Chapter Text
1
George Russell was woken by the ringing of the phone.
This was quite unusual, because he slept with his mobile on silent, and now it was this old-fashioned landline phone in his house that was ringing. He stared at the phone and ran through the short list of the few people who had this number in his mind. He couldn't think of any of them who would have to call this number at 5:07 in the morning during the off-season to wake him up.
But he was awake now, and the ringing was relentless. George sighed and picked the phone: "Hello?"
"It's me."
The voice on the other end of the line was his boss, Toto Wolff. No one likes getting a call from their bosses at this time of day, not even a multi-billionaire F1 driver. George ran his hand through his hair impatiently. "Yeah, of course it's you."
"Stop talking to me with that sarcastic tone." Toto's tone was also not good: "Now go get changed and drive to the headquarters. Immediately."
This was really too much, look at the time on the clock! George couldn't resist the urge to continue sarcastically: "Wow, Toto, lovely morning, and I have to say this is the very great time for us to sit down and talk about my contract."
“It has nothing to do with your contract. No, maybe it does, let’s hear what the PR team has to say later.” Toto raised his voice on the phone, something he rarely did: "Haven't you yet seen your fucking news?"
George paused for a moment: "What news?"
Toto shouted: "Great! Then check the headlines on the radio on your way here!"
He hung the phone, and the beeps sound very irritating in the early morning bedroom. George put the receiver back, groping for the light switch and then his mobile phone. What news could get him involved? He really can't think of anything. Compared to many other drivers (and even team principals) in the paddock, he could even call himself a model of integrity!
He found his mobile under the pillow. The notification bar popped up with a lot of news software messages starting with "Breaking News". George frowned, and before he had time to click on the news, another call came in. It was Alex Albon's silly smiling face showing on the phone.
"First Toto, then you, what's wrong with you guys all calling me at this time?" He was confused: "I thought being a decent HAB to accompany Lily on her tour should have kept you busy enough?"
Alex's voice was low and sounded very mysterious: "Hey mate, so is that news true?"
George felt increasingly strange - he even faintly heard Lily asking Alex beside him on the other end of the phone: "What did he say?"
He could only ask, "What news are you talking about?"
"Oh my God. You and Max Verstappen!" Alex continued in a hushed voice: "The two of you are really married?"
2
The small meeting room at Mercedes' headquarters was in a state of war. Toto was pacing the room, his face ashen, his phone vibrating incessantly on the conference table. George sat in one of those leather chairs around the table, making himself a cup of tea as he watched the PR team connect their laptops to the screen. In less than two hours, they managed to put together some beautiful slides for this matter —— perhaps he should learn the latest powerpoint skills from them when he has the time.
After the tea had been steeping for three minutes, George picked up the cup and sniffed the aroma of the brown-red liquid, his eyes still fixed on the screen. Although the slides was beautifully made, there were not much useful materials at this stage, and most of the slides was occupied by sensational news headlines from various media. "Russel versus Verstappen, the secret love affair in the paddock", "The collision between Mercedes and Red Bull: the most expensive marital dispute in history?", and so on, with photos of their quarrels in the paddock that look almost like they were about to kiss.
"So, shall we get started" he asked.
"This news is not just about you, we also need to talk to the people at Red Bull about how to deal with it in half an hour." Toto looked down at George with one hand on the conference table: "Before that, we must reach an internal consensus."
George nodded. "Of course. Rosa, would you like to go through the deck?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure if that's necessary."
Toto waved his hand impatiently. "Of course not! Just answer me, George. A very simple question."
George put down his teacup. "I'm all ears."
Toto said through gritted teeth, "Is this a fucking nightmare or is it a real thing?"
"Well..." George turned his gaze back to the screen. "Rosa, could I trouble you to go back to the second page of the deck?"
Rosa nodded and went back a few pages.
The second page, and perhaps the only important page in the entire deck: a marriage certificate from Las Vegas. In the middle of the document, the words "Marriage Certificate" were written in a fancy font, and the names of the two parties to the marriage were clearly visible: George William Russel and Max Emilian Verstappen. The signatures they left on the certificate were no different from the signatures they had left for fans and the media countless times.
George pointed to the screen and said, "This thing is indeed real."
"That's what I thought." Rosa murmured.
He looked at the screen again and said, "But I don't know where the reporter got it from. To be honest, neither Verstappen nor I have this certificate - according to my own memory, we have thrown it away right after signing it."
Toto waved his arms and raised his voice: "Oh my god, look at the date! The night of the Vegas Grand Prix last year!"
George laughed. "I remember I was the champion of that one."
"Yes! And that was why we had that fucking grand dinner party and you disappeared halfway! Think about the media and sponsors you were supposed to be dealing with!" Toto roared: "And now you tell me at that time you went off and eloped with that fucking Verstappen?"
"I wouldn't call it eloping," George shook his head. "And when did he become 'fucking Verstappen' again? I thought you liked him."
Before Toto could escalate his roar, Rosa quickly cut in: "Okay, okay, just cool down. George, we just need to do some real quick fact check. Okay?"
"Of course."
Toto exhaled and sat down, making the conference room breathable again.
"First of all, is this marriage serious? Do you and Max really want to spend your lives together this way?"
"Nope."
"Then why did you get married in the first place?"
George's grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly: "It's just one of those Vegas things, I guess. We were drunk. Wasted.”
Toto muttered under his breath, "Lewis was drunk that night too, but I didn't catch him calling Nico to propose."
Rosa pretended not to hear that one and contined, "If that's the case, you could have get it annulled afterwards."
"Well... I guess because we haven't been in Vegas at the same time since then. At least I haven't."
"Okay, fair enough. Last question: have you guys fucked?"
George shrugged. "Is that information required in your press release?"
"No, I'm just curious." Rosa admitted quickly.
He then smiled, "Then I'd better not answer this question."
Toto snorted: "It's obvious, huh?"
Yes, they certainly had fucked. Not on a constant basis, maybe just a handful of times a year, but it was always very good, and George thought that was one of the Dutchman's very few redeeming qualities. He certainly didn't want to describe what the Dutchman mumbled in his slightly husky voice when he was close to coming, words that were so direct they were almost cute; nor did he need to explain where Verstappen's fingers would be on his skin when that guy was inside him. Verstappen was a bastard, but he did enjoy him in bed.
Especially that night in Las Vegas. The ecstasy of victory and the bubbles of champagne washed over his nerves, but none of them could compare with the excitement of fucking in a locked-up room with Verstappen, who had snuck into the Mercedes team's party. During orgasm, he felt the moon in his loins, he felt the desert wind and a distant whisper: I wish this could be forever.
And a marriage certificate certainly couldn't make victory or orgasm last forever, it would only make him have to attend this embarrassing meeting on a rest day morning. George sighed and restarted the conversation: "Okay, now you have all the information. What are we going to do?"
"Have you contacted Verstappen just now?" Rosa asked cautiously: "I mean, if there is a plan that you two have considered together, we can also discuss whether to give priority to your wishes."
"Oh, that's very thoughtful." George said pretending to be moved: "But no."
Rosa was obviously relieved: "Okay. Then, plan A is to admit that you got married for fun after drinking too much."
George immediately frowned: "What kind of PR strategy is this? And that's PLAN A?"
"Oh, I dare say that FIA will like it a lot!" Rosa giggled: "Maybe they will even contact Netflix, or at least have a few episodes on their official channel, following you guys throughout the whole process of annuling your marriage, what do you say?"
"I say I feel like throwing up."
Toto said: "Don't tell me you're actually pregnant with Max's child."
George ignored his boss's outrageous remarks and asked again: "So what is plan B?"
"Smile. Don't say a thing. Of course we would love to state that this is a fake document, but unfortunately it is not, and we don't know if the person who broke the news has anything else in his hands, photos or even videos."
George nodded: "I think plan B is so much more reasonable. Do you want to see my PR smile?"
He gave Rosa a grin.
Toto commented: "I think we need to hire an expert to work on this. Your smile looks a bit vicious now."
George took back his smile in 0.1 seconds.
"So we have our conclusion." Toto shrugged with his arms folded: "The marriage is real, but there is no romantic relationship between you, it's just a joke, so we only need to keep silent until things cool off. That's what we're going to tell the Red Bull guys later."
"Perfect." George said, "Can I go now?"
Toto nodded: "Have some rest."
George yawned and stood up, and was about to push his chair back when Rosa, who had been looking at her phone, rushed over and pushed him back down.
"No, you can't leave," She said in horror, then turned to Toto: "And our conclusion just now won't work anymore."
Toto frowned. "What?"
She held her phone under Toto's nose and said, "A reporter just get past Red Bull PR and contacted Verstappen directly. And he admitted the whole thing. 'Yes, I married George Russell. It feels good.' That's his exact words."
The conference room fell into a few seconds of dead silence.
"Fuck!" George Russel grabbed the water bottle on the table and smashed it on the ground: "What the hell is wrong with that fucking stupid Dutchman?"
Chapter 2: 2
Notes:
Let's say Horner is still on Red Bull cause I find that funnier
Chapter Text
3
Max Verstappen sat in a luxurious hotel conference room, attending a Teams meeting on the laptop of a Red Bull staff's. On the screen were several key leaders and PR directors from Red Bull Racing. Christian Horner shook his head, and his media officer, Gemma, also wore a worried face. But Max just didn’t think he had done anything wrong.
Here's the thing: he had been on his yacht for the past few days. It was the summer break, and wasn't it perfectly normal to have some good time with friends on his yacht? Besides, he had brought his simulator on board, so sometimes he was busy drinking and having fun with his friends, and other times he was occupied with the simulator. He didn’t have much time to check his phone, and when he did, the phone signal was terrible. So, it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t notice the news about his marital status right away, nor was it his fault that the Red Bull staff couldn’t reach him in time.
Then, less than two hours ago, they decided to bring the yacht back to the shore. Obviously the signal was better as they approached the dock, and the first call he received was from an F1 journalist that he has acquainted for years. Didn’t the PR team always preach about being kind to the media? So, answering the call wasn’t his fault either.
Then, the journalist bluntly asked, “Max, is it true that you and George Russell are married?”
Yes, they were indeed married, with a Las Vegas marriage certificate as proof. Wait, where had he put that certificate? Had he thrown it away? Well, it didn’t matter because their marriage was a fact. So, he answered, “Yes, I married George Russell.”
