, fuck.” Charles said.
“I told you he’s in love.”
Charles frowned. “What?”
Max blinked. “You… you can’t be serious. It’s obvious.”
“He was defending his teammate!”
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Max said, turning away. “You are actually oblivious.”
“No come back!” Charles whined, latching himself on Max’s back.
“You’re very needy today,” Max said, though he leaned into Charles’ touch.
“Well they did interrupt us,” Charles said, pressing a quick kiss into the nape of Max’s neck.
Max smirked and led Charles to his driver’s room.
Max was on a high after qualifying. He’d gone straight to the Ferrari garage only to see the team tied up in a debrief session that showed no signs of ending. Charles spotted him at the door and mouthed an apology. He looked exhausted, and Max made a mental note to order in from their go-to restaurant in Spielberg later that night.
His second stop was McLaren to see if Lando was up for a game of FIFA.
He ducked into the garage and made his way to the driver rooms but paused in his tracks when he heard two familiar voices.
“Oh, I forgot…” Lando was saying, leaning against the doorframe of Oscar’s driver room.
“Hmm?” Oscar responded from inside the room, out of sight from Max.
“I, umm… found these.”
Max saw that Lando was holding a package of Tim Tams.
“You… found them?”
“No!” Lando responded, too quickly, too loudly.
“Uh… huh?”
Max’s eyes widened in disbelief. Jesus fucking Christ. These oblivious, dumb, entirely dysfunctional fucks.
“I, uh—you mentioned you ran out, and I just, you know, saw these in Monaco so I thought I’d… buy them.”
Max briefly thought about shoving Lando into the room with Oscar and locking them in.
A small silence followed, and Max could practically hear Lando’s heartrate quicken.
“Oh,” Oscar said. But it wasn’t a dismissive sound. It was… surprised. Hopeful. Fond.
“Yeah,” Lando said after another pause. He disappeared into the room, and Max heard the rustling of the package changing hands.
“Thanks, I was really craving them,” Oscar said, and Max thought he could hear what sounded like a gulp. Oscar was nervous.
“Yeah, so…” Lando said, again too loudly. “Enjoy!”
And with that, Lando became a blur of orange as he beelined out of Oscar’s room and straight into his own.
Max stared at the hallway in disbelief. What the fuck?
He was deciding whether or not to barge into Lando’s room and berate him for how ridiculous he was being when Oscar was clearly in love with him too, but before he could make his decision, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He opened it to a series of texts from Charles.
Debrief ended early. I’m in my driver’s room
Fuck it’s hot in here
Even with my shirt off
Want to help me with the rest, cheri?
As much as Max wanted to knock some sense into Lando, he had his priorities.
Be right there. Don’t you dare start without me.
Okay, so maybe Charles was oblivious. But there was no way he was that oblivious.
“If you try to tell me once again that Lando isn’t in love with him, I will punt you into next week.”
“I—”
“Charles, I swear to God.”
Charles huffed stubbornly, and Max followed his gaze to where Lando was standing alone in the corner of the driver’s parade truck, practically seething with poorly disguised anger.
Because Rosanna Tennant was currently interviewing Oscar and Logan, the rookie childhood best friends-turned-F1-drivers, and Logan was decidedly not being shy about showing just how familiar he was with Oscar.
“Well, I usually spend quite a while on my hair,” Logan was saying, playing up a charming smile to the camera, “But this guy, with these perfect waves? He always looks effortlessly good.”
Logan ruffled Oscar’s hair playfully and the Aussie chuckled in that typical bashful way of his.
Max glanced back at Lando, who was now glaring at Logan with narrowed eyes.
“Can you explain to me, then, why Lando is looking at Logan like he wants to throw him off this parade truck and reverse back into him?” Max asked Charles dryly.
“Logan is kind of annoying,” Charles shrugged.
“What?”
Charles shrugged again, turning around to face the crowd. “He flirts with you too, you know.”
“He does not.”
“Now who’s the oblivious one?” Charles giggled. “I don’t blame him, you are the reigning champion.”