He recalled the journalist seemed to gasp on the other end of the phone and then pressed further, “How’s your marriage?”
Honestly, that wasn’t an easy question to answer. Of course, not everything is ideal about his marriage with George, but it was their private matter and shouldn’t be told recklessly to the media, especially without George’s consent. So, he could only vaguely reply, “It feels good.”
Looking back, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had simply told the truth and even shown respect for others. So, why did he have to sit through this shit emergency PR meeting right after getting off the yacht?
Horner sighed, “Max, you’ve really put us in a difficult position.”
Max was unfazed. “How so?”
“We could have considered whether to deny it, or stay silent, or tell some jokes to cover it up, really I could think of dozens of different strategies! But now you leave us with no options!”
“He asked me. I just stated the basic fact I know.”
“Fine, you say basic? Let’s talk about the basics then. You didn’t even bother to tell us that you married THAT George Russell from THAT Mercedes team!”
Max shrugged. “You never asked.”
Horner let out a frustrated laugh, leaning back in his chair to take deep breaths.
Gemma stepped in to follow, “But seriously, Max, I’m quite surprised. Based on your recent behavior—I thought you and George didn’t get along. You’re always quarelling.”
Max nodded with a smile on his face, “That guy can be really annoying sometimes.”
“Since you’ve already told the journalist, there’s no point in dwelling on it,” Horner regained his composure and his usual tolerance for his star driver. “But we still need to agree on a PR plan with Mercedes.”
“You guys figure it out with Mercedes. I don’t have anything particular to say.”
“Actually, we’ve already had a meeting with Mercedes. It wasn’t very productive. Toto yelled at me for a full five minutes, and for the very first time in my career, I couldn’t yell back at him because I felt reproachable. Your statement clearly ruined the PR direction they had already worked out with Russell.”
“They had a PR plan with George?” Max seemed finally intrigued. “What was it?”
Horner snorted. “Denial, silence, that sort of thing, doesn’t matter now. It definitely wouldn't be the two of you holding hands and kissing each other at a joint press conference.”
Max glared at his team principal on the screen. “Why not?”
Horner was speechless again.
“Has George contacted you?” Gemma asked. “Since it’s out in the open now, maybe you two should discuss your stance first?”
Max grumbled, “I was dragged here to this meeting right after getting off the yacht. My phone’s been flooded with messages…”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and countless notifications popped up. He scrolled through his messaging app and said, “Oh, George did send me a message half an hour ago. Let me read it out to you… His message says, ‘Fuck you,’ with a period.”
Gemma almost failed to hold back her laughter.
Max stared at his phone screen for a moment, then looked up at his colleagues on the laptop screen. “Do you think he’s cursing at me, or should I take this message just literally?”
“For Christ’s sake, Max!” Horner slammed the table in frustration. “Don’t make me think of your private activities with Russell, I’m begging you!”
Another PR manager on the screen chimed in, “I wouldn’t mind hearing more.”
As they started discussing media strategies again, Max shook his head and interrupted, “Mates, I’m not much use here. Just let me know the outcome of your discussion. I got to go.”
Horner forced a smile. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, Christian, you’ve been married so much longer than I have,” Max ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure you know that when your partner sends you a ‘Fuck you,’ it’s not a good sign. I need to deal with this.”
He closed the laptop, stood up, and left.
---
4
On his way home in his Audi RS6, Max dialed the number of his legally recognized husband. To his surprise, his husband answered the phone in just 5 seconds.
“It’s me.”
On the other end, George Russell replied, “I know it’s you. Heard you were on vacation. Having fun?”
“Same old, same old. It’s been pretty nice though.”
“Oh. How’s the weather in Monaco?”
“Cut the crap,” Max said. “What does that ‘Fuck you’ message mean?”
“Well, it obviously means I want to shove my dick into you from behind, kiss your neck while I’m at it, pull out after you come, flip you over, and finish in your mouth. How does that sound?”
George’s words were erotic, but his tone clearly wasn’t flirtatious. Max frowned and said, “Not great. You’re being sarcastic.”
George laughed. “Really? What was your first clue? Wow, our champion suddenly understands people's talk!”
Max was silent for a few seconds before saying, “George, are you mad at me?”
“Of course I’m fucking mad at you!” George shouted. “How could you just tell the media that shit? Are you a fucking idiot or what?”
“He asked me, and I told the truth. It’s just that.”
“Oh, how honest and noble of Verstappen the Great! Should I give you an award or something? Huh?”
Max didn’t like his sarcastic tone, so he shifted topic. “So Christian told me you and Mercedes had a PR plan. What was it?”
George sighed. “Does it matter?”
“I’m just curious.”
“A lot of people are curious about me today,” George murmured, and Max could almost imagine him rolling his dusty blue eyes on the other end. “Nothing special. Silence, playing dumb, distractions, that sort of thing.”
Not a joint press conference with a public kiss.
“Oh,” Max said.
He suddenly realized that his official husband seemed utterly resistant to the idea of letting people know about their marriage, which made him a little uncomfortable.
“George, we need to talk. In person.”
“Agreed.”
“Then come to Monaco as soon as possible.”
“No way.”
“The weather’s great in Monaco.”
“I prefer spending my summer break somewhere gloomy and rainy.”
“You just don’t want to be photoed at the airport without your hair perfectly styled.”
“Exactly. After all, I’m not the one who owns a private jet.”
Max couldn't believe it. “Are you suggesting I send my private jet to pick you up and bring you to Monaco?”
“Where the hell did you get that from, idiot!” George was clearly rolling his eyes again. “Besides, that’s so not eco-friendly.”
Max was not sure why, but that made him smile. “Fine, then I’ll come to you. By the way, will you come pick me up at the airport? I was just realizing that I’ve never driven an AMG One.”
“That’s like announcing to every tabloid in the UK, ‘Look, Max Verstappen and George Russell are in this car! Let’s follow them all the way to Russell’s house!’” George sarcastically rejected him again. “No, I won’t pick you up. Just take an Uber.”
---
The landing of private jets are not that confidential, so shortly after Verstappen landed in London, George's phone buzzed with a news alert: *Max Verstappen in London for Family Reunion with George Russell!*
Just one minute later, he received a message from Alex Albon, which was a screenshot of that news article, accompanied by three heart emojis and three laughing emojis.
George was speechless. Verstappen's stupid actions had doomed him to be teased by his friends for at least fifteen years. He tossed his phone aside, went upstairs to shower and change out of his ugly pajamas, put on some casual clothes, tidied his hair, and then returned downstairs to sit on the sofa, staring in the direction of his front door.
The doorbell rang. Surprisingly, the guy only pressed it once. George stood up, took a deep breath, and walked through the hallway. Before opening the door, he peeked through the peephole and suddenly felt reluctant to proceed—it was indeed Max Verstappen standing at his doorstep, wearing that ridiculously stupid Red Bull T-shirt, even at this occasion.
Just as George noticed Max raising his hand to press the doorbell again, he opened the door and yanked him inside.
"Nice house." Max said politely.
"Thanks," George replied, glancing at Max and then pointed out, "Backpack?"
"Oh. I figured I didn’t need much luggage to come here, so I just brought a few changes of clothes."
"Not more Red Bull T-shirts, I hope."
"No. Probably not. I didn’t really check."
"Alright," George muttered.
He had never invited Max to his place before. Looking back, he hadn’t been to Max’s place either, or his yacht, or even hitched a ride on his private jet. All their intimate moments had happened in adrenaline-fueled settings near the paddock—some corner of the pit, a luxury hotel suite, or a VIP room at a fancy nightclub. But now, at home, in the most peaceful, comfortable, and private space, with just the two of them, this situation suddenly made George nervous.
He could tell Max was also a bit uneasy—his ears were red, and he was fumbling with his shoes to cover his fluster.
The two stood in awkward silence in the hallway for a few seconds before George cleared his throat and spoke up, "Come in. I was about to make some tea. Do you want Darjeeling or Earl Grey?"
Max followed him into the living room, "I don’t drink tea."
"I didn’t know that."
"I don’t think I’ve seen you drinking tea at the paddock either."
"It’s not very convenient to make tea at the paddock. Coffee, then?"
"I don’t drink coffee either."
"What do you want to drink?"
"Red Bull."
"..."
"Chilled."
George turned around, about to ask, "Are you fucking kidding me?" but swallowed his words when he looked into Max’s earnest eyes. He can tell the guy genuinely wanted Red Bull, and he genuinely didn’t have any in his house.
He sighed, "You’ll have water, okay?"
Max shrugged and nodded in acceptance, tossed his backpack onto the floor by the sofa, and followed George into the kitchen. George opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and threw it to him. Max caught it, pulled out a chair by the small dining table, sat down, and sipped his water while watching George brew tea with his back turned.
When George turned around with his teacup, he was surprised to see Max looking quite cheerful, even smiling. Confused, he pulled out another chair and sat down, "What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing," Max said. "I was just thinking, since I didn’t get my Red Bull, maybe I could get something else instead."
"No," George said. "You’ve got water. That’s what you’re having."
Max widened his eyes, "Really? I can’t even get a kiss?"
George was speechless for a few seconds before replying, "God, I really want to pour this tea over your head."
Or maybe, he wanted to pour it over his own head, because as he looked at this man sitting in his kitchen, wearing that stupid T-shirt, who had recently said unbelievably stupid shit to the press, who often engaged in stupit battles with him on the track—this Max Verstappen—and he was finding him incredibly sexy. He must be going insane.
He set the teacup on the table and said softly, "Come here."
"No," Max shook his head. "I’ve already come all the way from Monaco to your kitchen. Now you come to me."
George let out an exasperated grunt and scooted his chair forward—then Max grabbed his hair, and they kissed with desperate urgency.
Chapter Text
5
Was it raining, George wondered suddenly, dazedly, as the light in the house darkened. What was he doing? This didn't seem to be what he had planned to be doing at this time...
"What?" Max Verstappen's voice was even more husky than usual: "Focus."
George came to his senses, or perhaps he was even more dazed as he lowered his head and continued to kiss Max.
It was said that people who were only having a fling weren't that into kissing, but he had always liked kissing Max. They always got hard just from kissing before they fuck, and George had always put that down to the magic of the paddock – the echoes of the crowd, the hot, stinging skin, the adrenaline-fuelled need for primal comfort, and so on. But this wasn't the paddock, and Max was on the soft rug in front of the sofa he always sat on, the air filled with the familiar, comforting scent of his home, the sound of the rain filling the familiar space. There was no paddock magic here, not a bit, and he sucked on Max's tongue, his cock so hard that almost ached.
Max had taken off that stupid T-shirt while they were kissing in the kitchen, and now he struggled to kick his trousers off too. He was hard too, the tip slick with pre-cum, and when George reached out to take him in his hand, he bucked into George’s palm, kissing George back more greedily, then impatiently tugging at George’s underwear.
“Why are you so slow?” He grumbled, "Are you gonna fuck me or not?"
George's fingers closed around Max's cock and stroked it hard. Max was enjoying himself, and opened his legs to him in a frank invitation. He bent down to lick Max's jawline, and said softly, "I thought you were here to talk, not to fuck."
Max made an impatient sound in his throat. "That can wait."
George smiled. "Okay."
He pulled off his own underwear, then grabbed Max by the his thigh, dragging him in front of him. His cock slid over the Dutchman's twitching perineum and came to his wet hole.
George gave Max's hip a hard pinch. "You've put on a bit of weight. Looks like you enjoyed your holiday?"
Max almost shouted, "George William Russell!"
George laughed and slapped his ass, then arched his back and pressed himself into his body inch by inch. It wasn't particularly easy, Max hadn't been fucked in a while, and his fingers were clenched in George's wavy hair, which of course hurt George a little. But he didn't push Max's hand away, and continued to squeeze into him, saying, "Bear with it."
Max panted then chuckled, "Wait, are you sure you want to fuck me in this position?"
George paused, his gaze lifting from the point where their bodies joined to Max's eyes. "What?"
Max released his grip on George's hair and let his hand fall to his shoulder. "I thought you were going to shove your dick into me from behind, kiss my neck—"
"—Kiss your neck while I'm at it, pull out after you come, flip you over, and finish in your mouth." George completed the sentence, then shook his head. "No, I've changed my mind."
His penis was now fully buried inside Max. Max's chest was red, and he wrapped his legs around George's waist, while George thoughtfully reached for a cushion from the sofa and placed it under the Dutchman's buttocks.
The Dutchman complained, "Don't pretend to be gentle. You know I like it straight."
George humphed. "I don't care what you like."
He decided to be very gentle with Max. He had never tried to be gentle with Max, and Max had never been gentle with him. But he was feeling somewhat dizzy now that he wanted to give it a try. He kissed Max's eyelashes sweetly, stroked his earlobe, and rubbed his penis slowly against his sensitive, sweet spot. Max's back rubbed against the rug as he reached down to masturbate along with George's rhythm, but George caught his hand and pinned it to the side.
Max looked at George a little blankly—layer upon layer of pleasure was creeping up his spine, and he was safely following George's movements—in every sense, he didn't understand the way George was treating him now. But it felt so good, so fucking good that he moaned, but then got frustrated and grabbed George's hair again with his other hand. "You cannot go any faster? Huh?"
George's face was so close to his that he couldn't see it.
"No," the Englishman replied.
He impatiently pulled George's head toward him and bit his lip, the Englishman cursing under his breath as they exchanged a deep, bloody kiss. George fucked him deeper, still slow and gentle, pulling out with a little soft flesh, then pushing back in against all the sensitive folds inch by inch. Max tightened his grip on George, his lips pressed against George's chin - strange, was George hugging him?
"Fuck." Max shuddered with pleasure, muttering, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck..."
He suddenly couldn't breathe. George covered his mouth and nose with one hand. He struggled to grab George's hand, but the Englishman was unexpectedly firm, his gray-blue eyes fixed on him, and sweat dripped on his face. Max almost had the illusion of his skin being burned, and screamed silently when cumming at George's cock.
George let go. Max gasped, still trembling, and covered his own eyes, listening to the blood pounding in his ears. He felt George's fingers in his mouth, and he sucked on them, mumbling, "Good...cum inside me."
6
George showered and dried his hair, and went downstairs while slapping some moisturizer onto his face. The rain outside the window seemed to be getting heavier, beating out a quiet noise. The TV was on, tuned to the news channel, with the volume turned down low. Max Verstappen was sitting cross-legged on the rug where they had just had sex, his golden-brown hair still wet and sticking up in all directions, as he concentrated on assembling a small Lego model that George had left on the coffee table earlier.
George went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, then returned to the living room with a bottle of mineral water. He put the water on the coffee table, touched Max's hair, and asked, "Don't you want to blow it dry?"
"It doesn't matter, it'll dry in a while." Max shrugged, looked up at George, and asked with a hint of surprise, "You dress like this at home?"
George looked down at himself, just a simple T-shirt and gray sweatpants: "What's wrong with this?"
Max smiled. "Nothing. I just thought you'd be wearing something more... like a silk robe or something."
George rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. What kind of impression was that."
He threw himself down on the sofa, while Max remained on the rug. They had cleaned up a little after they were done, so at least it looked tidy, but George was still planning to take the thing to the dry cleaners tomorrow.
Max chose that moment to say, "That felt good."
George said, "Shut up. I don't remember you having the habit of reviewing sex that just happened."
"That's because you did it differently this time."
"That just means you don't know me well enough."
"That's true." Max reached for his water. "There's a lot of things I don't know about you. Like what you wear at home."
George didn't respond, and seemed to be watching the news intently for a while. He knew Max was staring at him, and after a while he started talking again: "So, what should we do? What do you think?"
"What do you mean, what should we do?"
"This Las Vegas marriage." George wrinkled his nose. "The whole PR thing."
"What do you say?" Max said. "Tell me."
George put his teacup on the coffee table. "I say we joke about it and cover it up, and don't make any explicit statements. After things have calmed down and not so many people are paying attention, we'll apply to have the marriage annulled. Or get a divorce, I'm not sure, maybe we need to get a lawyer first."
Max stared at him without saying a word.
George frowned. "What?"
"It seems we have very different ideas." Max continued to glare at him. "If you ask me, I say we move in together."
"..."
"..."
George scratched his ear. "I beg yoru pardon?"
Max pointed out to a fact: "I know you also have residency in Monaco, right? What's so difficult about moving in together?"
"Wait... what..." George felt a little dizzy: "Why should we move in together?"
"I thought married couples were supposed to live together."
George asked weakly, "Since when have we become a married couple?"
Max quickly replied, "November 24th last year, in Las Vegas, isn't that what we've been talking about?"
"Yeah, but that..." George scratched his curly hair. "This wasn't a real marriage."
Max's face went cold. He stared at George and asked flatly, "Why not?"
"Now you're deliberately trying to provoke me."
"That's not my intention. Look, let me explain to you," Max said, "we have a marriage certificate. We spend a lot of time together, we travel together we have mutual friends, we have never beaten each other up... and then we have great sex. Doesn't that sound like what marriage should be?"
George's eyes widened. "Oh my God - I just did a quick calculation and we've had sex no more than three times since Las Vegas. Is that what you call great sex?"
"Oh, now you're complaining about the frequency of sex? Isn't this starting to sound more like a marital complaint?"
"That's not the point!" George almost shouted, and then said: "What you said is too absurd. What about all the mutual friends, all the time spent together... isn't that the same for you and Charles? Or any of the drivers in the paddock!"
Max shrugged: "I don't fuck Charles."
George sighed and said, "You've had those ex-girlfriends, we all know, and I've also been--"
Max interrupted him: "I didn't have a marriage certificate with any of them. See? We're the only two who meet all those criterias."
George picked up his teacup and took two sips.
Breathe! he told himself.
"You're being ridiculous now." he pointed out.
Max was silent for a moment, then said, "Yes, I am."
George was momentarily lost for a response.
"I know this marriage is a joke, an accident. The fuck at Vegas was too good and we drank too much." The Dutchman looked into the Briton's grey-blue eyes. "I know I was talking nonsense just now. Real marriages aren't like this. We've both seen real marriages, good ones and bad ones. My parents' wasn't great, but they certainly knew what each other wore around the house."
George muttered, "Yes. Which is why I said it should be annulled."
"But the idea of trying to make this marriage work with you is kind of exciting." Max leaned toward George. "Really exciting. Do you know what I mean?"
George was silent for a long time, then said quietly, "I do."
Max grinned, his face crinkling up. "So we're agreed?"
George's eyes widened in shock again. "Agreed on what?"
"We move in together, in Monaco, and then we just keep this thing going, and we make it public, and of course the PR details can be handled by the teams."
"No!" George raised his voice. "I didn't agree to that! And I'm telling you it's not a good idea!"
Max's face fell again, and he leaned back. "I really don't understand you."
George gritted his teeth. "I don't understand you either. Let's both give another thought about this."
He gestured with his hand. "The guest room is over there. Good night." Having said that, he stood up and took his teacup.
"Hey, if you think starting to live together in Monaco is a bad idea, maybe we can try sharing the same bed when we have the chance?" Max called out to him again, "What do you think, also a bad idea?"
George stopped and looked down at Max. Max looked very serious, and stared at him a little dully with those earnest eyes.
"Okay." George sighed. "Okay, okay, why not?"
Notes:
Thank you for all the kudos and comments! I'm really happy that you liked it and I'll try my best to finish this work, I guess...
Chapter Text
7
George was startled awake. He was startled because Max Verstappen was in his bed, wrapped in his blanket, one arm even over his waist—what the hell was going on here?
A second later, his mind rebooted, and he remembered that it was himself who agreed last night to let this Dutchman, his legally recognized husband, sleep in his bed. His bed wasn’t very big, which meant they were inevitably lying close to each other which led to another round of sex. It felt great, and by the time it ended, he had no extra energy to kick the Dutchman back to the guest room.
George pushed away the troublesome arm, got off the bed, and walked to the window to pull back the curtains to check the weather outside. The sun was already there, but the grass was still wet after yesterday's rain. This was George's favorite kind of weather, and he could have gone for a jog or something, but unfortunately, having an annoying living person at home disrupted his plans.
He turned back to take another look at Max in bed; that furry sleeping face looked so stupid, entirely mismatched with his carefully selected comfortable bedding.