“Oh, is that the only reason you like me, then? Because I’m World Champion?”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt,” Charles teased. “Besides, I don’t like you. I love you.”
They shared a fond glance and Max rolled his eyes, pressing a gentle touch to Charles’ waist as they both waved out at the Orange Army chanting his name.
Max got so lost in the atmosphere – of his home race, of having Charles there by his side – that he forgot to point out the irony of Charles disliking Logan because he flirted with Max and still denying Lando's obvious jealousy.
“You noticed, huh?”
Max turned around at the voice as he stepped off the parade truck. Logan Sargeant was standing behind him with a smile on his face. This was probably the first time they’d ever actually spoken one-on-one.
“Noticed what?”
“Me flirting with Oscar.”
Max narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what Logan’s angle was here.
“I’m not an idiot,” Logan said. “Lando likes him, he likes Lando. Figured I’d try to move things along.”
Max snorted. “You’re overestimating Lando if you think he’s suddenly going to declare his love for Oscar just because he saw America’s Golden Boy flirting with him on live television.”
“He’s your best friend,” Logan said. “Make him.”
“Why are you so invested in this?”
Logan shrugged. “Lando might be your best friend, but Oscar’s mine. I want him to be happy.”
Max let out a small, noncommittal grunt, and turned away to where Charles was waiting for him, eyeing Logan suspiciously.
When Charles wrapped a possessive arm around Max’s waist, Max leaned into it.
That night – or, early the next morning, rather – Max was rudely awoken by the inhuman screech that Charles made as he yeeted himself out of their bed in a panic.
“What the fuck!” Max yelled, reaching instinctively for his boyfriend, who’d jumped right out of the bed, dragging the comforter with him.
Max registered the cool air against his naked body first before he processed that the loud banging sound in the distance was actually not so distant. It was their hotel room door.
“Is it the police?!” Charles screeched, his hair sticking out in every direction as he held the comforter around his waist.
“Why the fuck would it be the police? What did you do?!” Max hissed.
“Nothing, I don’t know, make it stop!” Charles whined.
“For fuck’s sake,” Max groaned, putting his boxers on and reaching for his shirt. “Okay, stay behind me.”
“Is it a burglar?” Charles whispered.
“Why would a burglar knock?” Max deadpanned. Even still, he kept Charles behind him as he approached the door. Burglar or not, it wasn’t normal for someone to be knocking their door at – Max glanced at the clock – 3AM in the morning.
“Maybe it’s a crazy fan who’s here to kidnap you!”
“Just stay calm—”
“MAX! OPEN THE DOOR!”
Max and Charles froze in tandem when they immediately recognized the voice.
“I’m going to kill him,” Charles announced. “I will kill him.”
Max rubbed at his eyes, praying for strength from a higher power. He opened the door to see Lando on the other side, wrapped in a hoodie and looking as frantic as he’d ever seen him. He looked so small.
Max’s anger dissipated immediately at seeing Lando so shaken up.
“Mate, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Do with what?” Max asked, his fingers intertwining with Charles’ as his boyfriend came to stand beside him.
“I think I’m in love with him. I’m in love with Oscar.”
Max and Charles stood back as Lando hurried into the room, looking like he’d just ran a marathon.
“I thought I was just… crazy at first, you know?” Lando said, looking at the couple like he expected a response.
“No,” Charles deadpanned.
Max stifled a laugh. He knew how grumpy his boyfriend got when his sleep was interrupted.
“I got all nervous when I was around him, but I thought, like, that’s normal? That’s a thing, right? Getting nervous around a new teammate? I mean, I’ve never felt like that before, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Yeah, look, mate, just—” Max started.
“Then fucking Sargeant started draping himself all over him. Who does he think he is. Typical American thinking everything belongs to them. Did you see the way he kept brushing that one curl off Oscar's forehead? What the fuck, right? Fucking Ken doll."
Max looked at Charles pointedly. I told you, he mouthed.
“And then the other day, I gave him the Tim Tams, and I yeeted myself out of his room so fast he must’ve thought I— Oh God.”
Max and Charles exchanged a baffled look.