Wait, he seemed to have never noticed before that Max’s eyelashes were actually quite long.
No, he still didn’t like this image.
Leaning against the window with his arms crossed, George stared at a scratch on the floorboards at the foot of the bed, contemplating how to persuade Max to abandon those outrageous ideas, not noticing that Max had stirred awake from his pillow.
“Good morning,” the Dutchman croaked.
George came back to Earth: “Oh, morning.”
Max's face scrunched up, eyes fixing at George.
George continued, “I was just thinking, you should move to the guest room. My bed is too small for two adult men.”
“You look nice,” Max replied, completely ignoring George's words. “Come here, come back to bed, I want to fuck you again.”
George resisted the impulse to roll his eyes: “You already did last night.”
“That's why I used the word ‘again.’ Are you coming or not?”
George shrugged: “Since it’s the request of Lord Verstappen.”
He pulled the curtains back together and then crawled back into bed. Max kicked aside the blanket because his morning erection was painfully hard. George stared at him for a while and said, “I take back what I said last night. I don’t want to share a bed with someone who has a habit of sleeping naked.”
Max protested, "I usually don’t sleep naked. Last night was an exception!"
"What exception?" George quipped, "Like an 'inchident'?"
"Can we not bring up that meme for now?" Max pushed George back into the bed, yanking down his pajamas along with his underwear. "You are giving me erectile dysfunction."
George looked at the impressive sight before him and muttered, "I don't think so."
Max chuckled softly, burying his face in George’s neck and kissing him. "Why do you smell so good in the morning?"
George ran his fingers through Max’s hair, a little suspicious. "Do I?"
"Hmm." Max reached down to touch George’s rear—still soft and moist from their previous night. He murmured something in Dutch, hastily added some lubrication, and pushed inside.
They both sighed with satisfaction.
Max raised an eyebrow. "You like it."
"Yeah," George replied in a calm tone that belied the activity he was engaged in. His long fingers crept down Max’s side, gently squeezing his testicles. "There are many things about you I don’t like, but not this."
Max grabbed George’s hips, thrusting into him steadily, hitting deep with each movement.
"You don’t have to be so roundabout with your words," he panted, suggesting, "You can just say you like me."
George’s eyes glistened with pleasure—the remnants of last night’s climax seemed to still linger beneath his skin, and every thrust easily triggered soft moans from him. But he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard Max’s stupid remark just now.
"Don’t flatter yourself," he shot back between moans.
Max shook his head, lifting one of George's legs onto his shoulder, allowing him to penetrate deeper. George clearly welcomed the deeper thrusts, his sweet hole clenching around Max, which made him groan in pleasure as well.
Why it always felt so fucking good to have sex with George Russell was a mystery to him. George’s head tilted back in overwrought pleasure, trying to stifle his voice but only to sound even more horny. His Adam’s apple bobbed in front of Max, who had no choice but to bite on his throat.
8
When the McLaren team staff asked Lando Norris who was on a break at his parents' house about how he planned to get to the Dutch Grand Prix, he quickly made up his mind: text Max Verstappen.
"Mate, are you still in the UK?"
After a while, Max replied: "Yes."
Lando beamed at his phone: "Are you guys going straight from the UK to the Netherlands? Is there room for this poor, pitiful little me on your beautiful big jet?"
"We still have seats, come on over."
"Woohoo!"
He confirmed the departure time with Max, then opened another chat group.
Group name: Max and George are not in this group!
"Guess who's boarding Verstappen's private jet for the inside scoop!" Lando typed proudly.
Alex was the first to reply: "That's not fair. Why am I not in the UK!"
Then Charles Leclerc chimed in: "I'm a bit jealous."
Pierre Gasly added: "How about I fly to the UK right now and get on that jet, sounds good?"
Yuki Tsunoda: "That feels a bit unatrual."
Fernando Alonso: "I'm currently in Switzerland. Who else is in Switzerland? We could take my private jet together to the UK. Then we could all squeeze onto Verstappen's plane."
Yuki: "That definitely feels too unatrual."
Lance Stroll: "Don't forget to take some photos! We’re counting on you."
Charles added: "Better be some kissing shots."
Carlos Sainz: "Videos."
Esteban Ocon: "Showing tongues."
Lando laughed so hard he rolled on the couch, sent a few salute emojis, and then jumped up to pack his things.
The day of departure was the best day Lando had felt since the start of the season. With his backpack and luggage, he encountered some fans at the airport, and he took photos and signed autographs with a big smile on his face, then happily walked toward the VIP lane. The ground staff escorted him to the tarmac, where Max’s private jet was waiting. He climbed the steps, pressed his hands down on his face to control his grin, and then hopped inside the plane.
"Good afternoon!" he greeted cheerfully.
Max, sitting with legs crossed in his usual position, looked up from his phone: "Hi Lando. How was your holiday?"
"Not bad. Riding horses with my sister, so adorable." Lando looked around, not finding the other person he wanted to see, and asked curiously: "Where's George?"
"George isn’t with us," Max replied flatly, "He took a commercial flight this morning."
Lando's face fell instantly.
"Did you guys have a fight?" he asked.
Max shrugged and replied with the same flat tone: "Why, are you curious?"
"Okay!" Lando raised both hands in surrender: "I'll shut up!"
Of course, this didn't mean Lando Norris would actually shut up; it was just that he was not able to force a single word out from Max until the plane landed. As he left the airport with Max, he saw many reporters and fans waiting, and when reporters saw it was him stepping out with Max, they were evidently quite disappointed.
"I get it, I get how you feel!" Lando empathized, waving at them.
However, Lando quickly perked up. Even if he couldn't catch them on the plane, where could they possibly run to once they reached the paddock?
Media, media, more media; Max Verstappen certainly knew this was necessary work within the paddock, and he had always cooperated within reasonable limits, but this was just too much!
After answering several questions about the racing conditions, the name George Russell began to come up from the journalists.
"How was your holiday with George?"
"This is your first vacation together since you're married, isn’t it?"
"Do you guys argue?"
"Tell us your three favorite things about George Russell!"
Uh, he's beautiful, has big eyes, a great body, and with characters a bit crazy, Max silently counted in his mind, but he couldn’t answer that question. He couldn’t answer any of them.
He said: "There’s no news to share about George and me. It’s just like that."
More questions came flooding in, the sound of camera shutters was relentless. Max barely heard someone ask, "Are you and George doing okay?" and turned to reply: "George and I respect each other. So I can’t answer too much about this here."
A journalist immediately pointed out: "But you guys just lost all respect for each other last year."
Max could only shrug: "That was then, this is now."
The reporters clearly weren’t planning to let him off easily. Max shook his head at Gemma beside him. Then Gemma raised a hand to signal: "Alright, the interview is over."
They were still shouting Max’s name, but he turned and left the interview area. After a few steps, Charles Leclerc appeared next to him on his red scooter and lifted his sunglasses: "Hi, mate."
Max greeted him with a fist bump and suddenly burst into laughter.
Charles looked puzzled and asked: "What's so funny?"
Max shook his head: "Nothing, just your 'inchident' thing suddenly came up in my mind."
Charles was even more confused: "You should be immune to that meme by now."
Yes, but when he suddenly recalled the last time that meme featured in his life, he couldn’t help but laugh.
Charles glanced back at the interview area, saying, "This is quite over the top today. George was handling it well, chatting with reporters for ages without really saying anything at all."
Max complained: "Why does everyone have to mention George in front of me? Literally everyone! Now even you do that too!"
"Of course, because you freaking told the whole world that you and George are married!" Charles widened his eyes in disbelief: "You can’t expect everyone to ignore such explosive news, okay?"
Max continued his complaint: "This isn’t fair, and I didn’t do anything wrong. You could talk to me about so many other things, just the way like before you knew this."
"That's impossible," Charles pointed out. "I can even smell the same scent on you as George. It’s so distracting so I can only talk about this."
He continued to pedal his red scooter slowly next to Max.
Max walked ahead in silence, which made Charles suddenly feel a bit guilty. Yeah, maybe he should express some normal concern for Max; he was under enough pressure, they weren’t having a great season—
Max suddenly spoke again: "How do you know what George smells like?"
His blue eyes stared straight at Charles, waiting for his answer.
Charles froze for two seconds, shook his head and muttered, "you’re nuts", then pedaled his scooter away with force.
Chapter Text
9
George was wearing a well-tailored shirt and linen trousers, designer sunglasses, and his wavy hair perfectly styled. He leaned on his scooter and patiently waited for Kimi to finish the last little PR video shoot, while signing autographs and taking photos with fans and media who came over, and the smile he showed to the camera was also just perfect.
"Is the signature still George Russell?" A photographer joked: "We won't see the name George Verstappen on the driver standings, will we?"
"Oh, that doesn't sound very good," George said, wrinkling his nose in mock distaste, which made everyone laugh. "Of course, Max Russell sounds pretty lame as well.”
"How did Max like staying in the UK for the summer? We know that's not his go-to for vacations."
"Why don't you ask him about that," George said. "All I know is that he was not able to surf much, but that isn't the worst thing in the world, is it?"
He signed a few more autographs, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that Kimi had finished his shoot and was poking his head around to look over here. Before George could call out to him, the reporters had already stopped the curly-haired rookie: "Kimi, are you confident about today's qualifying session? Will we see Mercedes make any new adjustments to the car this weekend?"
"Uh, of course I'm very confident. I mean, after the summer break, my own and the team's spirits are lifted up." Kimi looked at the reporters and answered quite seriously: "As for the car itself, Toto told me 'Don't say anything you shoudn't say about the car to the reporters', so I'm sorry, I have nothing to say."
George can't help but smile: "I don't think Toto would want you to say that he gave you this order either."
"Uh oh." Kimi's eyes glanced at George for help: "Then..."
George's smile grew even bigger. It was all harmless fun anyway, and he shrugged. "It's okay, Toto's a big-hearted man."
"But speaking of Toto," another journalist continued, "Kimi, when you were chatting with Toto, did he make any comments about the news of your teammate and Max Verstappen?"
"And not just Toto, what do you think? We all know that Max is also a driver you admire very much!"
Kimi's eyes darted around a little nervously. Before the first sound could come out from his mouth, George covered his mouth with one hand, then waved goodbye to the reporters with the other band: "Thank you, we have to go back to our base, see you on the track!"
Kimi could only also wave goodbye to the reporters and then climbed onto the back of George's scooter.
He gripped George's clothes, the fabric feeling so soft and expensive. The electric scooter started up, bringing a rush of wind and the pleasant smell from the driver. What brand of deodorant is that, Kimi wondered, should he get a bottle for himself?
"So how was your holiday?"
Kimi quickly replied, "Not bad, I stayed at home for a while, and then went out with my friends."
"With friends?" George laughed. "I thought I saw you with your girlfriend?"
"She's my friend too. But, speaking of holidays, what about you and..."
"Oh, it's so nice to start dating someone who's already a good friend!"
George started talking about a girlfriend he had back in school, and Kimi had to shut up and listen. Fortunately, the road was not long, and they soon arrived at the entrance of the base. Kimi got off the scooter and walked up the steps with George, boldly pointing out: "You share these stories with me just because you don't want to give me time to finish my question."
George pushed open the door and waved to his colleagues with a smile on his face. "What question? I suggest you think it over before asking."
Kimi looked at the crowd of people around and swallowed the words back. He followed George to a place near the driver's lockeroom where there was no one around, and then opened his mouth again: "Did you and Max have a good holiday?"
George looked at Kimi with a little suspicion: "That's it? This is really a question with no punch at all."
Kimi opened his eyes wide: "What else do you think I would ask!"
"I don't know," George said, scratching his cheek. "But I guess you guys were all in a group chat without me and Verstappen talking about this thing during the entire summer break, and I can kind of imagine the content of your chat."
Kimi protested: "There is no such group chat!"
George snorted. "Impossible."
"Well okay, there is," Kimi quickly admitted. "But I'm not in that group. Lando added me in at first, but Fernando soon kicked all the rookies out of the group."
"Now I would say I'd rather not imagine the content of their chat."
"So what's your answer to my question?"
"Nothing special. Didn't want to catch the attention of paparazzis so we spent more time at my place. Fortunately, we didn't fight too bad." George recalled, "Except for the time I went to do groceries, I really don't understand why I had to bring him a pack of Red Bull, and still had to listen to him complain that the British version of Red Bull was not as good as the Austrian version."
Kimi breathed a sigh of relief: "Great, I'm relieved to hear that you're getting along well."
George raised his eyebrows. "First, where did you get the idea that we get along well? Second, why do you feel relieved? Good heavens, you're only 18."
Kimi said sincerely, "George, I just admire you very much, and I also admire Max very much. If you two are happy together, that would be great, like best thing in the paddock."
George went speechless.
Kimi continued to look at him earnestly.
"Okay, stop looking at me with those lamb-like eyes," George said, throwing his hands up in surrender, before pushing Kimi toward his own rest room. "I don't know if we're happy. We're wtill just trying to figure out what's going on. That's it, now you need to focus on preparing for the quali."
Group name: Max and George aren't in this group!
Esteban Ocon: "Breaking news! Latest interview, 'I don't know if we're happy , we're still just trying to figure out what's going on'. Honestly this breaks my heart a little bit, I thot they were already madly in love with each other!"
Carlos Sainz: "Where can I watch the interview?"
Lance Stroll: "Send the link, plz."
Esteban Ocon: "There's no link. GR said it to Kimi, Kimi told Ollie, and Ollie just told me."
Lance Stroll: "Seriously, can't we just add those rookies back in? @Fernando Alonso"
Pierre Gasly: "@Fernando Alonso"
Yuki Tsunoda: "@Fernando Alonso"
Lewis Hamilton: "Absofuckinglutely not! Look at the group chat history, is that something that can be shown to rookies? Even I can't even bear to look at it."
Nico-Hulk: "Yes, it's not for children."
Lando Norris: "But you guys were also enjoying those gossips."
Lando Norris: "My, who wouldn't be curious about that, like who's on top when they fuck? That question almost kept me up all nite."
Oscar Piastri: "If I am to win the WDC this year, I don't want it to be because my rival's performance is undermined for having spent too much time thinking about this kind of question ."
Charles Lelerc: "Wow, someone just cheerfully excluded everyone else from the title race."
Yuki Tsunodo: "He's not wrong to say that anyway."
Charles Lelerc: "Yeah."
Charles Lelerc: "So who's on top when they fuck?"
10
It was not a perfect race day. The top two places on the podium were, of course, taken by the two McLaren drivers, while Max finished fourth. There were several corners where he should have had the chance to overtake George, but George defended well, and the problem of his car losing grip when cornering after the had not improved much after the summer break. Max handed the steering wheel to the staff, climbed out of the car, took off his helmet amid the familiar deafening roar, weighed himself, completed a series of small procedures, drank some water, and then went to the interview zone. The reporters were not asking those personal questions now. After the race, all the questions focused on the race itself and the issues with the Red Bull car. Max answered as simply and directly as possible, and when he caught sight of George also walking toward the interview area, he nodded to the reporters and ended his interview.
He returned to the Red Bull pit, his voice hoarse: "Water."
A mechanic handed him a can of chilled Red Bull, but he shook his head. "God, no. Water!"
His drinking system had failed during the race. The mechanics were too scared to speak, and someone quickly brought over his water bag and straw. Max drank in silence, then walked over to the chief engineer.
"You have all the data?" His voice was still a little cracked. "Let's talk."
After discussing the feedback from the track, the whole world was a little quieter, probably because the awards ceremony was over. Max looked at the time, and said to the engineer around him, "I need an ice tub."
"It was ready and placed in your dressing room just now," the staff said.
"Okay," Max said. "Tell everyone not to bother me unless it's urgent."
He ran his hand impatiently thru his hair as he walked back to his dressing room, closed the door, stripped off his clothes, and climbed into the ice tub, slowly sitting down.
The throbbing in his eardrums had slowered, but his skin still stung all over. Max was massaging his fingers slowly with his eyes closed when he heard the door open quietly again. He turned around angrily. "Didn't I fucking tell you to leave me alone—oh."
It was George who came in, looking like he had finished his post-race routines and changed back into his shirt and casual pants: "I guess you ordered the Red Bull people not to bother you, but unfortunately I am not a Red Bull employee."
Max stared at him as he walked over to him. "How did you get in here?"
George shrugged. "Your security is as shit as your car this season. I just sneaked in."
Max mumbled his agreement, then held out his hand to George. "Oh, and congratulations."
George shook his hand. "Thank you," he said.
He pulled up a chair to sit next to the ice tub and said, "I heard you had a problem with your drinking system earlier. Are you okay?"
"It's okay. No, it's not okay. But what difference does it make."
"So you're okay."
"Yeah."
They fell silent again. The window high up in the room showed the glowing twilight outside. George was lost in thought for a while before turning back to him and calling him softly, "Max?"
"Hmm?"
Those beautiful, glass-like, grey-blue eyes looked down at him: "Can I kiss you?"
Max paused, then shifted uneasily in the icy water. "Since when did you start asking for permission before kissing me?"
George shook his head. "I never did. But it feels a bit different from when we've kissed in the past."
"How romantic."
"So can I?"
Max moved closer to George, and George bent down and kissed his eyelashes and lips very gently.
Max sighed, then realized for the first time that sighs weren't always about annoyance or frustration. It turned out that gentle kisses could make him sigh, too. He caught one of George's hands and pulled it to him, and the Englishman's fingers were now also submerged in the icy water, but he didn't pull away.
"That's funny. Strange," said George, "I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Never used to. Maybe we fucked too much during the summer break."
Max raised his eyebrows: "You're being so honest now that it doesn't seem like you."
George was silent for a moment before saying quietly, "I've always been very honest with you. It's just that sometimes you're too angry to hear me or believe me."
"You can't ask me to trust a guy who acts like a two-faced jerk."
"Maybe when you stop being so arrogant and angry, and come back to the rationality of a normal person, you'll believe me."
"Oh, so Princess George is going to blame it all on me?"
"Don't start this again."
Max struggled to hold back the nasty words, thought for a moment and said, "So the other day you said... you didn't understand what had happened between us and needed time to think about it. Can I believe that was really what's on yoru mind, and not that you were trying to get some damn lawyers and PR experts to deal with me at my back?"
"Of course," said George. "How could you think of me as - well, never mind."
Max shook his head: "To be honest, I don't understand this thing between us either."
Oh, so there are things the great Verstappen doesn't understand. George swallowed the sarcasm that had almost rolled off his tongue, and sighed: "Look at us. What are we doing? We shouldn't have started fucking in the first place, we shouldn't have gotten drunk and run off to that stupid little church. You shouldn't have brought it to the media..."
"And you shouldn't be in the Red Bull place sitting with me at this time," Max said. "But it all happened."
George tried to pull his fingers out of Max's hand, but he couldn't.
Max clenched his fingers, which were already a little red from the ice water, even tighter. "And it all feels so right."
George didn't say anything, but with his other hand he brushed the wet hair off Max's forehead.
Max said: "Now can I also tell you something very honest?"
"I'm listening," said George.
Max took George's hand and rubbed his eyes with it, then said, "I want you to kiss me again, but this time with tongue. Okay?"
Notes:
leave me some comments if you like this! Thanks! Two chapters to go, probably.
Chapter Text
11
Despite having been in the world of F1 for quite some years, George is still sometimes dazzled by the amazing speed of this sport - not only the part he is responsible for on the track, but the speed at which the entire paddock moves. Last weekend it was still in the Netherlands, and just within a few days everything is in Italy now. The pits of the teams grew out like magic alongside the Monza race track, the electronic and network systems were built overnight, and those multi-million dollar racing cars and spare parts were set to their places.
However, even with such amazing efficiency of logistics, things could still go wrong.
For example, he now found a four-time world champion Red Bull driver in the hotel of Mercedes team, in fact sitting in his bed. The Red Bull driver had even showered here, used his deodorant and face cream, and now smelled almost exactly like him.
His legal husband, Max Verstappen, legs bare and arms propped up on the bed, expressed his disappointment very bluntly: "Really? We're not fucking?"
George shook his head: "I don't want to be blamed if the great Verstappen can't start from the front row after tomorrow's quali."
Max shrugged. "That's a pretty unfounded accusation, don't you think?"
George sighed and climbed into bed, nuzzling Max with his nose. "Besides, when did you become so needy, huh?"