“Oh God.”
“Uh, Lando?” Max asked.
“Do you think HE KNOWS?”
“No!” Charles said, though it was drowned by Max’s “Probably!”
Charles glared at him, but Max just shrugged. He never beat around the bush, and he wasn’t going to start today.
“This is a disaster,” Lando whined, flopping down on the bed and looking up at the ceiling.
Max sighed, glancing over at Charles who was still angrily blinking sleep out of his eyes, then back at Lando, who looked like he was… praying? Devolving? Unclear.
“Look,” he started, shifting to sit on the other side of the bed. “So, you’re in love with him. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I’ve never felt this way, Max,” he whispered. “Not even with Fewtrell.”
“Again, not the end of the world,” he responded. “Besides, I never liked Fewtrell.”
Lando smiled. “I know. I don’t think I really liked him much either. It was just… easy.”
“I know,” Max said, because he did. Lando and Max Fewtrell had dated for all of three months, and he’d always known they were better off as friends.
“Why don’t you try talking to him about it?” Max offered.
Lando shot up from the bed onto his elbows. “Are you crazy? No!”
“Maybe he likes you back.”
“He doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that,” Charles interjected softly.
Max looked up at his boyfriend, who no longer looked angry. In fact, his face had softened into sympathy, and Max smiled at him fondly.
“I don’t want to lose him,” Lando said, groaning. “We’re just getting closer as friends, and if he doesn’t feel the same way, this could really fuck things up.”
“I didn’t want to lose Max,” Charles said softly. “I kept my feelings a secret for years, but it… it all worked out.”
“Yeah, well we can’t all be perfect like you two,” Lando snapped, though his spite instantly sobered in regret. “Sorry, that was shitty.”
“It’s fine,” Charles said, reaching over the bed and placing a comforting hand on Lando’s shoulder. “You’re scared.”
Max smiled at Charles’ gentle tone. He knew he wasn’t always great at comforting people – it wasn’t something he’d grown up with, not something his dad had ever shown him. But Charles always knew what to say to calm Max down, to make him feel safe.
“I just don’t want to lose him.”
“I know,” Charles and Max said at once, their hands curling together under the comforter. Max squeezed tight, and in that moment, seeing Lando so distressed, he’d never been more grateful that he and Charles had found each-other.
“I can’t believe you didn’t believe me.”
It was 10AM the next day now, and Max and Charles were sitting at the kitchen table near the entrance to their suite while Lando showered. Despite the younger Brit insisting that he could walk back to his hotel on the other side of the street, Max and Charles had pulled out the sofa bed and Lando was out like a light before they could argue about it any further.
“Okay, okay,” Charles conceded, pouring himself another cup of coffee, piling in so much sugar that Max winced over his espresso shot. “I am stupid, and you were right, okay?”
Max just looked at him, a smug smile spreading over his face.
“Okay, but more importantly, now we have to get them together,” Charles said matter-of-factly.
“What?”
The Monegasque shot him a pointed look. “Verstappen.”
“Don’t Verstappen me, Leclerc.”
“You don’t get to drag me into this and back out now.”
“Back out of what?”
“Our mission to get them together!” Charles insisted, putting his palms out on the table as if he’d just laid out a plan.
Max’s head was pounding. It was too early in the morning for this level of enthusiasm.
“Mission?”
“Yes!” Charles hissed before lowering his voice. “You said Oscar likes him back, right?”
Max nodded. “Yeah, Logan said so. And, I mean, it’s obvious.”
“Okay, see, I believe you,” Charles said. “So we get them together.”
“How? Lando’s too freaked out to think straight and Oscar is the human embodiment of the standing man emoji.”
Charles pursed his lips for a moment, considering, before he snatched Max’s phone up from the other side of the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Initiating Mission Landoscar.”
“Did you just make that up?”
Charles waved at him dismissively as he began texting, and Max laid his head down on the coffee table and prayed for strength.
“Can you at least tell me who you’re texting?”
The smirk that spread across Charles’ face could rival even Max’s best. Damn, he was rubbing off on him.
“Logan Sargeant.”