Max thought for a while: "Since we spent the summer break together?"
"That wasn't a real question," George decided to give him a more in-depth lesson on some British communication skills. "That was me being sarcastic."
Max stared at George in shock: "You're complaining that I'm horny?"
"Almost like a school boy!" George said dramatically.
Max crossed his arms: "But you liked it that way."
George was silent for two seconds before saying, "...Yes. Yes, okay."
He pushed Max down into the soft bed, looking down at him, his knee between Max's legs, fingers slowly rubbing Max's ear.
Max's breathing quickened, and he grabbed his wrist and asked, "Still not going to fuck?"
"No fucking," George said firmly. "But I'll make you cum, and after that you go back to your own hotel."
Max chuckled: "Wow, well, how can I say no to such a generous offer?"
He wrapped his arm around George's neck, and George gently kissed him. If only this man could also act according to his wishes on the track—but that would be a bit boring. No, it would be too boring. Now George's tongue was in his mouth, and he sucked on it, the wet sound amplified in the small space created by their intertwined breaths. Max had never told George that he sometimes moaned unconsciously while kissing, and now he was doing it again, the adorable little humming sound coming from his nose making Max want to smile, but soon Max couldn't help but make a sound himself. George grabbed Max's breast through his T-shirt. During summer break, he made quite some lewd jokes about this during sex, sometimes even annoying the Dutchman. But now George didn't say anything else, just continued to kiss him passionately, stroking him, teasing his nipple with his thumb. Max didn't hide his excitement, hugging George tighter, arching his body toward him. George chucled softly, nibbling on his lower lip: “Okay, okay.”
The Englishman was looking smug, but Max didn't mind letting him be smug at this moment— his large gray-blue eyes sparkled with joy, and that was incredibly beautifful.
His kisses moved to Max's jawline, sucking on his nipple through his clothes, then his face moved between Max's legs. He reached down and pulled Max's underwear off, kissing the thick, hard cock in front of him. Max gasped, waiting for George to take him in his mouth, wanting to have a good fuck in that mouth... but to his surprise, George's wet lips and tongue pressed against his anus.
“Oh God.” Max couldn't help but lift his hips, hoarsely calling out, “Georgie...”
George licked him carefully, his nose pressing against his testicles and perineum. Every fold of the soft skin became sensitive, then wet—moistened by George's kisses, or perhaps by himself. Max covered his eyes with one hand and gripped his penis with the other, masturbating—it was so good, ten times, a hundred times better than usual, no, it was entirely different—the muscles in his lower waist trembled, and he couldn't help but clench his thighs, trapping George's head between them.
George pinched his buttocks in annoyance: “Don't squeeze me.”
Max shifted his body and tried to relax his thighs.
“Good boy.” George murmured, sucking on Max's balls, making him almost scream out loud: “Do you want me to finger you?”
“No.” Max's voice was almost choked: “I can come just this way.”
So George continued to kiss and lick him, his tongue tip even pushing into his opening. Max moaned loudly and shamelessly. George's tongue felt like it was licking into his brain or something, and he was completely confused, but it felt so damn good that he was about to come—
The doorbell rang.
George paused for a moment before continuing.
And it continued.
George lifted his head, annoyed.
Through the door, his teammate’s voice faintly came through: “George, it’s me, are you in there? It’s Kimi.”
George nearly fell off the bed in shock.
Now Kimi was knocking on the door.
George raised his voice: “Hold on, I'll be right there.”
Max stared in disbelief, gesturing toward his cock and glaring at George accusingly.
“Shh.” George quickly kissed him reassuringly: “I'll go see what's going on, then we'll continue. Don't make a sound.”
He got out of bed and walked awkwardly to the bathroom, quickly washing off the messy liquid on his face—damn it, it got in his eyes. He rinsed them out with water. The slight stinging clearly meant his eyes would turn red, but George didn’t have time to worry about that. He hurried to the door, opened it slightly, and stuck his head and shoulders out: “Kimi? I was sleeping just now. What’s wrong?”
The curly-haired boy paused and said, “We need to go for the shoot. Rosa and the others called you earlier, but you didn’t answer, so I came to get you.”
“Shoot?” George frowned in confusion. “What shoot?”
“It’s the team promotional video—the one where the two of us sit down and answer some weird questions.”
George continued to frown: “Isn't that shoot tomorrow morning?”
“It's been rescheduled to this afternoon, more specifically in 10 minutes.” Kimi looked at George in surprise—this No.1 driver of Mercedes was always meticulous about time details: “They sent us emails and messages this morning.”
George said: “I didn't receive them.”
Kimi pulled out his phone, found the email, and shoved it under George's nose: his name was indeed in the recepients.
“...Alright.” George seemed to have made a difficult decision: “Give me three minutes.”
He closed the door and turned around.
Max had already overheard his conversation with Kimi and was clearly very unhappy, showing him the finger with both hands.
George sighed and walked back to the bed. Max's skin was still flushed with excitement, his penis so hard, and wet and messy between his legs. George asked without much hope, “Look, there is still hope -- if I continue now, can you cum in 45 seconds?”
The Dutchman responded with a string of swear words in two or three languages and kicked him on the thigh.
For the first time in his life, George truly felt guilty for Max: “Mate, I'm really sorry. I owe you one, okay?”
As he spoke, he quickly dressed himself, tidied up, then grabbed his phone and room key and ran off.
12
Group name: Max and George are not in this group!
Esteban Ocon: “Breaking news!”
Esteban Ocon: “Wait a minute.”
Charles Leclerc: “?”
Lance Stroll: “?”
Liam Lawson: “?”
Carlos Sainz: “¿”
Nico-Hulk: “It's been three minutes, bro.”
Esteban Ocon: “Don't blame me, I need to confirm some details, but I asked Ollie, and he has to ask Kimi again before answering me, it takes time to pass the message.”
Fernando Alonso: “Christ.”
Fernando Alonso invited Andrea Kimi Antonelli to join the group chat.
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “Oh. Um, hello everyone.”
Fernando Alonso: "Just spill thetea here. What's going on with those two?"
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “I don't know, but discussing this behind their backs doesn't seem right...”
Lewis Hamilton: “It's okay, kid.”
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “Alright, here's the thing. I went to see George this afternoon, as he had forgotten the shooting time, which isn't like him. When he opened the door, his eyes were red, and he looked like he had been crying.”
Lando Norris: “Oh, that's not good.”
Alex Albon: “But Princess George doesn't really cry often.”
Lando Norris: “That's why I said it's not good. We all know he doesn't cry, and he did pretty well at the last race, plus I heard his contract is almost finalized. But according to Kimi, our only eyewitness, he cried.”
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “I said ‘looked like he had been crying.’”
Lando Norris: “Whatever, I didn't even see them talking to each other at the last race. And he still did not take Max's plane to Italy.”
Pierre Gasly: “Even if it's to avoid attention, it seems a bit too much.”
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “I'm not finished yet.”
Lewis Hamilton: “Something's definitely off. If their relationship was improving, Toto wouldn't miss the chance to create some buzz in the media, but Mercedes Benz is unusually quiet.”
Lewis Hamilton: “Oh, sorry Kimi, please go on.”
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: "Alright. Later, I was walking with George, and he looked really upset. So I asked him if he was okay, and he said, ‘Everything's fine except for that fucking Verstappen.’ I asked what happened, and he just sniffed and didn't say anything. Then earlier, we had dinner with Toto, and I arrived a bit late. When I sat down, I heard the end of his conversation with Toto, where he was asking Toto to introduce him to a good lawyer. That sounds bad right?"
Andrea Kimi Antonelli: “By the way, it should be Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team @Lewis Hamilton.”
Lewis Hamilton: “Thanks, sweetie.”
Lewis Hamilton removed Andrea Kimi Antonelli from the group chat.
Lance Stroll: “Wow. Killer's move, Lewis.”
Charles Leclerc: “That's strange. I thought they were getting along pretty well.”
Nico-Hulk: “They're already bringing lawyers into it. That's definitely not good.”
Alex Albon: “I have a bad feeling about this. Is there anything we can do to help George and Max? I mean, this Vegas marriage news was ridiculous from day one, but for some reason, I don't think it's a bad thing for them.”
Alex Albon: “Really? Guys, five total minutes of silence?”
Carlos Sainz: “I'm still thinking about it. But I really can't think of anything we can do. We can't force them to hold hands and sit together until they make up, can we?”
Lando Norris: “Alex, maybe you could just talk to George directly.”
Carlos Sainz: "Yes. And you don't have to tell us what George said to you; he trusts you the most."
Lando Norris: “That's not what I meant.”
Alex Albon: “He doesn't want to talk about it... I'll try again.”
Yuki Tsunoda: “Goodness, this is a lot of chats.”
Yuki Tsunoda: “By the way, has anyone seen Max? Our team is looking for him everywhere.”
George Russell walked back to the door of his hotel room on the soft, thick carpet, took out his key card to open the door, and then exclaimed in surprise, “Oh, you still here?”
Max Verstappen was curled up in bed under the blankets, munching on an apple, his eyes fixed on the football match playing on the TV: “What, can't I be here?”
George shook his head. “You could have sent me a message. I was just having dinner with the team and could have brought some food back for you.”
Max took another bite of the apple, stared at him suspiciously for a moment, and asked, “Is that you being sarcastic again?”
George couldn't help but laugh. “No, it's me showing my genuine concern at you this time.”
Max said, "Oh, alright, thanks. It's okay, I've already eaten. I ordered room service, your team is paying for it anyway."
George took a quick shower, changed into his pajamas and curled up on the bed, plugging his phone into the charger by the bedside. He casually scrolled through social media and asked, “So you've been here all afternoon? Eating in room and watching TV?”
“And masturbating,” Max added.
“And masturbating, okay.” George repeated.
Max added, “I had a good time. It's pretty relaxing here. Though I did end up taking Christian's call. He's such a pain.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘I know you're staying at that damn Russell's place. Why don't you do something useful and find out the strategy that Mercedes team has planned for this weekend,’ or something like that.”
“But qualifying hasn't even started yet.”
Max nodded, “I said the same thing, then he yelled for a while and hung up.”
George laughed.
Max asked again, “How was your dinner with the team?”
George shrugged, “Toto was asking me again what kind of PR direction we want, and I said we haven't decided yet.”
Max frowned: “That's not my fault.”
“No one said it was your fault.” George rolled his eyes: “Anyway, Toto was pretty annoyed too, asking me why we hadn't decided yet after all this time, and what we've been doing during the summer break.”
Max remembered something and laughed too, “Does he really want to know?”
George nodded, “That's exactly what I said! ‘Toto, do you really want to know what Verstappen and I were doing during the summer break?’ Then he told me to shut my fucking mouth.”
They laughed together, shoulders pressed against each other.
The sky was growing dark, and George nudged Max, “You really should go now.”
Max tossed the apple core into the trash can, grabbed a tissue to wipe his mouth and hands, and said, “You said you owed me one before you left. Let's settle this first before I go back.”
He turned over and knelt between George's legs, pulled down his underwear, kissed his penis, and then took it into his mouth.
George's fingers rested on Max's hair, hesitating whether to pull his head away or push it down: “I owe you one, and you're so kind to serve?”
Max pulled his mouth away and said, “You owe me one, so I get to do whatever I want—hey, you're getting hard so fast.”
Chapter 7
Summary:
Took me a while to finish translating this last chapter...
Thanks for reading!
Chapter Text
13
George knocked on his team principal's office door: “Toto, you wanted to see me?”
“Come in and close the door.” Toto casually pointed to an office chair across from his desk. “Sit.”
George nodded, closed the door, and sat down across from the boss.
“Two things. First, about your contract, which you deserve. We’ve already sent the latest version to you and your agent. You and your people can take a look, and we’ll discuss the details later.”
George paused for two seconds before saying, “Thank you. We’ll take a careful look.”
He shook the hand Toto extended to him, then joked, “Telling me the contract is settled before the main race is not a particularly good incentive mechanism, huh? And what’s the second thing?”
Toto said, “About what you mentioned the other day, needing a good family lawyer. Here's her business card. I’ve also given her a heads-up. She’s got a great team, and they can handle things in Nevada too.”
George took the elegantly printed business card and asked cautiously, “Have you worked with her before?”
Toto tapped the desk: “And you love to gossip. But it's not like I have anything to hide. They did help me and Susie with our marriage too.”
George put away the card. “Wow, then she must be very expensive. I need to check if my bonus is enough to cover her bill.”
Toto rolled his eyes, “Just the change from your bonus will do.”
George grinned—the kind of grin that Toto had recently described as vicious—then said, “Thank you. So, may I leave now?”
Toto raised his hand. “Hold on a second.”
The tall Austrian man frowned, as if carefully thinking about how to say what he wanted to say next. This was unusual, so George waited quietly.
“George.” He finally spoke. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
George shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I’m completely certain. Seventy or eighty percent, maybe.”
Toto said, “Alright, listen. I know over the past month, I’ve yelled at you multiples times about this, and honestly this shit did upset me abit. But that absolutely doesn’t mean you’re supposed to make a crucial decision of your personal life under my pressure.”
George blinked slowly. “Sounds like you think I’m about to make a very bad decision.”
“I don’t know if you’ve discussed this with your parents or family, but maybe they don’t understand family life in the paddock as I do.” Toto shook his head. “George, you’ve been with us a long time since your teenage days. You know I almost treat you like half a son—alright, now stop that sarcastic smile on your face!”
George rubbed his face hard and put on a serious expression again. “I’m listening.”
Toto said, “At the very least, you shouldn’t doubt that, within the boundaries of my responsibilities, I want your life to be as, um, happy as possible.”
“I don’t doubt that.” George sighed. “That I truly don’t doubt, within the boundaries of your responsibilities.”
Toto paused for a while, then said, “You need to understand, marriage is a very difficult thing. And that Verstappen is not the kind of guy who will make it any easier for both of you. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
George muttered, “That’s for sure.”
“But you’ve decided to go ahead with this Vegas marriage.” Toto couldn’t hide the disapproval on his face. “Do you know what your marriage could mean?”
“That’s a big question.” George shook his head. “It means we need to let go of our prejudices and treat each other kindly?”
“No. There’s too much interest involved behind your marriage. It means that if one day Verstappen betrays you, humiliates you, and the whole world knows he’s humiliated you, you’ll still have to stand by his side with that PR smile on your face and let everyone know you’re still united, no matter how sick it makes you feel. Just like what Geri did for Christian. To put it bluntly, it means that one day you might have to eat shit. I don’t think you can do that. In fact, I don’t think you should put yourself in a position where you’d have to eat shit.”
George thought for a moment. “Sounds really tough. Looks like I only have one way to crack it.”
Toto looked at him. “Annul the marriage?”
George shook his head. “When the time comes, I’ll make him be the one who has to eat shit first.”
Toto was silent for two seconds, then burst out laughing with George. “Alright, since you’re determined to look for trouble, I won’t say anything more. After you discuss things through with Max, let me know and I’ll need talk to the people at Red Bull.”
George threw his hands up. “Oh god. Aren’t we all just looking for trouble by being alive?”
“I don’t need someone twenty years younger than me giving me life advice!” Toto laughed and waved him off. “Now get the heck out of my office.”
14
"That's P6. Congratulations, George, you got this. ”
The engineer's voice came through the TR with light excitement.
But that's not how George felt about the race. He simply replied, "We can do better. I can do better. Thanks, mates. ”
He drove past the final cool down lap, stopped the car, and climbed out of the driver's seat. Even behind his helmet, the smell of burnt tires filled his nose, and it did nothing to help easing his anger. That damn Max Verstappen, who started that dangerous shit on the track again, almost squeezed him out in the middle of his corner, not once, but fucking twice, and he would never accept it was just normal contact – that jerk absolutely did it on purpose.
He pulled off his gloves, pulled down the collar of his racing suit, and was about to take off his helmet when he saw Max walking towards him menacingly.
Max's hair was messy, his cheeks were flushed with the excitement of the race, and his eyes fixed at George. He stood in front of George, put his hands on his hips, and asked hoarsely, "What was that, huh?" ”
George could hardly believe his ears. He took off his helmet, tore off his balaclava, and grabbed his hair irritably, before saying, "I beg your pardon? ”
"Don't pretend to be deaf." Max took another step forward with his voice suppressed, like a beast before attacking: "I asked you what happened just now! ”
George twisted his thin lips and smiled: "You mean what just happened? That you almost knocked me off the track like a madman?" ”
Max's breath almost sprayed on his face: "Who braked late first on the inside? Just want to cut another hole in my car, huh? That's what you were trying to do? ”
George took a step back and took a deep breath, "I don't want to argue with you about this. You can check with the stewards. ”
"Hah!" Max laughed mockingly: "Here we go again, huh? ”
George could hardly tolerate this anger and aggression of the Dutchman coming from nowhere. It's too hot here. And he was hearing flashing lights not far away.
"Are you sure you want to start this in front of the media again?" He almost gritted his teeth.
"Of course, why not!" Max grinned, but his blue eyes flashed with anger: "You've already got your lawyer, haven't you? Next is the media, right? ”
George was stunned for a moment: "What? ”
Max almost roared: "Stop pretending shit, you two-faced!" ”
This is too much. This is just too much.
After all the chaos caused by this Dutchman, after all those laughter and intimacy they shared, after all the warm snuggles, the good fucks, after he had almost made that big decision, at this moment, Max Verstappen could really be acting like this again?
George Russell heard the sound of sanity disconnecting in his head very clearly.
"And you are a hopeless antisocial bastard!" He also began to speak hotheadedly, and raised his hand, and his next move would be to push Max Verstappen's shoulder away and punch on that silly face -
"Hey George, calm down, calm down!" Alex Albon ran over before he even had time to take off his helmet, grabbing George's shoulder and pulled him away. But this didn't seem to help calm the anger of the Brit, who were so angry that his eyes were red and he struggled to break free from his friend's control: "Let go of me, I'm going to beat that bastard!" ”
The Dutchman was still shouting: "Come on, I said we just fight here, in front of everyone, why not --"
It was Charles Leclerc who also rushed over, covered Max's mouth and pulled him away, and then shouted at Alex: "We have to get them out of here and find a place to talk!" ”
"Yes, right, but where to go?" Alex shouted back while pushing George away.
"——This madman, stupid, fuck your championships, aren't you going to fight——"
Charles Leclerc dragged Max away with efforts, and while Max was still waving his fist at George in the air, he really didn't have the strength to cover Max's mouth anymore.
"Two-faced, yeah you heard me, two-faced! Dealing with me behind your back makes you so happy? Is your blood cold? Is it the blood of a snake? ”
Charles was a bit desperate.
He could hear the shouts of the media and the audience, and the sound of machine gun-like flashing lights, and he couldn't imagine the headlines later.
And here is Monza, and Ferrari's pit is close at hand. He gave up and shouted to Alex, "Just head to our place, our place! ”
Max and George were still focused on glaring and cursing at each other, barely noticing that they were being pushed under the giant Prancing Horse logo. The Ferrari engineers got out of the way and someone rushed over and opened the back door of the garage to the storage room.
George suddenly reacted: "Wait, what are we doing here at Ferrari?"
Alex pushed him into the door.
Then Max was also thrown in by Charles.
The door was quickly closed and locked.
"What the fuck are you doing!" Max knelt against the door: "Open the door!" ”
"No, you two just fucking stay here, stay! Neither of you is on podium today so no rush at all!" Charles shouted to them through the door: "You can talk and kiss here in the Ferrari pit, you can even fuck, I don't care, just clear up whatever misunderstanding you have and don't you get out before making up!" ”
The Dutchman was so angry that his voice was hoarse: "Charles Leclerc, I'm literally going to kill you!" ”
The Ferrari driver turned a deaf ear and just instructed engineers around him: "Don't open the door until you make sure they are all good."
"George, text me after you come out, okay?" Alex also said gently through the door: "Okay, we're going now." ”
He left the pit of Ferrari with Charles.
"Headache." Alex looked at the sky and said.
Charles felt his ribs: "My ribs hurt. I'm sure Max gave me an elbow just now when struggling. Should I go take an x-ray or something? ”
"You should, and send the bill to Red Bull." Alex patted him sympathetically: "Oh my God, I need my phone." ”
Charles nodded heavily: "Me too! ”
Group Name: Max and George Are Not in This Group!
Lando Norris: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.”
Oscar Piastri: “Seriously. @Charles Leclerc @Alex Albon, you guys are heroes. Unlike me, honestly, I was scared.”
Oscar Piastri: “And unlike the other guy who was already out of the car in the front row, just standing there enjoying the scene.”
Lando Norris: “Hey! I’m standing right next to you now. You can just say it to my face, why post it in the group!”
Pierre Gasly: “I missed everything. Never hated my car until just now.”
Carlos Sainz: “No worries. There are videos everywhere online. I’ll send you links.”
Esteban Ocon: “Just asked Ollie, seems like the rookies have no clue about the cause of the conflict either.”
Lance Stroll: “Huh? Wasn’t it about fighting for the corner?”
Lewis Hamilton: “Definitely not, oh my god, how old are you?”
Alex Albon: “@Oscar Piastri Thanks, mate. So no one has any clue?”
Charles Leclerc: “Damn, he bruised me.”
Charles Leclerc: “If those two can make up and move on, I want Max Verstappen to put me in his trust beneficiaries.”
Yuki Tsunoda: “I guess, I mean I’m just guessing... but maybe, it’s my fault.”
Lando Norris: “?”
Fernando Alonso: “?”
Nico Hülkenberg: “?”
Lance Stroll: “?”
Carlos Sainz: “¿”
Pierre Gasly: “No way, you’re flirting with one of them? Which one?”
Yuki Tsunoda: “Are you fucking crazy?”
Yuki Tsunoda: “I just watched the video, when Max came over to argue with George, didn’t he mention something about a lawyer?”
Yuki Tsunoda: “When I had lunch with him, I remembered Kimi said a couple of days ago about George looking for a lawyer or something, so I mentioned it. But I was just joking! I said, ‘Hey, I heard George is getting a lawyer, maybe you should get one too, don’t ever fight unprepared.’”
Lando Norris: “Damn, what kind of joke is that?”
Pierre Gasly: “Cultural differences, mate. So what did Max say?”
Yuki Tsunoda: “He asked who told me. Of course, I wouldn’t snitch on everyone so I just brushed it off. Then he looked kinda frustated and, sour.”
Lewis Hamilton: “Well, I have to say if George really did something behind Max’s back, that would be a bit hurtful.”
Alex Albon: “He’s not that kind of person.”
Lewis Hamilton: “He isn't.”
Fernando Alonso: “So, how long are you planning to lock them in Ferrari’s pit?”
Charles Leclerc: “I said until they make up — so far no news from the engineers yet.”
Oscar Piastri: “Let’s go for now, hope there’s good news after the award ceremony.”
15
The storage room of Ferrari was much quieter than outside. Although the cheers of the crowd could still be faintly heard, what was more obvious were the heavy breaths of the two people locked inside. Away from the noise of the track, the heat waves, and the smell of burnt tyers, their overheated minds seemed easier to calm down—at least, that’s what George thought. He leaned against a tall stack of tires, burying his face in his palms, pressing his nose bridge for a while, waiting for the rush of anger to subside.
“What’s wrong, Princess George crying again?” The Dutchman sneered hoarsely.
George lifted his face. He wasn’t crying, just a bit pale, staring at Max, his lawful husband, sitting on a storage box in front of him.
“Speak up, we’re locked in here anyway.” George’s voice was a bit hoarse too. “What was wrong?”
Max said, “Your driving just now on the track was too dangerous.”
George shook his head. “It’s not that. We both know it’s not that. You say I’m two-faced? Plotting against you behind your back?”
Max was silent for a moment, then kicked a toolbox on the ground. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
George kept staring at him in silence.
Max frowned angrily: “Wasn’t it you who said that nonsense about not knowing what’s going on, then confirmed to me you wouldn’t get lawyers and PR experts behind my back? So what now?”
“…I did get a lawyer,” George said slowly. “That’s what you’re talking about.”
Max raised his voice: “Isn’t that enough? I was even learning about it from Yuki, it’s ridiculous!”
George lowered his head, biting his lip hard.
Max’s anger grew stronger because of George's silence: “I thought I could trust you, and this is what you give me? With that smile of yours, not only fooling the stewards but me too? Damn it!”
George remained silent.
Max slapped the lid of the storage box in fury: “George Russell, speak!”
The Brit finally raised his head. He crossed his arms, lips bitten pale by himself: “Now you’re willing to listen to me?”
Max stared into those beautiful eyes.
George said, “Yes, I did ask Toto to introduce me to a lawyer. The best kind.”
Max snorted: “Ha! So honest!”
George shook his head and continued slowly and calmly: “I want a lawyer because we threw away our marriage certificate ourselves in Las Vegas, right? I wanted to check if we needed to reapply. I also have residency in Monaco; do we need to file taxes jointly? Also, you’re a very wealthy man, with those companies and properties under your name. I'm in a good financial position too. If we are getting married without properly sorting out an agreement of our assets, that would be very immature and irresponsible to the people around us. Right? Max, that’s what I wanted to do with the lawyer. This marriage started as a joke, but I was thinking about making it serious.”
He paused and looked at Max's face. Max was still sitting there, dumbfounded, his expression looks like he’d just been punched.
George chuckled softly and continued: “Luckily, I was only thinking about it. Toto just gave me the business card of that top lawyer this morning; I haven’t contacted her yet. No need to bother canceling any appointment.”
Max’s face flushed bright red, then turned pale. He rubbed his face, muttering in frustration, then jumped up and said, “George, what you said—no. Sorry, I mean, I’m sorry.”
“Wow, the great Verstappen actually apologizes.” George shrugged, speaking flatly: “I forgive you. So we’re good now, right? I’ll tell the Ferrari guys outside.”
Max grabbed George’s wrist: “No, wait.”
George looked exhausted and had no strength to pull away, just said, “What now, Max?”
Max pulled him back down to sit on the storage box, then looked into his eyes and said again: “George, I’m sorry.”
“And I said I forgive you.” George avoided his gaze. “I want to get out of here. Please.”
Max stubbornly pressed on his shoulder: “Then you go contact your lawyer. I’ll contact mine, and we’ll sort this out together—taxes, agreements, and all the paperwork.”
George shook his head: “I won’t contact that lawyer anymore. Didn’t I make it clear? That plan is off.”
Max suddenly felt inexplicably wronged and asked: “Why? I already said sorry.”
“You shouldn’t think that just because you apologized, everything should go your way!” George raised his voice, angrily staring at Max again. “And you don’t even trust me at all! A proper marriage isn’t even possible like that!”
Max bit his lips, released George’s shoulder, and sat down beside him.
The two stared silently at the piled-up tires for a while.
George spoke softly again: “You could have just called me and confronted me directly.”
“I was too angry then,” Max said. “…and I was too scared.”
George turned his head in surprise: “Scared? You?”
Max’s voice was hoarse: “About you, I often feel scared. Of course, not too much on the racing track.”
George rolled his eyes: “Had to add that last part, huh? What’s about me to be scared of?”
“Sometimes I crave you. That scares me,” Max said. “Sometimes I even tell myself you’re cruel or have ulterior motives, which makes me feel safer. But… I still crave you. So when I heard that thing from Yuki, I told myself, ‘Looks like George really is a jerk and you knew it.’ But I was also scared it was true. That’s why I—wait, why are you smiling?”
He looked suspiciously at the Brit in front of him, those beautiful blue eyes sparkled with a joyful light, lips curled up into an obviously very happy smile.
“Oh, Maxie, Maxie, that was the cutest thing you’ve ever said since I’ve known you.”
Max was stunned for a few seconds, then said: “Anyway, sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry again.” George patted his leg: “Say ‘I’ll do better next time.’”
Max said: “I’ll do better next time. So can we continue with your plan to make things official?”
George snorted: “No. That can wait.”
Max muttered something dissatisfied, then leaned over and kissed George’s neck gently. George didn’t pull away but turned his head toward him, so they stroked each other’s shoulders, sharing a solid kiss. Then their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, Max muttered softly: “I want to fuck you again now. What do you say?”
George chuckled lowly: “In the Ferrari pit? Better not.”
He put some distance between himself and Max, which made the Dutchman discontent and lean in to kiss him again.
George exhaled and shook his head: “Max, no matter what, marrying you in Las Vegas— well I can’t say I never regretted it. But now I really don’t regret it, even though I don’t know where this is going.”
Max said: “God, is that the most romantic thing you Brits can say?”
George said: “Yeah, you better get used to it.”
After a pause, he said again: “Max, I want to ask a very strange question. Very strange.”
“Go ahead, let me hear how strange.”
George’s voice was low but clear: “Do you love me?”
“That’s not too strange a question, right?” Max looked a bit dumbfounded, thought for a moment, then cautiously said: “But I don’t know. Maybe not yet, but I feel like I’m heading that way.”
George gently kicked him: “That’s your idea of romantic? But I'll take it, at least it’s an honest answer.”
He stood up, and Max stood too. They stared at each other silently for two seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud together.
“Okay! Now we’re really good, right?” Max said. “If Charles has any objections, he can check the CCTV and he'll see us kissed just now.”
George glanced at the ceiling, then said incredulously: “You already saw the cameras and still asked if we should fuck here?”
Max laughed even harder.
George shook his head, went to knock on the locked door, and shouted outside at the top of his lungs: “Ferrari guys! We’re good now, let us out!”
Then he turned back and looked at Max mischievously with a smile: “Ready to have some fun with the press?”
16
The award ceremony had already ended, but the reporters still crowded the interview area, unwilling to leave, and many spectators lingered at the scene. When the cameras finally caught Max Verstappen and George Russell leaving Ferrari's pit, the atmosphere instantly stirred again.
Reporters shouted their names, firing off rapid questions like a barrage. George stepped first into the interview area, casually resting one hand on the railing as he greeted the reporters with ease. Max followed, his racing suit pulled up to his waist, standing beside George and nodded at the media.
Countless cameras focused on them, the flashlights blazing like a sea of stars.
“Since the summer break, everyone’s been waiting quite a while to see me and my husband Max Verstappen interviewed together, haven’t you?” George said with a bright smile. “Shall we get started?”
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politecatosc on Chapter 1 Tue 05 Aug 2025 12:41AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Aug 2025 12:42AM UTC
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